#which creates tension either way!

[youremyheaven]

Random Astrology Observations- Relationship Edition

1. Men with Mars in water signs are usually the most fcked up in bed. They have bizarre kinks and often take things too far. They're probably aroused by bizarre things. They like to go to extremes and are probably very controlling & dominating in bed.

2. People with prominent 4h placements carry heavy family karma. This is a very challenging placement to have. You're either going to grow up feeling obsessively loved or neglected af.

3. Scorpios have a reputation for being possessive but you know who's actually possessive? Fire signs. They're like bulls in a china shop with love, unable to express themselves properly they just feel pissed off when they see others get too close or do stuff with their person. Anger is how they react to jealousy & possessiveness.

4. The ultimate baby making aspect is Moon conjunct Mars but bbg have you heard of Venus Conjunct Pluto? this is a rarer aspect but the sex is bomb dot com with this one.

5. Libra women are the kind of women that other women find attractive and Cancer women are the kind of women men find attractive.

Edit: i thought ill explain why this is the case

Cancer women are more representative of sexual polarity which leads to "femininity" and since sexual polarity is what creates attraction, men/masculine ppl are drawn to its opposite; women who are conventionally feminine.

Libra is the 7th sign in the zodiac, 7 is the number of union, of merging of opposites, therefore they possess both feminine and masculine energies, thus making them androgynous almost (purely in an energetic way, they can look/behave however they like). Women are drawn to other women who are more integrated and androgynous ish. For ex: Bella Hadid is a Libra Sun, she's considered gorgeous & stunning by loads of women but she's not someone men are drawn to simply bc she's intimidating and a little androgynous.

6. Sagittarius is the most introverted of all the fire signs. They are selectively social. They also think they're better than others (a lot of the time, they are tho 🫣)

7. Venus in 10h is The High Priestess placement to me. You'll never get over a girl with Venus in 10h

8. Jupiter in 1h/2h/4h often tends to make the native voluptuous. Even men with this placement are big & beefy 👅

9. Opposites attract is true af in astrology

Mars dominant men obsessively fall for Venusian women because they are the opposites.

10. 5h synastry creates a very sexual and pleasurable relationship.

11. The people you have crazy sexual tension with are those you have 7h/8h/12h synastry with

[anyroads]

OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.

[mstase]

🤱🏻 Moon & Mother

the moon in your birth chart can offer insights into the mother’s personality and your relationship with her ~ 🌙

SUN-MOON: your mother is confident and direct, likely pushing you to toughen up and build confidence, shaping your identity and the way you carry yourself. however, this encouragement may come across as controlling, as she may have a specific image or standard she wants you to meet. this could create tension as you navigate between fulfilling her expectations and developing your own individuality. at times, she might seem arrogant and boastful, adding complexity to the dynamic

MERCURY-MOON: your mother is talkative, expressive, and enjoys logical discussions, but she can be critical, nitpicking, and lacks tact in communication. she values rationality over sensitivity and may often disregard or overlook your feelings. you might find yourself having frequent verbal arguments with her, but also chitchats. overall, her influence on you is significant, shaping how you think and communicate and likely instilling a preference for logic and directness.

VENUS-MOON: your mother is charming, sociable, and probably popular. her ability to effortlessly get her way into people has influenced you, leading you to believe that charm can make life smoother. despite your mother’s appealing qualities, there may be a two-faced and shallow side to her. your relationship with her is probably good, with few arguments, unless other aspects say otherwise. she played a significant role in shaping how you approach making connections and socializing.

MARS-MOON: your mother’s assertiveness and impatience, coupled with struggles in expressing emotions, likely resulted in frequent outbursts. her combative and defensive nature might have contributed to a home environment marked by conflicts and arguments. in response to this, you may have developed a heightened sense of alertness and the tendency to react quickly to diffuse or navigate such situations. your mother’s influence shaped the way you deal with emotions, leaning towards an aggressive approach

JUPITER-MOON: your mother is joyful, open-minded, and generous. however, her indulgent nature suggests a tendency to be overly lenient. your mother’s strong and dramatic reactions suggest that she responds intensely to various situations. perhaps she easily takes things personally and often makes small things a big deal. she may have influenced your wisdom, religious, and philosophical views, as well as your general outlook on life.

SATURN-MOON: your mother could have been emotionally guarded and strict, but she was also diligent and hardworking. early on in life, you were given a strong sense of responsibility, as your mother may have been preoccupied with her other duties. the bond between you two is serious and reserved, marked by limited displays of affection. growing up in an emotionally distant family taught you how to manage your emotions without support, which led you to develop emotional resilience.

URANUS-MOON: it seems that your mother exhibits moodiness and emotional distance, indicating a potential absence or distance in your relationship. childhood experiences marked by changes and unpredictability may have contributed to the inconsistency in your connection with her. despite this, she instilled in you a sense of independence and the ability to handle your own things. however, growing up, you may have likely felt like the odd one out in the family.

NEPTUNE-MOON: this can suggest that your mother may have been absent, either physically or emotionally, perhaps due to substance use or illness. another possibility is that she experienced abuse, and you had to bear the weight of her suffering, making you very sensitive to her emotions. despite your mother’s selflessness and compassion, there’s a deceptive side to her, meaning you might not have fully understood the true depth of her nature as you grew older.

PLUTO-MOON: your mother possesses a complex mix of traits, as she is both deeply loving and controlling. this can make you feel suffocated because she switches between being affectionate and dominating, showing strong and unpredictable emotions. it creates a storm in your relationship with her, sometimes leaving you confused as to why she acts that way. the power struggles you have with her add to the overwhelming feeling of conflicting forces in your relationship.

this is based on my observation & interpretation. take what resonates 💜 @mstase

[cordeliawhohung]

Whoa whoa whoa, why did you have to make mafiaunderboss!Simon sound so hot 😩😩??

Can we see what it looks like when Price’s wifey brings a friend around, and she’s nothing but heart eyes for him and vice versa? I honestly just love this au

mafiaunderboss!Simon has my whole fucking heart i have so many ideas for him it's not even funny. and you know what's even better than price's wife bringing a friend around??? being that friend she brings around..... (we truly are out here living our best y/n lives)

also, i've created a mafia!141 masterlist here <3 because i don't think i'm getting out of this phase anytime soon.

warnings: mafia!underboss!Simon x shy-ish!fem!reader, reader doesn't know simon's in a mafia lmao, sorta sexual tension, short-ish drabble

When your friend invited you over to a family dinner, you weren't sure if you should go or not. Family events always seemed more like a private and cut off thing, not something a friend should attend, and you were terrified about intruding. But when she insisted that her husband wouldn't mind, and how she would love it if you were able to meet the others, you begrudgingly accepted.

You arrived right on time wearing a cute little outfit that you hoped would keep you cool enough so that you weren't sweating all throughout dinner. Once you were led into the dining room of your friends home, you very quickly realized that this was not the type of family dinner you had expected. At first, you had thought of extended family, some brothers and sisters, maybe nieces and nephews. Instead, you saw your friend's husband, John, at the head of the table, along with three other men, none of whom looked related.

After a few quick introductions, you took your seat in between your friend and a kind, boisterous man with a mohawk who the others called Soap. Once dinner was served, conversation erupted throughout the table, and while you found yourself actively listening, you didn't add a whole lot to the conversation. Instead, you were perfectly content glancing around the table, watching the men around you curse and joke with one another.

However, there was one man who caught your eyes more than anyone else. The others called him Riley, and he was almost too large to fit comfortably in the small, wooden dining chair. You swore you heard his knees knock against the table a few times. The simple black t-shirt he wore perfectly displayed the sleeve of tattoos on his arm, and you found yourself enchanted by the way the sinewy muscles of his forearm flexed as he raised his glass to his lips. It seemed impossible to tear your eyes away from him, until you realized his dark and alluring eyes had caught you. You quickly averted your gaze just in time to miss the smirk that pulled at his lips.

Dessert was served in what you assumed was the entertainment room. There was a dartboard shoved up against the wall and a billiards table towards the side of the room, both of which looked very loved with years worth of holes and scratches. While you and your friend indulged in the mouthwatering tiramisu she had made, the boys started up a game of pool, where they played long enough for John to get either too bored or too fed up with the others. They tried to get your friend to play so that they could continue playing doubles, but she quickly declined.

"What about you?" Kyle spoke up.

It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you. All three men had their eyes on you, including Riley. Swallowing, you shook your head as you set your dishware on the side table next to you.

"Oh, I don't really know how to play," you excused.

"That's alright," Soap said as he tapped his pool cue on the floor. "Riley's a good teacher."

Before you knew it you were standing next to the table alongside the others, your own cue in hand. It didn't take long to realize just how better at the game they were than you as they made shot after shot, and when your turn rolled around, you swallowed hard, not exactly excited to make a fool of yourself.

Still, you conjured as much confidence as you could as you leaned over the table, trying to line the stick up with the cue ball. Yet no matter how hard you tried to steady your hands, you couldn't quite get stable enough to make a good shot.

"Here," Riley spoke up as he leaned his stick against the table.

The warmth of him engulfed you as you found your back pressed against his chest. It took everything in you not to boil alive under his touch as he moved your guiding hand into position in order to strike efficiently. His hand engulfed yours as he helped you hold onto the stick, and you attempted to ignore the way his breath fanned across your ear as he spoke.

"Steady, yeah? Strike right here in the center, angle a bit to the left," he guided.

Eventually his hands slid off of yours so you could make the shot, but your brain was too overwhelmed to fully focus. Yet you tried anyway, striking the ball just like he told you and barely pocketing one of the stripes. A quick round of whoops escaped the boys as they congratulated you on your shot, despite the fact you were on the other team. Riley went for a more tame reaction, and he rested his hand on your shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

"Nice shot."

Heat rose in your face at his touch, and you tried to swallow the warmth back into your stomach as you tapped your cue against the tip of your shoe. "All thanks to you, Riley."

For a moment, he was silent as he leaned over the table for his turn where thick fingers guided his cue along the table. Pudgy skin and muscles forced his shirt to tighten along his shoulders, and you stood there speechless as he hit his shot. He easily pocketed yet another ball before he straightened back up and turned his attention to you. His dark eyes, the ones that had been sneaking glances at you all night long, gave you a quick once over before he tilted his head slightly.

"It's just Simon to you, sweetheart."

i am fucking feral for this man. also, unrelated but mafia simon has a dick piercing <3

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for drawing and writing amputees: The prosthetic needs something to hold onto

Prosthetics need to be able to hold on to the body.

If you're giving your amputee something similar to 99.99% of modern prosthetics, this will be done through a socket. This is a ridged cup made perfectly for the amputee that holds the prosthetic onto the body. Older prosthetics (mostly anything before the 90's) made the prosthetic socket intentionally tight in spots, which is what held it in place. Some people with sensitive skin still use this style of prosthetic but they've mainly fallen out of use in favour for suction sockets. These sockets create a vacuum seal that holds the prosthetic in place. These can work in two ways, either just by forcing excess air out of the socket and creating the seal that way, or for some legs, sucking that excess air out and into an "ankle" mechanism to offer some extra suspension and padding in the step.

Some prosthetics will also use additional measures as well as suction, such as pin-locks, where the amputee wears a sock with a screw at the bottom that clips into a mechanism at the bottom of the socket, or a prosthetic with movable panels that can be tightened via cables running through the socket.

I've used all of these except the pin lock socket, and they all have one thing in common: The sockets need as much space as possible. For prosthetics using suction in particular, this is to spread out the amount of force being applied to the leg. If all the suction is being applied to the end of the stump, it's going to get sore and could even damage the skin. If that same amount of suction is applied to a much wider area, it's going to feel less intense. Likewise, older prosthetics needed as much space to work with as possible too, as applying tight pressure to a small area as opposed to a larger surface to keep the tension isn't good for your skin or muscles in that spot.

For this reason, the sockets will take up all of the space available without limiting movement, meaning they will go all the way up to the next major joint. An amputee who lost their hand through the wrist will have a socket that goes all the way to their elbow. An amputee who lost their leg through or above the knee will have a socket that goes all the way to their hip.

Sometimes, if an amputation is particularly close to a major joint and there isn't a lot of space left between the stump and the next major joint, prosthetists will opt to immobilise the closest joint and take the socket all the way up to the next major joint. This was something I've actually discussed with my prosthetist. My left leg is amputated below the knee, but I only have a few centimetres of space below the knee. That leg occasionally needs revisions, meaning they take the very tip off of the stump to help correct issues with weird bone growth, scarring, infections etc, but if I get another revision, my leg will be too short to comfortably wear a socket, so my knee will need to be immobilised and my leg will become, functionally, an above knee amputation, despite still having the joint. This is rare, but it happens on occasion, showing that sometimes that need for space trumps even the use of a still functional joint. It's really important.

I wanted to bring this up because I see a lot of people draw sockets on their amputee's prosthetics, but they're much too tiny to be comfortable!

I did mention most prosthetics use a socket, but not all do. Some old prosthetics did not have sockets and were held in place using other methods.

This is a "prosthetic" my prosthetist found in his company's back room. He's not sure when it was made, but together we came up with an estimate of it being made around the 70's for a through-hip amputee (meaning someone who's whole leg was amputated with no stump at all)

It's designed so that the user would rest their hip on the cushion and use the handle to hold it in place and move it in time with their walk. This kind of mobility aid isn't often used anymore (me nor my prosthetist have seen one out in the world), and seems to have faded in use during the 80's as sockets were invented that could better hold onto the hip and pelvis for through-hip amputees and the use of wheelchairs for amputees became less stigmatised.

There's also A new type of prosthetic has been developed called the Osseointegration prosthetic, which also doesn't use a socket either. These are very rare as they are incredibly expensive and still very risky, but these prosthetics bypass the socket and implant the prosthetic directly into the body through a rod planted inside one's stump bone. This rod has a clip at the end of the stump, so the external part of the prosthetic can be removed as needed (and replaced). The reason they are risky though is that they are EXTREMELY prone to infection. I only know one person who had this implanted successfully, but he has to be very careful to keep his leg clean or else it will get infected (and it frequently does, he's constantly on antibiotics). Everyone else I know who got it had to get it removed.

With time these implants will get safer, but we are a very, very long way off from that right now.

[wileys-russo]

off limits (3) II a.putellas x león!reader

part one part two

back again! the next part might be the last? but there is more to come off limits (3) II a.putellas x león!reader

if it was team cohesion alexia wanted, then you were determined to give it to her.

you would be the most perfect of teammates, showing up early to training and working hard as you could, not allowing any of the brewing drama to affect your ability to play in the red and blue and to win.

on the pitch you would feed her any assists possible and take any passes she'd give you. the same went for playing alongside your sister, you'd take any ball she sent your way, any crosses aimed in your direction you were on in a flash.

however, to them thats all you would be, a teammate.

you went out of your way to avoid any sort of interaction with your ex girlfriend and captain that wasn't completely professional, and you avoided your older sister like she had some sort of disease, refusing to speak to them in any capacity that wasn't absolutely necessary or football related.

neither girl had properly spoken to the other since that night in anyway that wasn't professional either, the tension between them was simmering but palpable and not completely obvious to most of the team who weren't aware of any ill will.

the same could not be said for the uncomfortably awkward space you created for those who were aware that you and alexia were clearly going through some problems, which was the members of the team who'd figured out you'd both been dating.

or that there was clearly something wrong between the león sisters, normally attached at the hip and joking around in some sort of way at games and training. or posting together going out for walks or meals or spending time together on your days off, instead there was radio silence and everyone had picked up the two of you had come to a disagreement on something.

lucy had tried time and time again to get all three of you to speak with her about it to no luck at all, brushed off each time or sent away on a drill.

claudia and patri had tried to get you to open up again without any luck, both about your issues with alexia and the way they could clearly see you and mapi also were not talking. but again you dismissed them with a shake of your head, hurrying away to be by yourself.

after all, it wasn't affecting your performance on the pitch.

if anything your underlying anger with both women only spurred you on more, using football as a therapy of sorts. the free time in which you'd normally be sneaking off with alexia or messing around with mapi you spent doing extra shooting practice or meticulously studying past matches.

you were flying on the pitch, but you were leaving both of them behind in order to do so.

~

it was a thursday morning off for you. you had a photo shoot in the afternoon with a sunglasses company you were partnered with but beside that you had no plans. so you glanced up in surprise from your spot reading in the sunny corner of your living room when there was a knock on your door.

marking your place in your book you uncrossed your legs and padded over to the front door, glancing through the small peephole and frowning as you unlocked and pulled it open.

"hi, can we talk?"

~

mapi awoke as the warm morning sun bathed her face and she rolled over, expecting to be enveloped by her girlfriends welcoming arms but to her disappointment she was only met with an empty bed and cold sheets.

blinking tiredly the tattooed spaniard pulled herself up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, head swiveling around the bedroom but unable to spot her norweigein lover anywhere her eyebrows furrowed deeper.

mapi called out for her, only rewarded with silence as she swung herself out of bed making her way around their shared flat, frown deepening as there was no sign at all of ingrid.

greeting bagheera with a scratch behind his ears mapi picked up her phone to call ingrid but the line only rang out to the girls message bank, mapi trying not to assume the worst or overthink as she made herself a coffee. but she didn't have long to spiral as she sat down with her breakfast and heard a key sound in the lock.

"good morning baby." her girlfriend smiled happily, closing the door after her as mapi was up and by her side in an instant. "where did you go? i woke up and you were gone!" she frowned after they'd hugged and shared a sweet kiss.

"i went out for breakfast." ingrid started, dropping her bag on the counter as mapi sat back down. "oh." the girl replied, trying to hide her disappointment at the lack of information or invite.

"...with your sister." ingrid finished, hiding her head in the fridge as she rummaged around for a moment. "oh." the spaniard repeated, this time a lot quieter as she sipped at her coffee, thoughts drifting as she stared out the window, hand bending down to gently scratch the cat which rubbed itself against her leg fondly.

"how was it?" mapi asked slowly as ingrid sat across from her at the table, having made herself a coffee as well. "it was okay, she misses you." her girlfriend murmured as she sipped the drink in her hands. "does she?" mapi asked skeptically, leaning back in her chair with a raised eyebrow.

"well she didn't exactly say it, but i could tell." ingrid sighed, a small smile tugging at her girlfriends lips at the brunettes forever present optimism. "mi vida she hates me." mapi chuckled, finishing her food and pushing her plate away with a sigh.

"she is very angry, but she has a right to be."

that made the defender frown, crossing her arms over her chest. "before you argue what would you do if it was the other way around? if she told you that you were not allowed to date me, and then i left you because of it." ingrid challenged, bagheera jumping up onto her lap.

"alexia left her?" mapi frowned quietly, her girlfriend giving her a look of disbelief. "please tell me you are joking. how did you not realise that from her behaviour?" ingrid shook her head as mapi could only shrug.

"i don't know. i just figured she was angry with me! i didn't think she would actually listen to what i said, she never does." mapi mumbled with a roll of her eyes as ingrid gave her a look.

"she has always listened to you love, she looks up to you so much its obvious for anyone to see. which is why she is so hurt by your response, then add in a break up in which she had no say and imagine how much pain she is in?" ingrid warned, guilt suddenly flooding the spaniards body as she sighed, burying her face in her hands.

"it is not up to you to say for either of them who they date, that is only up to them." ingrid warned sternly. "but she's my-" "no. she is her own person, and she deserves her own relationships without you adding in your negative opinion, which believe it or not actually means a lot to her. she was not wrong you can be very nosy, and very over protective." ingrid added on as mapi scoffed, but a harsh look from the tall brunette had her face softening.

"she is still your sister kjære, and she needs you. so you need to make things right with her, and with alexia!" ingrid finished as she stood, kissing her girlfriends head as bagheera pawed at mapi for attention, the defender scooping him up onto her lap with a deep sigh.

maybe she had really messed up here.

~

the next day you turned up to training early as usual, lucy was also early and so the two of you spent some time juggling to each other as the rest of your team mates arrivals trickled in.

"so how are you kid?" lucy asked, sending you a smile as you shrugged, flicking her the ball. "fine." you replied curtly, lucy abandoning any further attempts to coax you into being honest, sensing you were just not in the mood.

after breakfast with your sisters girlfriend yesterday your head was somewhat of a mess. ingrid had always been nothing but kind to you the entire time you'd known her, and had been easily welcomed into the family with open arms.

everyone saw the way she cared for your sister and the way your sister cared for her, in fact you probably spent just as much time with the norweigein as you did with your sister. the two of you shared a lot of common hobbies, hanging a lot one on one much to mapi's constant whining about being left out.

but her thin veil of tolerance for shopping only lasted so long, and so she was content to leave the two of you to your little bonding days. hours spent flitting from store to store, always returning to her home and showing her what you both bought as you'd stay for dinner and a movie.

so catching up with the tall brunette had been nice, and she had a way with her words that had you opening up to her for the first time about everything that happened, revealing exactly what was said and how it left you actually feeling.

ingrid had of course tried to coax you into coming back home with her to speak with your sister, assuring she would be there with you and would not allow you to be spoke to like that again. but you weren't ready, and she was not going to push you.

though it seemed she must have said something to your sister, as once the final whistle for training blew and you hung back for some extra shooting drills with sandra, you noticed mapi speaking with alexia.

you tried not to pay it any mind, the two walking away from everyone together clearly not speaking tactics for tomorrows game as they made sure they had no audience within earshot for their conversation.

after around a half hour sandra called it quits, patting you on the back for your efforts and retreating into the change rooms. you did some juggling for a moment to clear your head before you picked up the ball, also deciding you were done for the day.

though as you turned around you couldn't help but notice alexia and your sister walking back toward the few members of staff who were left, arms slung around one another and laughing at something, together.

the sight made your blood boil and you felt yet another knife stab you in the back.

the thought that neither of them were willing to apologize and try harder to fix things with you but were now best friends again as if your sister hadn't all but denounced their bond just a couple of weeks ago made you sick to your stomach.

so with a shake of your head you dropped the ball in your hands by the bag of them and stormed off back into the training facility. entering the change rooms there were only a few of your team mates left, most having left for the day already to rest up before the match tomorrow.

ingrid noticed your mood was off right away, glancing up from her phone as she waited for her girlfriend, watching carefully as your shoulders hunched over and you were quick to pack your things up.

normally you'd always shower before you left like a ritual, usually one of the last to leave because of this. so for you to be trying to exit as quick as possible she knew something was off.

pina who was sat at the locker next to you also noticed, frown forming on the younger girls face seeing you wipe away a few angry tears. "hey amiga what-" you shook your head furiously, cutting her words short and pushing away her hand which softly grabbed at your wrist.

ingrid stood to make a move toward you but was cut off as laughter sounded around the change rooms and the two causes of your bad mood entered, alexia shoving mapi for something she said as the shorter girl swung at her playfully, the two chattering away in spanish with large grins on their faces.

that was enough for you.

you slammed your locker closed with a force so hard you were surprised it didn't break, the loud bang causing everyone present to jump and look toward you in shock.

you zipped up your kit bag and pulled on a hoodie, slinging your bag over your shoulder and again brushing off pina who tried to speak with you.

having seen alexia and your sister had clearly made up and left you behind in their apologies your erratic out of character aggression all made sense now to ingrid who looked at you with a pained wince, understanding exactly why this would have hurt you further.

"hey hermana-" mapi grabbed you by the bicep as you tried to dart by you, holding you beside her with a frown. you pushed her off and sent both her and alexia a murderous glare, storming off out of the change rooms as mapi looked to her girlfriend with raised eyebrows.

ingrid sighed and beckoned her over to explain, knowing that if something didn't change soon things would only get worse.

~

on advice from her girlfriend to allow you some space to cool off, your sister waited until after the match before she approached you to try and talk.

alexia on the other hand without advice from anyone and worry for you growing with every day that passed that you refused to speak to her properly, did not.

you looked up from the floor as someone tapped your shoulder, pulling your headphones down to your neck with a cold stare up at the tall blonde stood in front of you.

"can we talk please?" alexia requested quietly, nodding for you to follow her as she lead you out of the change rooms and into one of the unoccupied recovery rooms.

"yes capitana?" you asked calmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you awaited what she had to say. "how are you?" alexia started, closing the door and moving in front of it, effectively blocking your exit with her own body.

"fine. but we have a match to prepare for if you are finished?" you replied impatiently, tapping your foot as the cold stare never dropped, making alexia's stomach tie itself into knots.

"cariño please i-"

"don't." you warned, feeling like someone squeezed your heart at the familiar term of endearment, something she no longer had any right to call you. "you need to remember to be professional with your teammates, capitana." you spoke bluntly, raising your chin as the older girl sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"when are you going to drop this? just because we are no longer together does not give you the right to ignore me and act like a stubborn child." alexia warned, tone shifting causing you to scoff at her words.

"i am simply treating you as you treat a team mate. after all you can't have any problems with your girls, no?" you challenged, clenching your jaw in anger as you threw her words back at her with a bite.

"let me make this very clear alexia." you took a step toward her. "i am no longer someone you have any need to worry about beyond the field. i play well, i score, i work within the team to help us win, thats it." you started.

"unless i require the help or assistance of my captain, i owe you nothing. you left me without even giving me a chance to speak to you about anything, do not forget that." you warned, taking another step closer to her, the taller girl towering over you but you only found in her eyes a hidden fear of your next words to come.

"you acted like a child. you ran away the first moment things got tough. you left me there crying and hurt and alone when i needed you. and then you wait two weeks to speak with me? after you made up with my sister who hurled insults at you and at me in which you made no move at all to defend me." you poked at her chest with every sentence, the older girl allowing you to do so.

"so you do not get to tell me that i have no right to ignore you alexia. i warned you that if you left i would never speak to you again, so don't you dare make out that i am the problem here. you are a coward, i hope you and your best friend are very happy but stay away from me." your voice cracked at the end, betraying the obvious anger in your features as you wiped away a singular tear, shoving past the girl and leaving the small room, and again she made no move to follow after you.

your sisters attempts to fix things after a very successful 6-0 win had been met with the same icy demeanor.

"hermana we need to talk." she'd cornered you as you came out from the showers, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes bore into yours and you sighed, making your way to your locker as she followed.

you didn't grace her with a response, only sat down and began to put your shoes on, mapi taking this as a silent agreement you were going to listen.

not wanting to do this in front of an audience she hovered around waiting for you, disappearing to the bathroom for a moment, frowning deeply when she noticed you'd already left on her return.

"joder!" she cursed under her breath, grabbing her bag quickly and sprinting out to the parking lot hoping she wasn't too late. thankfully for her you'd been cornered yet again though this time by pina and patri who were begging you come out with them tonight.

"the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else amiga!" pina tried, causing patri to frown and punch her rather harshly in the arm for the insensative comment. though the interaction had graced them with a small smile of amusement from you.

"so you will come?" patri begged, clasping her hands together as both girls pouted at you hopefully. "fine!" you agreed begrudgingly, admittedly missing the chance to bond with your team mates and friends with your voluntary self isolation.

both girls hugging you tightly and kissing your cheek you shoved them away playfully, agreeing for patri to pick you up later to assure you couldn't bail out on them.

though as they left and you slid into your car, looking forward to a few hours of time to yourself it seemed the universe had other ideas.

you jumped as someone suddenly opened your passenger door, sliding in and swiftly yanking your keys out of the ignition, your sister slipping them into the side pocket of her backpack and out of your reach.

"give them back and get out maría." you warned, jaw clenched and giving her the most fierce glare you could muster. but your older sister knew you far too well to ever be intimidated by you as she shook her head firmly.

"no, i meant it we need to talk." she started, dropping her backpack by her feet and crossing her arms staring you down. you let out a long and tired groan at the situation, head coming to rest on your steering wheel with a small thump.

"talk then." you waved for her to speak, closing your eyes and resting your head back on the seat, tucking your knees to your chest. "are you going to listen?" your sister asked, raising an eyebrow.

"no but you are welcome to talk." you kept your eyes closed, swearing and smacking her hands away as she pinched you sharply with a warning glare. "sorry i am too stupid to listen. just a selfish little girl who knows nothing!" you spat her own words back at her as she winced.

"you did not listen to me when i tried to talk to you, so why do you suddenly deserve that?" you asked, glaring right back at her unwilling to back down.

"pequeño-" "don't." you warned her at the nickname, causing her to sigh and look up at the roof, thinking about her next words carefully.

"i was very angry and i spoke without thinking. i said some terrible and awful things i didn't mean and i cannot say enough how sorry i am for them. and for pushing you and for yelling at you and not listening, for all of my behavior." she started as you glared out the window beside you, refusing to look at her.

"you know i love you more than anyone hermana, and as your big sister i have always looked out for you because of that. i thought that's what i was doing here and i was wrong, i know now that i don't get to say who you can and cannot love. it doesn't matter who it is, so long as you are happy and treated right thats all that should matter." mapi explained softly, a slight begging present in her tone as you again ignored her and stared out the window.

"what do i have to do to make things up with you? do i have to beg? because i will beg!" your sister warned seriously, clasping her hands together with a pleading look. "please don't." you mumbled with a roll of her eyes.

"i will! i'll do it!" mapi promised seriously and you heard her shifting around beside you. sparing her a glance you saw she had shuffled so that she was on her knees on the car seat, hands clasped together tightly still. "please? please, please, please, please? please, please-" your sister began to repeat over and over.

"ay dios mío. stop it!" your arm reached out to shove her but it did nothing as she continued, repeating the word over and over which grated at you.

"fine! just shut up mapi por favor. and give me my keys back!" you gave in with a groan, burying your face in your hands as she finally ceased her begging.

"i knew that would work." the older girl grinned happily, moving to sit back down as you shot her a glare. "i'm still annoyed with you. this is going to take time and i want to be left alone until i'm ready!" you warned, holding out your hand for your keys which your sister dropped into your palm.

"okay. and i will be right here whenever you're ready, because again hermana i love you, more than anyone." she promised sincerely as you hummed, sticking your key back in the ignition.

"i'm not saying it back, you can get out now." you nodded for her to leave as your sister sighed but understood, leaning over to kiss your cheek before finally leaving.

~

"see! don't you feel better already?" patri grinned, sliding in next to you and handing you a drink. "give me a few of these and we'll see chica." you smiled, clinking your glass against hers as a few more of your team mates arrived.

"how many people did you two ask?" you frowned, leaning in closer to the two girls who'd dragged you out in the first place who shared a look. "everyone." they both answered in sync as you sighed, fearing that would be the answer.

sure enough shortly after did your sister and ingrid arrive, but to your surprise mapi gave you your space, sending you a nod and a small smile before sitting at the other end of the table as ingrid came over to give you a hug.

"i'm proud of you elskling." the taller girl mumbled as she hugged you tightly, rubbing your back and kissing your cheek before joining your sister at the other end.

as another hour ticked by it seemed most of the team was here and you started to relax, assuming it was now far too late for your rule loving anti mid season drinking ex girlfriend to bother coming out.

of course though you spoke far too soon as you heard cheers and looked up to see she had arrived, dragging her younger sister along with her. or rather it would seem alba had dragged her here given the obvious look of displeasure on alexia's face.

she made no move to greet you which you were grateful for, hovering down the other end of the table. alba on the other hand sat herself right next to you, slinging her arms over both you and pina with a grin.

"vamos chicas! i think i have some catching up to do, no?" the younger putellas stole your drink, downing it with a wink as you couldn't help but smile.

despite your burning anger at her sister you couldn't find it in your heart to be mad at alba, the two of you had always gotten along well even if she was also none the wiser to your dating history with alexia.

and you were determined to have a good night, it was what you deserved.

"come on amiga, it's time to dance!" several drinks later and alba had grabbed your hands, dragging you along with her to where half of the team was already on the dance floor.

"hey chica, she's hot!" the younger putellas whistled as she spun you around and pointed to a tall brunette who was very clearly making eyes at you a few feet away.

"vamos amiga off you go!" alba suddenly shoved you in her direction when you did not expect it, your state of intoxication causing you to stumble as the brunette grabbed at you. "hola." she grinned down at you, helping you to steady yourself.

though they may not have been sincere pina's words from earlier echoed around your head. this girl was hardly unattractive, in fact as your taste in women went she really was exactly who you'd normally be drawn to.

glancing over her shoulder you saw alba, patri and aitiana gesturing for you to dance with her with eager grins as you shook your head. "lo siento, my friends can be...forceful in their wing womaning." you smiled causing the girl to let out a laugh.

as the two of you began to dance together and the alcohol rose to your head, your hesitations faded and you started to relax, grinding a little more into her and allowing the tall stranger whose name you were still yet to learn become a little more intimate in her touches, allowing her to kiss you a few times but pulling away before they became anything more.

what you failed to notice was two hazel eyes locked on you from across the room, alexia burning with a fierce jealousy that she knew she had no right to.

"hey ale, you alright?" lucy asked quietly from beside her, having noticed what the captain was staring so intently at. "fine." alexia mumbled, eyes still locked on you as now your sister took notice of what she was looking at.

though with a belly full of tequila and ingrid distracted in conversation with sandra and keira, there was no one to filter her next words. "ay capitana! stop staring and go get your girl then." mapi grinned drunkenly, lucy cringing at her words.

but if alexia heard them she made no move to acknowledge it, though it seemed she had as she suddenly stood, grabbing her bag and her keys ignoring lucy's attempts to stop her.

"should we get out of here bonita?" the girl murmured in your ear, her hand already having slipped just up the inside of your dress. "let me just go to the bathroom and we can leave." you grinned, kissing her cheek as she let you go, your friends watching on carefully as you stumbled away.

alba went to go after you, having just agreed with patri that you'd had your fun and a dance with the tall brunette but were too drunk to be leaving with her right now.

but as she saw a flash of blonde follow after you she turned back to the girls with a shrug, assuming her sister would take care of you instead.

you did your business and stood, the room spinning slightly as you shook your head, fixing your dress and kicking the stall door open. but as you right away saw the all too familiar figure leant against the counter clearly waiting for you, you scoffed and rolled your eyes which wasn't lost on alexia.

you chose to ignore her as she called your name, moving to wash your hands and take a moment to breathe, your head still spinning slightly as you'd stood too quickly.

"take a picture it'll last longer capitana." you snapped to the blonde who wouldn't cease staring at you, twirling her keys around her finger as she did, causing an irritating jingle to echo repeatedly around the bathroom.

"you can wave goodbye to your friend, we're leaving." alexia stated firmly, grabbing your wrist as you tried to move past her toward the door. "you wish." you laughed bitterly, trying to pull away as her grip only tightened. "let go of me." you spoke through gritted teeth in warning.

"no. you can hardly walk, i am taking you home before you do something stupid." alexia shook her head at your current state. "the only stupid thing i did was think you were capable of loving me, now let go of me alexia!" you spat venomously, unable to filter your words in your intoxicated state, a slight slur to them.

"it is because i love you that i will not let you go home with someone who couldn't care less about you and only wants to take advantage of you, you're too drunk to consent to anything. so we are leaving, now!" the catalan growled, both of your heads turning sharply to look to the bathroom door as it swung open.

"what is going on in here?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part four

[p1utofairy]

PICK A CARD: “when i look into your eyes, i know it's real.”

★ which romantic tropes will you and your fp embody?

DISCLAIMER: 18+ mature themes. take what resonates leave what doesn’t. this was such a cute idea – thanks for requesting this anon. 💞 i hope you all enjoy!

— PILE ONE.

tropes → star-crossed lovers, forbidden love & opposites attract.

there’s a distinct polarity in you and your fp’s personalities & backgrounds, pile 1. you’re more reserved, cautious and patient and they’re more free-spirited and spontaneous. they say whatever they want and deal with the consequences later; this isn’t in a bad way either, i’m more so picking up that they like to stand up and fight for what’s right. they could be an activist of some sort. they’re confident and brave, and you’re really going to admire that. as far as finances go, this person has MONEY, like big money! they either come from money or they are in a profession that pays extremely well and that’s where i see the forbidden love trope coming in to play.

remember how allie in ‘the notebook’ comes from a wealthy, privileged background, while noah is portrayed as more working-class? the contrast in their backgrounds and personalities added depth to their relationship and created a lot of tension and conflict, but ultimately it made their love story more compelling and dynamic – that’s what i see here with you and your fp. you’re tired of over-working yourself for low pay and working jobs that don’t fulfill you financially, mentally and emotionally. you feel stuck…wondering when things are going to change. i see someone looking out of a window in a house, there’s a strong sense of longing and their eyes look sad. they’re waiting for someone or something to arrive, but when? you’ve been telling yourself to keep going and keep pushing through, and then you will see progress and reward in the long run – very saturn/saturnian energy.

it’s interesting because you’re looking for a way out of your situation and your person is looking for an adventure. your fp is very comfortable financially, but they’re lacking in their love life. right now they’re very much single and they’re fine with that, but that fiery energy that burns inside them can’t be dimmed for long. when they cross paths with you they’re gonna be awestruck like “whoa! who is that?” lol. your fp might have some sagittarius/fire sign placements, or they just carry themselves very pompous and matter-of-fact, which might throw you off at first. that’s why i was also picking up on that opposites attract trope because princess belle & the beast from ‘beauty and the beast’ immediately came to mind. belle loved her books and independence, which was a stark contrast with the beast’s initial gruff and hot-tempered nature. you might think they’re a bit arrogant at first, but once you get to know them you’ll understand that there’s layers to them.

their family plays a big part in their life, which ties into the forbidden love trope because i’m ngl their family lowkey can be a lot to handle. as i said before, some of your fps come from money so some of their families might be a little snooty and strict like allie’s mom from ‘the notebook’ but i think with patience and time – you and your fp will learn to not give a f*ck what their family or anybody else thinks. this relationship is destined and you’re meant to show each other the different aspects/complexities of life and love. the energy is very reminiscent of mr. darcy and elizabeth from ‘pride and prejudice’ like remember how much longing and yearning it took for them to finally be together?! it was sooooooo worth it.

additional messages → wealthy, 2 years from now, ego, aries, very lowkey, the blackest day by lana del rey & cultural differences.

— PILE TWO.

tropes → second chance & age gap.

your fp is dominant af, pile 2. they possess everything within reach, and they’re admired by many. you may establish boundaries with them from the very beginning and they will respect that, they value you and wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt you. however, despite the love, passion, and devotion that will be present in this relationship, there will also be a need for compromise. it seems that this relationship will fulfill your hopes and dreams, but it will also come with its share of responsibilities. in the early stages, both you and your fp will feel a strong urge to make your relationship official and commit to each other. whatever you need or want – they will provide for you. you may not have expected to fall for them, but you couldn’t fight the obvious chemistry between you two. i picked up on the age gap trope mainly because they have provider energy. for some of you, they might already have a kid/kids? your energy feels a little bit more flighty and young. you like to be in your own personal space most of the time, and not everyone understands that, but your fp will.

actually, i think the idea of compromise i was picking up on earlier has to do with your personal space. you might be a bit of an introvert and the idea of constantly entertaining someone 24/7 and not having a moment for yourself is a bit jarring to you. now i’m not saying this person is taking your autonomy away, what i’m saying is that there has to be some sort of balance with the give and take in this connection. it’s reminding me of olivia pope and fitz from ‘scandal’ like one minute he’s showing her the house he had built for them in vermont and then the next scene she’s crying that she needs space and they can’t be together – like OLIVIA what’s it gonna be?! it’s like your heart is saying yes but your mind is saying no.

you’re gonna have to use your discernment and figure out if this is what you want – true commitment. it’s gonna take trust and dedication to make this work, pile 2. it might get to a point where y’all take a break and you choose to see someone else, and then you realize how much of a greater difference your fp makes in your life. they’re your home. that's the second chance trope coming into play. wow, pile 2. this is a very dynamic and complex relationship, but that’s what keeps you two going and loving each other through thick and thin.

additional messages → infrunami by steve lacy, you will meet through friends, extremely dedicated, workaholic, ass kisser, there’s someone in your inner circle you need to cut off, moving abroad, younger sibling & love drought by beyoncé.

— PILE THREE.

tropes → high school sweethearts & enemies to lovers.

your fp is the life of the party, pile 3…sometimes to a fault lol. they’re capable of being responsible and making good decisions, but sometimes they just say f*ck it and wild out. they can be impulsive and unpredictable at times which is quite the opposite from you. i’m picturing haley and nathan from ‘one tree hill’ and kat and patrick from ‘10 things i hate about you’ AND no by meghan trainer just randomly started playing in my head. i’m honestly so amused by this energy cause you’re like “nope! you’re not gonna fuck my life up.” being all dramatic 🤭 and they’re like “what?! me? i would never!” lol there’s gonna be a lot of witty banter between you both. your friends are gonna encourage you to just give them a chance, cause it’s obvious that you do like them — you just can’t stand how “friendly” they are.

your fp is extroverted as hell and loves a good social outing, whereas you on the other hand, rather curl up in bed with a good book or binge-watch your favorite shows/movies in the comfort of your own home. there’s this energy of “been there, done that.” the party scene just isn’t it for you anymore, and you’re content with that. this connection will really help your fp mature and get more in tune with their emotions, instead of masking them behind reckless behavior and nonchalance. that high school sweethearts trope really comes through strongly, not in the sense that y’all are actually in high school, but that nathan & haley vibe – that puppy love! once y’all are together, nobody can tell y’all shit. you and your fp will RIDE for each other.

nathan and haley definitely had their ups and downs, but they always found a way to make it work once they put their egos aside. haley brought out a side of nathan that nobody else got to experience but her. sometimes butting heads is necessary, it helps you confront things within yourself that you don’t always want to acknowledge. you’re so nurturing pile 3, you bring water to their fire. i don’t see you immediately jumping into this relationship, but that’s the beauty of it. that’s where the enemies to lovers trope kicks in, you’ll have to warm up to them first before you truly understand who they are at the core. your fp is used to fast-pace, hot n’ heavy, fleeting relationships but this is stable. this is pure. they’ll realize you can’t rush true love like this, it’s the journey and build-up that makes it so magical.

additional messages → 1st house placements, sagittarius, very soon, get out of your head, nice and slow by usher & family feud.

— PILE FOUR.

tropes → friends to lovers & forced proximity.

your fp has very high-energy, pile 4. i feel out of breath like i just got done doing 8 different tasks at once lol they might be very athletic or they just like to keep themselves busy. you and your fp are opposites, but the more you get to know each other, you will begin to realize that you have a lot in common – i’m hearing that you two will have a lot to talk about. sometimes you might find yourself holding back from saying things that you want to say in fear of judgement but with this person that anxiety goes out the window. they want to hear your thoughts and ideas, because they truly value your wisdom and knowledge on certain topics that they might not have been aware of. i’m hearing that they want to know your lore lol this is too cute. maybe you’re really into movies? marvel? fashion? idk there’s something very specific that you could go on and on about for hours and hours.

that’s why i picked up on that friends to lovers trope because i feel like they will show immediate interest in you and want to pursue something more, but you’ll be like WOAH hold it there…let’s build on this and see where it can go, no rush. i’m ngl pile 4 they might have a bit of a reputation or vibe of being a player…which will make you hesitant as to whether or not you want to take this seriously. i don’t even think you two normally run in the same circles – this is more like a chance meeting. yup here goes that forced proximity trope, you’ll probably meet them in some sort of unconventional way and be “forced” to spend time together.

you and your fp kind of remind me of holly and eric from ‘life as we know it’ which is a very underrated but amazing rom-com. i don’t think you’ll initially hate them per se, you’ll just be a bit cautious of them and wonder if they’re actually being genuine. however, by spending time with your fp, you will develop a deeper understanding and appreciation for them; which will then lead to you falling for them and establishing a close bond. you two might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot and then after a proper conversation with them you’ll be like: huh…you’re not so bad after all. there’s this flirty energy that comes in the form of sly/sarcastic remarks, and you’ll come to realize that it’s their own way of saying “i really like you.” it’s giving 2000s rom-com lol hot n cold by katy perry just came to mind.

the sexual tension between you two will be palpable, your friends will be like just f*ck already!!! this relationship will have it’s fair share of ups and downs, but that’s what will make it worth fighting for; nothing and no one is perfect and you will learn that in this relationship. no one could ever compare to you in your fp’s eyes – they will always have love for you even in the moments where you two don’t see eye to eye. the difference in you and your fp’s personalities will be what draws you two together even more.

additional messages → jealousy, jealousy by olivia rodrigo, lots of traveling, you manifested this, different lifestyles but we’ll make it work, your angel guides got your back & when one door closes, another one opens.

[eveningepiphany]

go with it | H.S oneshot

my masterlist!

summary: your ex boyfriend— someone you never want to talk to again— is searching for you at a party. trying to do anything to deter him or get away, you spot harry, and a plan comes to fruition.

warnings: cheating ex, surprise kiss, sexual tension, partial mentions of sexual stuff, love/hate relationship, protective! h, fluff, cuddling and lots of kissing

a/n: I’m sorry but this gif actually has me in a chokehold. his jawline, his chewing, his FROWN. literally melting 🫠

———

There was never a day you thought you’d be b-lining to Harry of all people.

Especially not with the intention of once getting there, that you would be slamming your lips against his.

However, you already know you’d rather face a pit of blood-thirsty snakes then be forced into a conversation with your asshole of an ex boyfriend.

Who you know is currently seeking you out, because when you’d caught glimpse of him scouring the groups of people inside the kitchen, after coming back from the bathroom— your stomach dropped, and someone tapped your shoulder.

“He’s your ex, right?” The girl had said this with a light scrunch of her nose as she looked over to him. Her face riddled with a sense of disgust you couldn’t relate to more If you tried.

You had nodded, to which she replied, “Well, he’s asking everyone if you’re here and where you are. Going by his personality I’m assuming you’re gonna want to avoid that.”

You’d never wanted to hug someone more then her in that moment.

At the information she’d so kindly shared with you, your first priority was getting out of the house.

The front door wasn’t an option since he is near the only hallway that leads it it. So out through the back patio, where a smaller group of people were mingling by the fire, was easily your best option.

You knew this was where he’d be likely looking next, so you ran out the door. Unsure if you are about to just find a way to jump the fence and make your escape or…

Either way, you knew if he managed to talk to you, you’d be getting an unwanted earful of advances.

He’d beg with his nasally voice for you to give him a chance, and then go on about the same bitter ending you’d both faced. To his own fault, of course.

He was talking to multiple other girls over the damn state while you were together. And once you found out, it confirmed your outlook on his person.

He of course was charming and nice at first. But it was almost in a sleazy way when you think back to it. He’d yelled at you when you bought up his adulterous habits, and you never looked back after that.

Once you were outside, you were considering your options, but you spotted a person on the other side of the decking.

The second your eyes locked on Harry, it was a done deal.

If you were to seem like you were in another relationship, he would be much more likely to back off. Much more likely to never contact or try to find you again.

He was petrified of other men. Always felt so inferior around them. So this would be perfect, if you could just make it work.

All your past with him fell from the forefront of your mind as you practically ran in his direction. Maybe you had argued countless times over college projects and he could be a bit of an ass, but you still knew you could trust him.

He was leaned against the wooden beam of the patio, skin casted with a warm glow from the fire a few feet away, down on the grass.

He had a signature frown. One that creased between his brows and pouted his pink lips. Creating his almost intimidating persona. Protective in a perfect way.

“Harry.” You state frantically, moving at a pace you’re not used to, shoes hitting the wooden decking hastily.

His scowl deepened as he heard his name, being pulled from his intense train of thought.

“What—” He looks honestly pissed off, but when his gaze snaps to you, it softens a tiny bit. Still annoyed, but just a sliver less.

Also confused at your frantic and rapidly approaching frame, which is now suddenly breaching the usual metre-wide distance you both would maintain on any other day.

“Y/N? What are you—“

You plant your hands on the side of his face, and the look of surprise in his eyes is evident.

His cheeks are warm and smooth under your palms, “I need you to just go with this okay? Can you do that for me?”

He is struggling to make sense of the situation, let alone get a sentence out without being interrupted.

“What do you—“

“I— I’ll explain later just—“ you take a final glance over your shoulder, and see your ex inside still, but seemingly headed for the sliding door to come outside.

This drives the final surge of adrenaline you need to tug his face to yours, melding your lips together. His are puckered in tense shock, and a noise of surprise sounds from the back of his throat.

His hands jump to your hips, gripping them like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer, or push you away.

Your mouth moves against his, and he reciprocates with a sense of hesitation.

His own brain is in absolute overdrive. The interaction far to short to go from being people who merely tolerate one another to people who are currently kissing.

And somewhere inside of him he acknowledges the feeling of how warm your lips are pressed to his.

He senses your urgency now though, hands tensing around his jaw at the sound of the access door getting slid open.

Parting his lips, he impulsively drags his tongue over your bottom lip. You sigh a sound of almost gratefulness at his action.

Harry turns his body swiftly, pressing your back into the railing, his lips moving harder against yours.

“Y/N! Are you bloody out here?” A grating voice sounds, and he quickly picks up the pieces of the story he was missing.

The voice also pulls him out of the half trance he’d gotten himself in. Your mouth so warm, he genuinely forgot his own name for a second.

One of your hands slide down to the neck of his black shirt, securing it in an anxious grip.

The pace quickly picks up, him plastering himself to you as close as physically possible. Clashing mouths as he shadows your body with his.

“Oi, mate!” He ignores the yell, and is met with the footsteps of this guy coming closer.

“Have you seen—“

Harry pulls from your mouth, turning his head to look at the dickhead who you’re clearly attempting to get away from. And who just hypothetically interrupted someone’s makeout session— which is just fucking rude anyway.

“Do I look like I have?” Harry scowls, an angry tone over his voice.

The guy frowns, an ugly look casting upon his features, he steps closer, “No need to be a fucking di—“

He moved just close enough to see you, frowning, making sense that you were just essentially making out with someone, “Y/N I—“

“Can you fuck off? We’re in the middle of something here, that you’ve just so kindly interrupted. Read the room you twat.” His sentences come out harsh, and it’s clear he means it.

Your ex tries his luck a final time, “look I just want to talk with—“

And Harry interjects it again, “She’s not interested.”

You stay quiet, and at this he gets a disgusted look. It appalls you that he thinks you owe him anything.

There’s a stare down between the two men. But you can see in his face he’s intimidated. Also humiliated, that you’ve seemingly moved on with someone else, and that he’s clearly got no shot at winning you back.

“Fucking ass.” He hisses, and turns around, storming down the patio and back inside.

Harry turns back to you, shielding your frame with his. A sigh of relief passes through you.

You look a little shaken up, and he loosens the grip he has on you slightly. Both your lips still puffed and shining from the exchange you unexpectedly shared.

“Thank you…” you pant out, not sure if you’re out of breath from the situation or because of Harry.

The reality of what just happened comes pelting down on you both.

And it’s quiet a moment as you both clock over in your brains that you just practically made out. It takes a second for him to break the silence,

“So, stalker? Ex? Random guy who can’t take no for an answer?” He quizzes.

Feeling embarrassed, you purse your lips— but are able to to taste the remnants of his own mouth on yours. “Ex.”

“Ex?”

You nod.

“You sound surprised. Didn’t you think I could land anyone?” You scoff, trying desperately to bring back the usual snarky vibe between the two of you.

“No, not at all. Just that he was clearly batting above his level. He was a proper dickhead, and that’s rich when it’s compared to you.” You thank god he plays back into your banter.

But he pries further, “What exactly did he do to you?”

“Long story.” You attempt to brush it off, but he has none of it.

“Love, y’just came over here and slammed your bloody mouth over mine, and now you’re not going to tell me why?”

“But—“

“No,” he interrupts, still very close to you as he shakes his head, “No buts. Y’said you’d explain after.”

A sigh rattles out of you, feeling a little pathetic you’re telling Harry you got cheated on.

“He cheated on me. Like with multiple girls.”

To this, his face immediately drops.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

He fights the overwhelming urge to go hunt him down and lay a hand into the side of his fucking face. An absolute scumbag.

“What a pathetic excuse for a man.” He scoffs, “Lucky to have even got a pretty girl like you, and he blew it.”

You flush, another brief wave of quiet falling over the two of you. His compliments throwing you.

You quietly speak again, “I’m sorry about the… kiss. Didn’t really get as much consent as I’d have liked.”

You did feel guilty, you don’t usually go forcing your mouth onto unsuspecting men.

“No, it’s okay. You did it for a reason.” He shakes his head at your apology, and in all honesty, he enjoyed it.

Somehow it meant more than many of his others have. And he can’t quite pinpoint why.

“I… I carpooled here so, I think I’m gonna call an Uber and go home ‘cause…”

You had no interest in sticking around, incase your ex comes back— and you don’t want to spend the rest of your night glued to Harry’s side, because you doubt he’d want that.

“You’re not catching an Uber home.” He scoffs aloud, fishing his keys from his back pocket, “I’ve only had one drink, I’ll be fine to drive, so I’ll take you.”

“Harry, no. You’ve already done plenty for me tonight, I’ll be fine—“

He grabs at your hand, lacing them together and beginning to walk you down the patio.

“I’m driving you home.” He states, leading the you inside.

He clutched your hand tight, eyes forward and uncaring of the heads that had turned your way.

You on the other hand had burned up at the curious— and quickly jealous— eyes.

Harry was by no means a whore. There were plenty of rumours of him sleeping with certain girls. Mostly outlandish stories that eventually fizzled out to nothing.

He’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but it’d been a while since. And he’s maybe had one actual fling over the last couple months.

It just seemed he was harder to get. And many women tried their luck around the school. Yet to no avail.

You cast your sight down, walking behind him out the front door. Relishing in the quiet surroundings of the front lawn, free of prying glares.

He unlocked his car that was parked on the side of the road, and he opens the side door for you to get in. Chivalry mustn’t be dead.

Once you’re both in the car, you fight the urge to say again that he really doesn’t have to take you, because it’s clear there is no other option on his end.

So instead, you let out a tiny thank you, and he nods while starting the car.

However, your self restraint only branches so far— matter-of-fact, you weren’t even out of the street— before you blurt out, “Everyone was staring.”

He veers his gaze momentarily to you, then flicking it back to the road. Silence stretches a moment, and he recalls the heat of your lips pressed to yours with no real prompt.

And when he thinks of it, the image doesn’t leave his head. It unwillingly transpires, into something that bubbles into the pit of his stomach.

He had to blink it away, grounding himself when he hears your nervous swallow.

“I— what?” He’s confused at what you mean, while you kissed? When you walked out?

“When we walked out.” You reply, and he makes sense of what you’re talking about.

“People will always stare. They’re nosey.”

“I know.”

There’s another breath of silence, until he laughs, so suddenly that it almost makes you jump.

“Where am I going?” He asks, still chuckling as he realises he’s literally just driving aimlessly.

“Oh.” You sputter out a laugh as well, rattling off the side of town he needs to start driving to.

You wish you had more to say to him. That’s conversation usually flowed easily— filled with the sarcastic retorts it usually is. But now all that sat between you was a thick, hot slab of tension.

It wasn’t bad— not by any means— but it was easy to tell both of you were stuck in your own head. And you fear you’ve fashioned a permanent problem between the two of you.

Your voice only cut through the quiet once you were a few blocks away from your house.

He hummed acknowledgements to your each set of directions, and before you knew it, you were pointing out your house to him.

As his car pulled to a stop in the driveway, he didn’t hesitate to turn off the engine and get out.

Confused, you follow suit anyway, but wondered if he was about to walk you to your door.

And you weren’t wrong. Somehow, the guy who seems hardly like a gentleman, is waiting to walk the maybe 15 steps with you from his car to your front door.

You get your keys from your small bag, looking at him with an undeniably curious gaze as you meet his side.

He follows in sync by your side, hands in pockets. All the way up the patio steps, and he falls to a stop when you do, still next to you.

“Thank you for driving me home…” you smile, and can feel an unwilling red colouring spread over your cheeks.

“Was nothin’. Glad you’re home safe.”

“Were you seriously worried about me?” You frown, yet it’s undeniably endearing his concern for you.

A tiny scoff sounds from him, “Obviously?”

“That fuckin’ twat of an ex you have hardly seems like a good person. And who’s t’say he wouldn’t follow you home from that party and…” he stares off in thought, jaw clenching.

“Harry.” You state, stepping forward, wrapping a single hand around his wrist.

“Thank you.”

His distant gaze was snapped away at your touch. He’s never really considered himself an overly violent person, but your ex was easily about to change that.

And he hardly can pinpoint why. Or not yet.

The only thing he knows he wants to do again in sudden clarity, is kiss you. It almost shocks him, because he hasn’t felt an urge as strong as this in forever.

“Can— I need you to just go with this.” He mutters, being the one now very suddenly invading the gap between you both.

He’s mimicking what you said when you kissed him, yet you don’t realise “I’ll explain later.”

His hand cups the side of your jaw, and he leans to brush his lips against yours, a breath of relief fanning out his nose after finally feeling the contact.

You’re stood on your porch, and Harry is kissing you.

And somehow you’re all the sudden kissing him back.

Not because there’s someone you’re running from. Not because you have to. Because you want to.

He pulls you closer to him, allowing his teeth to graze your lower lip. Causing your hands to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You both play a back and forth game. Full of lips against tongue and tongue against teeth.

Until you’re both panting and running out of new places to map out with your hands.

“Care to explain?” You retort gently, stricken of breath.

He hums in the back of his throat, barley a rumble as he trails his mouth along your jaw, and down to the base of your neck.

“Is this enough of an answer?” He asks, sucking the skin between your two collarbones between his teeth.

Your knees almost give out at the sensation, and even the pressure behind his harsh mouth.

A near whimper comes from you, and he licks over the slightly bruised spot before he pulls back.

He cocks an eyebrow, expectant of your answer, despite having such a skilled mouth you’re pretty sure you forgot your own name for a second there.

“I— yes. That was… plenty.” You nod.

“Did it because I wanted to, and y’have an incredibly hot little mouth.” He provides anyway, a laugh coming from him as he pecks your cheek. All gentle, all loving.

You’re lacking for words completely, and can only lean your head against his broad chest. Unsure what exactly you’ve sparked between the two of you this evening, but simultaneously not caring of the future right now.

“I’m also probably not going to be able to stop thinking about it…” he whispers.

“Stay.” You blurt out, and then clarify a few seconds later, “The night.”

He chuckles at this, “Are you trying to get in bed with me now? Moving very quickly, sweetheart.”

You flush, “Not everything is about sex, you fucking addict.”

“So you were inviting me to stay the night so we could cuddle?”

“I was.” You affirm, despite not being opposed to his idea either.

Grabbing his hand, you lead him to your front door. Unlocking it and making quick work of sneaking him inside without the one of your three lovely housemates hearing.

All the others were luckily out at varying parties, and the only girl still home— Grace— sleeps like a log.

“You seem like a bit of a professional at sneaking people in.” He smirks, kicking his shoes off and leaving them in the corner of your room.

With only the lamp turned on, he’s lit with a warm glow, and he looks beautiful.

“Comes naturally when you live with housemates that are like your best friends. They wanna know everything.” You go to your cupboard, pulling out a jumper to change into.

He watches as you pull it over your head, yet managing to unclip your top and bra off underneath it.

“Impressive.” He nods at your easy change.

“I’m taking my pants off.” You state, “and not in a sexual way, perv.”

He lets out a defensive laugh, “I’m not a perv! You’re the one stripping off.”

You unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs to change over to sweatpants. His gaze strays around your room and you smile at his respectfulness.

Once you’re changed, you sit on the edge of your bed.

You lock eyes, and he gives a sly smile, not waiting to tug his shirt over his head and unbutton his own jeans.

You cover your eyes, sarcastically scoffing, “yea well, I didn’t plan on getting fully naked, but you go right ahead.”

“No different if we went swimming, darling. Still have my underwear on.”

You don’t get to reply as his hands tap your knee, “Budge up.”

You uncover your eyes, being met with his toned chest and calvin klein briefs.

Obliging silently, as he gets under the covers with you. The two of you rearrange until you’re comfortable.

Your head perched on his side as you cuddle into him, arm over his abdomen. His own arm curled underneath you.

“This is… an awfully weird situation we’ve ended up in.” You laugh. Because you’re cuddling in your bed right now, and if you told yourself even yesterday that would be happening, there no way in hell you would have taken it seriously.

“Guess it is.” He shrugs, turned his head to look down at yours.

“Still hate your guts.” You whisper.

“Mm, i don’t think I ever even hated you.” He muses.

You laugh, “Is that so?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “you’re too pretty. And even though you’re annoying, and can’t admit when you get a project question wrong, i think I have a little bit of a soft spot for you.”

“Gross.” You say, but he can hear in your tone— and the way it nearly shakes— that you actually are a little worked up over his minor confession.

“Cmon, you can’t even admit you like me a tiny bit?”

You shake your head, blushing profusely as you try to hide it.

He tugs you further up, so he can look at you properly, “You’re blushing though. Like you always seem to do when I get a bit sappy. Which is my most recent observation of you.”

He doesn’t let you respond as he presses another kiss to your lips again. And you smile into it unwillingly.

He pulls away mid-kiss, letting you whine a little at the abrupt ending to it.

“Admit it, and we can keep kissing.” He says, and it draws an eye-roll from you.

But he somehow knows it will work, because you quickly crack under his ultimatum, “Fine! Yes. I like you— just a little bit.”

To your response he laughs, murmuring against your lips, “I’ll take it, I suppose.”

He presses another kiss against you, and you press back again.

It becomes another makeout session, but despite being the third one of the night, it’s the first time hands can skate against mostly bare skin.

Which his own palms find their way under your jumper, and one cups gently at your breast, flicking over your nipple while his tongue dips into your mouth.

That’s as far as it goes for tonight though.

He kneads the flesh there softly, until you’re panting into his mouth with a heat budding between your legs.

Somehow there’s an unspoken not tonight agreement.

And you know that despite how needy you feel for him, it’s definitely for the best. And you’re still shocked you made it this far with him.

You roll into him further, chest rising and falling quickly as you sigh out to him, “I lied.”

“When?” He sounds completely unconcerned, despite your risky sentence starter.

“Before, when I said I only liked you a little bit.”

He chuckles at your response, “How was that a lie, hm?”

“I like you more than a little bit.”

“You’re sweet, darling.” He strokes his thumb against your ribcage, “so do I.”

To this you smiled. Eyes growing heavy at his rhythmic touches and soothing voice.

And his gentle words are the last that you hear before you fall asleep against his chest.

Both filled with a warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.

———

[liveontelevision]

Hi! I wasnt exactly sure if you’re taking request but i was hoping for something with Lucifer and a babysitter reader. Maybe they baby sat Charlie, and they just have a lot of tension. And then maybe them reuniting after him and lilith have split and it all goes down 👀

Love your slowburny Lucifer fics 🙏🙏

!!!

First off, thank you! I'm really glad you enjoy my stuff! I've been struggling with writing recently, so your request was perfectly timed lol

Also Yes! I'm always taking requests!

Plus, it's such a good request.. so good, I had way too many ideas for how it could go. So - this is a 2 parter >:) Suffer

CW: No smut yet, just suggestive fluff for now

Suffer | Lucifer x Reader

It really was a happy day in Hell when the royals introduced an heir to the throne. A darling daughter, who was the first of her kind; A hellborn baby, birthed by a sinner and an archangel. No one really knew what to expect or what kind of powers she held. But they had to be immense. She had to be some kind of beast, based on her genes alone. In theory. 

One look at her, all swaddled up in her mother's arms, Lucifer fell in love all over again. Sure, he was ecstatic to hear that he was having a child, but he didn't realize how much of an effect she’d have on him. She was an absolute angel. Mostly. Great powers must be controlled, and that isn't exactly something an infant can comprehend. It was innocent at first, with little fireworks coming from fingertips, toys being lost in portals, and horns and tails emerging during temper tantrums. Nothing a good nanny couldn't fix. 

That’s what Lillith’s mindset was, at least. It was a heated debate between the married couple, with Lucifer arguing a child needs to be loved and adored by their parents. He was willing to put in the time, why wasn't she? Of course, Lilith was a busy demon, with the whole empowering demonkind with her voice and songs thing, but too busy to handle her own baby?

“She’s gonna be an adult before we know it. Can’t you spend a few decades seeing her grow up..?” Lillith delicately takes her cutlery to her mouth, picking at the dinner she shared with her husband, who was seated on the other end of their lengthy table.

“Unlike you, my love, I have duties to attend to. Someone has to keep things running smoothly, to keep every demon’s hopes as high as they can be. You remember what it was like falling, being all alone and left in an unfamiliar world? I wouldn't want anyone else to feel that way. Would you?” He hated to agree, but did so anyway. She always knew what to say to make him feel guilty. Either way, she was right. He really didn't do much nowadays. He worked in his shop more, his newborn daughter becoming a great source of inspiration, but Lillith handled most of the publicity. Which, in Hell, is one of the only purposes for royalty. Lucifer didn't need to create life anymore, Hellborn creations were multiplying just fine. Probably a little too much, actually. He had all the free time in the world to shower his daughter with affection. 

“ I mean..! I guess not, but they're filthy little demons, and this is your daughter! You want to leave her in the hands of some stranger? It’s just.. not right..! She needs a mother, Lily!” He was clearly passionate about this. Slamming his fists on the table, he sent ripples through the poured wine in front of Lillith’s plate.

“Lucifer. You’re causing a scene.” He hated when she said that, too. And again, he shrunk back in his seat, keeping his mouth shut. They had been drifting apart for a while, the distance not doing them any favors. He had no interest in interacting with demonkind and was fully comfortable with letting Lillith take that on, so they became more distant as she tended to Hell’s growing population.

When she rose from her seat, he finally perked up, hoping to meet her eyes. She was already halfway out of the room. “I’ll do all the work, darling, not to worry. I’ll make sure any candidate is thoroughly interviewed and trained, I promise.” Her voice was reassuring, even with the heartless subject matter. Leaving Lucifer alone in the room with some imps that usually stand along the walls, he spotted her almost untouched plate. pushing away from the table, he nearly knocked his heavy, ornamented chair onto the ground and left through another exit.

—

“Oh, Charlie.. Your mother loves you very much.” He swung the bundled-up baby in his arms, reveling in the sound of her giggles. Pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, he placed her carefully in her golden crib. Standing over her, he leaned onto the railing, watching her large red eyes flutter shut. “And.. I will shelter and adore you, sweetheart. I love you, more than anything.” He wiped a little tear that began to well up in his eye when he spoke and struggled to finally pull himself away. Protecting himself from his intrusive thoughts, he held his arms across his chest and turned to leave her nursery.

“Aww, that was so sweet..” The figure leaning in the doorframe caused him to let out a startled yelp. “Who the Hell.. You have to leave, whoever you are.” He became immediately defensive, holding his hand away from the crib in some form of protection, but he still spoke in a hushed voice. If you were just an imp he wouldn't be as worked up, but you were a sinner. A sinner who suddenly appeared in his daughter’s room. “O-oh! Um, sorry, I thought the queen would’ve.. I’m your new nanny..?” You let out a nervous chuckle, shrugging your tensed shoulders. And now? You’re admitting you're the very demon who’ll be raising his daughter alongside him. He dropped his arms, letting out a scoff, clearly unenthused. Looking you up and down, he stood there staring daggers. After a moment of awkward silence, you held out your hand to shake his, but he didn’t respond to it.

“What are your qualifications? Where did you come from? What makes you think you’re worthy of laying hands on my daughter? The princess of Hell?” He circled you, in an attempt to intimidate you, despite his small stature. “Well, um... When I was alive, I was the oldest kid at the foster house I grew up in. It wasn’t the best facility, so I basically raised most of the girls there.. I’ve seen it all, I guarantee.” You tried to lighten the mood with a quick smile, but it didint do much. “And Lillith approves of you?” You nodded, gripping the hem of your skirt nervously. “Hm. I am not as easily swayed as my wife. She’s my daughter, too. You’ll have to do better than - “ An ear-piercing wale comes from behind him. The commotion must've woken Charlie up. “Oh! No no nono..” His demonic presence faded to reveal what he really was. A father. He scooped her up and cooed, hushing her and swaying her slowly. It did nothing to help. That’s when another fact clicked in your mind; he wasn’t just a father, he was a new father. He lets out a nervous groan, wiping tears away from her heated cheeks.

“Your majesty..?” You slowly approached him, both of you still on edge. “May I?” He was clearly still debating the idea, but another loud wail had him hesitantly passing the swaddled child to your arms. He had such a light hold on her, you noticed his hands trembling when he finally released her into your grasp. You held her close, her front against your chest as you hummed in a low tone a little tune. You picked up a little trick, the vibrations from your chest helped calm her down. The action of swaying the baby and engrossing yourself in the little song running through your head actually calmed the both of you. You still spoke softly, in a low tone, “Thank you, sir. For trusting me with her, i mean. I’ll be here for anything you need. Anything she needs.” You sent him a warm smile. He simply nodded his head slowly, still witnessing the miracle that is someone with experience caring for a child. Maybe this could work out.. What could go wrong?

—

“I’m gonna getcha!” A high-pitched giggle filled the corridors of the manor, Lucifer rounds the corner to follow after his surprisingly speedy toddler. He was mostly having fun with this little game of tag but was also mildly concerned by her growing distance. “Gotcha!” A pair of arms swooped down from around another corner, scooping Charlie up as she let out a playful yelp. You held her in a tight hug, before adjusting your position to hold her up comfortably. Lucifer panted, smiling at the sight of you and his daughter, despite him being out of breath. “G-good catch.. Hoof..!” He stretches his arms upwards, then places them on the small of his back. “Aren’t you the most powerful being in Hell? Why are you acting like a middle-aged dad with a broken back?” you laughed through your words, the sound making Charlie laugh along. He stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, a pout on his face. “Uh, It’s for fun? Ever heard of playing pretend?” You bit your lip to prevent yourself from mocking him anymore. “Don’t laugh!” You shook your head, then watched him open his arms out to you. Or, to Charlie, actually, but you stepped back instead of handing her over. “Oh, I forgot to remind you, you actually have to head to the Heaven Embassy in a bit, so I’m gonna put Charlie down for her nap instead.” He dropped his arms and grimaced. “Right..”

This mid-day nap was a sort of tradition for Lucifer and his daughter. It was one of the few moments that Lucifer looked forward to these days. You knew that. As much as you enjoyed your job, it came with the unfortunate privilege of seeing Lucifer in his slumps. You rarely saw Lillith, actually, but that made sense. You were only here for Charlie while Lillith couldnt be. When you did spot her iin passing, you’d hand Charlie over and let the two of them have a sweet interaction, usually a quick hug and peck on the forehead, but that was usually it. You’d always notice Charlie clinging onto your shoulder and looking back in her mother’s direction whenever she handed her daughter back to you. It always crushed your heart to hear her go silent after those moments.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to help get her ready for the gala tonight? You should be back in time and it won't take long. Lilith only wants her to make a quick appearance, so it shouldn't be too much work.. Good bonding moment, too!” His eyes sparkled at your invitation and he was quick to accept it. “Thank you, dear. I’ll find you after that meeting.” As he goes to walk past you, he places a hand on your back. He does this often, but as the years went on, it shifted from your shoulder to your shoulderblade, and now he delicately places his hand on your lower back whenever he can. It made you anxious at first.. Was anxious the right word? Either way, you didn't stop him.

He leaned in to place a kiss on Charlie’s forehead, becoming increasingly close to your own face. It wasn't a quick motion. He pressed a dramatic kiss onto her head, letting out a mwah! sound as he pulled back. But before he did, he looked up to you with half-lidded eyes. The eye contact seemed to last forever. And you ever wanted it to stop. A small hand came up and patted Lucifer’s cheek, a childish giggle breaking the moment between you two. What were you thinking? He’s your employer, he’s a king. He’s kind, and sweet, and tries really hard to be a good dad. Nope! Stop it.

“Right! Meeting! Heaven! Gonna.. Yup, I’ll see you.. Uh..” You finished off his words, “ - tonight?”

“Exactly! You got it! Bye, Darling!” He waved his hand off and walked off in a random direction that you were pretty sure didn't lead to where he was supposed to go. “I-I was talking to Charlie, by the way!” You heard from around the corner. You couldn’t stop your laughter with that one. “I know.” You said it softly, not letting him hear the slight disappointment in your voice.

The Gala wasn't a new event, Lillith held them often. Lucifer made his appearance with Charlie, then usually would make up some excuse to get out of the room. Gathering the leaders of each ring of Hell and some of the more powerful overlords, and demons, it was still a big deal. You dressed up Charlie often, since she would throw a temper tantrum when any of the stylists would try to get her ready. You didn't mind, you actually enjoyed prettying her up. You stalled for as long as you could, before beginning to dress her. You wanted to wait for Lucifer, but you assumed he got caught up in some kingly duties. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Don’t be upset. Stop missing him.

“Sorry - Sorry! I'm here!” The blonde demon rounds the corner, hopping on his one foot to balance himself before stopping firmly in Charlie's room. He was wearing an incredibly elegant suit. A dark purple sash cinches His waist, which was only visible because his jacket was hung over his shoulder. His shirt was speckled in gold, matching his hair when under certain light. “Had to convince them I could finish getting ready on my own! Damn stylists, can't catch a break with them.” He let out an awkward laugh, followed by a hoot. He sees Charlie, in her dark purple dress, with small poofed out sleeves, made of a transparent tool. “Charchar! Look at you, kiddo!” He scooped her up and held her close while he swung around. “You're beautiful, sweetheart.” He knew she wouldn't understand that until she was older, but never stopped him from praising her.

He pressed his forehead against hers, laughing along with her. You hated to break the tender moment, but you cleared your throat, bringing the attention back to you. “She's just about ready, just got her hair left.” He placed her back in the chair as you went for a brush. Working through her hair piece by piece, Lucifer suddenly stopped you. “Um.. can I try?” You nodded eagerly, handing the brush over. He swiped slowly, ebing startled by the crunch of a knot, he froze and pulled it away. “It’s okay, you won't hurt her - “ You didn't need to help him this way. Honestly, if anyone were to come in and witness this you could be fired. Still keeping that in mind, you place your hand over his, and guide the brush indirectly, to carefully work through her hair.

After far too long, you pulled your hand away and went to grab some other accessories. His brain was completely fried by the interaction, if this were some looney cartoon, smoke would be puffing out his ears. You weren't as calm as you were coming off as either. Why did you do that? You’d face a fate worse than a second death if anyone saw that. After letting your face cool down, you turned back and bumped Lucifer over with your hip, to take his spot directly behind Charlie. Placing your hands on her shoulders and kneeling down a bit you smile at her reflection. “What do we think, hun? Ponytail? Pigtails? Buns?”

“Braids!” You look at her with a questioning hum. “Pleease!” Braids it is. You start to section off her hair and quickly wrap one clean braid down her back. It only took you a few minutes to do it, leaving bystander Lucifer to sit in awe. He did that a lot. Whenever you’d do something with Charlie that came as second nature to you, he would watch intently. After you noticed his gaze, you began showing him how to do whatever task you had on hand. He needed those moments with her, you knew that. “Wanna give it a shot?” He jumps, as if you had just caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing. “A-Are you sure? It looks kind of complicated, I don't want to ruin her hair if - “ You interrupted his nervous rambling by calling out his title. “I’ll show you, just come watch.” He nodded, almost too quickly, and rushed to stand near you. Very near you. He stood close enough to let your shoulders touch whenever you would lift your arm a certain way. You unfurled the braid you had already done, making Lucifer let out a little sound of disappointment, that you’d ruined your hard work just for him. After attempting to explain it, he manages to struggle his way through a messy braid. He saw you holding in some kind of laugh and sent you daggers.  “No - no! It’s good! Especially for your first time, it’s holding up pretty well! Here - “ You pulled the braid back out, then restarted it, letting him pick it up at an easier place. You took his wrists every so often, to turn his hand in the proper direction before letting him go on.

The focus between the two of you suddenly became intense. He stuck out his tongue a bit, too engrossed in his styling to notice. You stood behind him, your hands pressed on his back, while you stood on your tip toes to observe what he was doing from over his shoulder. Pointing out little pieces of hair that were falling out, you would reach out your pointer finger to gesture towards it, only bringing you a bit closer together.

“Is.. Is that it?” He stepped back slowly, giving you the chance to back away with him. You swung around and examined the braid that he had probably spent too much time on, with an overly dramatic hum. Tapping your chin and squinting your eyes, you researched the braid as if it were some puzzle to solve. “It looks great, Lucifer.” Looking towards him, you were expecting an overly confident grin at the acknowledged accomplishment but instead, was met with a wide-eyed bundle of nerves.

“Sir! I-It looks good, Sir! Well - I’ll let you finish getting ready and take Charlie to -” Reaching out your hands to pick Charlie up, Lucifer stops you by grabbing your arm. “It’s okay! I mean, that’s.. That’s my name! Makes sense for you to call me that, considering its my name, so - “ He lets you go and starts fiddling with the clasps on his sleeves. “It’s okay.. for you to do that..” You smile to yourself, going back to tidying up Charlie’s get-up, doing little things like putting on her darling little shoes and tying a ribbon at the end of her hair.

Lucifer then stood in front of the mirror, brushing off his shirt and slipping on his jacket. It was a dazzling plum-colored suit coat, with golden clasps across his torso, and a golden shoulder plate, that allowed a sheer cape to drape down his left side. He was absolutely stunning. You did your best to avert your eyes, staring at him felt like staring at the sun. You only turned in his direction when he cleared his throat to get your attention. “Sorry.. dear, but uh… If you’re done with Charlie, I just - I’m struggling a little bit here..” You watched him attempt to adjust his lopsided tie, finally drooping his head with a sigh of defeat. “Wow, I thought you wore one of those every day, what’s the problem?” The teasing always helped lighten the mood, you placed your hand on your hip as you leaned your weight onto the vanity.  He glared at you again, letting out a huff before mumbling under his breath. “It’s a clip on..”

You let out a breath you had been holding in, partially from keeping in your laughter, but mostly from the nerves. With the combination of you wearing house slippers, and him wearing his particularly taller pair of boots, he managed to look down at you when you approached him. You should've made it a quick motion, you’ve tied bowties dozens of times, so it definitely wasn't a new task for you. But instead, you took your time. You carefully traced your hands up to his neck, tugging on both ends to pull it as far forward as it could go. You stopped to straighten the collar of his shirt, then delicately knotted the tie with ease. Your breath became heavier when you rested your hands on the finally tied bow, feeling his heart pounding against the side of your palm. After he caught you in your act, he stepped back, the image of his wife suddenly popping into his head. “Ahha.. Well, um - Thank you. I’ll take Charlie, it’s about that time anyway!”

"R-Right.." you suddenly felt guilty for your actions, worrying that you overstepped some lines. He didn't seem upset or uncomfortable, he was just silent. As he lifted Charlie from her chair, the vision of the two of them left you breathless. A beautiful pair, with porcelain skin contrasting against a palette of muted purples, and the biggest, brightest eyes. Charlie's braid hung loosely down her back, same golden strands accented in the light off the room. You almost wanted to be in the moment with them.

"Hey, so.. if you think you have time, you're welcome to go down to the ballroom for a drink or.. something... if you want." He really had to consider if that was a good idea. The thought was sitting on his mind while he enjoyed the view of your focused expression on his tie. He watched your eyes light up at the notion, his heart swelling with.. with something.  "Oh! I mean - The queen talks about it like it's this big important fancy thing, but.. if you think it'll be okay.. I'll - um - " She thought for a moment, looking around the room. "I don't exactly have anything to wear.. I'll join next time, if the invites still open?" You smiled, but it was strained. And he could tell. "No problem! I'll have her find something for you, then you can slip in whenever you want. No pressure!"

With a wave of his hand, a little imp girl came from a portal he had conjured up. Peeking inside, you saw a vast collection of gowns. The imp took your hand and dragged you in silently. You stumbled, then stammered something out, something that should've been a thank you, or a show of appreciation, but you were too stunned by the situation. He waved, then Charlie waved, then the two were out of the room.

The picture of them together ran through your mind. Not just them in matching outfits, but whenever he would press his forehead against hers, or he would show off his horns when Charlie was prodding at her own. Or when they really seemed like a family. Lillith was never in those pictures. Fuck, don't be jealous. You're getting paid far too much money to feel anything like that. Plus, you're being treated to an elegant evening gown without even asking. You don't get to be jealous.

Luckily, the imp rolled out a rack of dresses, it was stuffed to the brim, but was still a more manageable collection compared to the entire room. You sifted through them, and each one that twisted your face, she took off the hanger and set aside. After narrowing it down, you were stuck on two dresses; a sultry red dress, with an incredibly high slit and a stretched velvet material that hugged you in all the right places. Definitely a head turner. Even if this gala had a V.I.P list, maybe some handsome individual could help you distract yourself.

But the other option was a glistening lavender color, the neckline went across your shoulders, turning to gloves that tapered at your knuckles. A sheer corset held your curves in place, and it was paired with pearl accessories, to go with your sleek white heels. Both were gorgeous of course, but turning your hips and taking in how you looked in that lavender gown.. you could see yourself fitting quite nicely into your mental picture of Lucifer and Charlie. You would never admit that's why you picked it. You were prettied up, your hair pulled to one side with pearl clips scattered within the strands, and a little touch of makeup that you really didnt want, but was convinced without a word by the stylist. You looked like royalty. And that made you feel good in so many ways.

—

Lucifer said you could "sneak in", and you thought it best to take that literally. Waving and greeting all the workers in the kitchen that you knew, you finally slipped through the door where the caterers traveled from. You went straight for the bar, not because you needed a drink - well, I'm sure that's part of it - but because you had no idea what to do. What, were you supposed to walk straight up to Lucifer? Or Lillith? The idea of seeing Lillith suddenly made your stomach churn. You realized that you actually got there in time to see the introductions for most of the more esteemed guests. They went through the sins, who were larger than life, then a flared announcement for the Morningstar family was belted out.

Lucifer stood with a devilish grin, looking handsome as always. Lillith was still stunning, her gown trailing behind her.. but it was black. It wasn’t purple, or plum, or lilac, it was just black. It may not have looked like a contrast to everyone, but it upset you for some reason. Charlie stood between them, looking incredibly calmed considering the intensity of the moment. Lillith was holding her small hand, but the difference in height made her strain to keep their fingers intertwined. You cringed watching her stand on the tip of her toes to keep contact with her own mother.

Quietly, as to not interupt the announcements, you beckoned the bartender to bring you a drink. You sat and sipped, your back arched as you leaned your weight onto your elbows. What were you doing here? Was this all worth it? To have your little Cinderella transformation? 

"Hello, darling.. and who might you be?" A sultry voice came from behind, causing you to swivle in the chair to face where it came from. It wasn't Lucifer, which left you mildly disapointed, but you definitely weren't upset at the curvy woman standing in front of you, wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination. The swishing demonic tail wasn't something you hated either. A real fox.

"Oh, a friend invited me, I didnt want to cramp his style, so here I am." As you spoke, the bartender brings a tall flute of champagne over to the gorgeous demon in front of you. She glides to sit in the seat next to you. "Hm - well, I'd hate to see you all alone tonight, mind if I keep you company, love?" She slid her fingers up your arm and you have no idea how you managed to keep your cool. "Not at all~" maybe it was the confidence of your new appearance, but you had no issue with spending the night with this stranger.

All of a sudden, Charlie was plopped into your seated lap, causing you to look up towards an intimidating Lucifer. Examining the sudden shift in mood, you were relieved to see Lillith talking to some demons on the other side of the room. "Glad you could make it! Charlie here - reeaally missed you, thought I should say hi." He smile was forced, you noticed a slight twitch in his eye. "Ah, I see you've met my nanny! Quite a beauty, wouldn't you agree?" Lucifer came incredibly close to you, leaning in and placing his hand on your back. The only issue was the low cut of the dress, allowing you to feel his warm hands on your skin. You hoped he didn't feel the shiver run up your spine.

Taking a hold of Charlie as she climbed up your lap to hug your neck, you let out a natural laugh, feeling like yourself for the first time tonight. Looking back to your conquest, who was definitely about to ask you to "get out of here", you see a face of absolute disgust. Oh, right. You're just a sinner to these higher ups. And a working class one at that. Nanny wasn't the most flattering occupation apparently. She made a terrible excuse to get out of the conversation and walked away a little faster than she should've.

"Sir! I have no problem watching Charlie tonight, but - I was about to -" your face flushed as you tried to explain how you were just trying to get laid tonight. “Get a drink, right? Make sure you stick to the non-alchoomic stuff, hun, sounds like Charlie gets to stay up late tonight!" With a hefty pat on your back, Lucifer stepped away to talk to another random demon. What the fuck? Lucifer had beckoned the bartender over again, and when you looked back to the counter, you see a sad looking soda water. With a sigh, you guzzle the drink just to wet your dried throat.

As much a you loved Charlie, there was no better chick repellant. And even for the brave souls who decided to approach you and still show interest, Lucifer would suddenly appear, keeping his hand just above your tailbone as he mentioned your hard work as his employee. Maybe it was the word nanny, or the intimidating presence of the king of Hell, but he had to be doing this on purpose. You kind of hoped he was doing this on purpose.. After one too many fleeting suitors, you worked your magic and calmed Charlie until she fell asleep in your arms. You hummed a little tune again, the method was something she became accustomed to after you started taking care of her.

"My my~ what a sweetheart." A broad shouldered demon approached you, his lower voice ringing throughout your chest. "Isn't she? She's exhuasted, I should really get her to bed." You never took your eyes off of Charlie, making it easy for him to slip a hand around your waist." Ah, you’re her caretaker, hm? Well.. what do you have going on after you get her to bed?" His hand trails down to your hips, starting to trace a circle with his thumb. You swung away, a look of disgust on your face." Probably going to bed. By myself." You hissed. You never had a problem handling those kind of advances, and you'd do anything to keep Charlie safe, so you kept your distance. "You don't have to do that, baby~ why don't you show me around the Morningstar manor?" He closed the distance, and as you go to step back, your back hits the bar. "N-No thanks, I'm.. not..." You would have gotten nervous in the moment, if you didnt see a blonde headed angel approaching with horns threatening to burst out.

"Stay away from her." A small puff of flames came from Lucifer's snarl as he reprimanded the thug. He scoffed and stepped away as if nothing had happened. Probably the smartest thing for him to do at this point. Lucifer's suddenly glowing red eyes returned to their normal hue once he turned his attention to you. You froze in place. It felt like you were in trouble too. "You're okay?" He spoke blankly, you couldn't tell what emotion he was trying to convey, let alone how he actually feels. You nodded, keeping a hand on the back of Charlie's head." Get her to bed." With a dramatic turn, his transparent cape flew behind him and he returned to Lillith's side. He placed his hand on the small of her back.

You wanted to cry. To scream and drink until you can't think of anything. Charlie was your main priority, though. You took her to her nursery as soon as you could. Carefully changing her into her pajamas, a cute little onesie with ducks printed all over, then placed the drowsy toddler into her bed. "Oh Charlie.. You are so lucky to be so loved." You spoke geniunely, no matter your feelings, the amount of love Charlie is given and how much she gives in return was always so unbelievable to you. She was made of pure joy. Brushing some hair away from her face, you stepped back, taking your time on returning to your room.

"That is so sweet." You shot your head up, unpleasantly surprised by Lucifer's sorry face. "She's in bed, what do you need from me?" You spoke softly, as to not wake her. "You look beautiful. I just.. didn't get a chance to say that earlier, is all." Your face twisted in digust. "You know, you weren't the only one who thought that tonight. That was the first time I've been hit on in months. Couldn't you let me just enjoy the night..?" You were becoming increasingly frustrated, and it was translating clearly through your words. He flinched at your aggression, suddenly becoming defensive.

"That filfthy demon was feeling you up..! What else did you want me to do?" He started to match your energy, quietly responding in an aggitated state." Not him, the rest! I was about to leave with that lady at the bar, and I'm sure others would've enjoyed my company if I wasn't getting handed a toddler every second." You'd regret that one later, referring to Charlie as just a toddler. "That's your job, dear. Remember why you're here." He puffed out his chest, becoming increasingly close to your figure. You shrunk away, your eyes widened at his words.

"Oh- Oh, no, I didn't mean to - wait, I wasn't - " He stammered, his intimidating stature immediatly dropping as he say your eyes start to glaze over with tears, which only flowed down your cheeks after batting your made-up lashes. "Nonono! Please don't cry I - um.. " his eyes darted around the room, before reaching his arms out and reeling you in to a tightening embrace. Your chin sat on his shoulder, the shock momentarily keeping the water works at bay.

"I got nervous, okay..? I didn't want anything.. bad... to happen. I didn't want to lose you in there." Those words shouldn't tug at your heart strings at much as they did, but that and the low rumble of his voice just slightly hitting your ear made it impossible.

"I-I can handle myself.." You sniffled, your breath becoming heavier as you felt his hands start to explore your back. He rested one hand on the small of your back, sending a familiar warmth to your chest. But then, his fingers traced upwards, holding onto your shoulders for a moment, before lightly clawing down your bare back. He traced over a certain spot that tickled you the wrong  way, causing you to force out a little yelp. You both stopped for a moment, the only thing you could hear was the uneven pants coming from your mouths. He pulled away for a moment, keeping his hands on your shoulders. Then eyeing you up and down, he ran his grasp across the length of your arms. "I known you can.. you're wonderful." He somehow spoke as if he was completely unaffected by the intimacy he was just showing you. Your breath only picked up more, instantly regretting what you were about to do.

With a small leap, you pulled him in by his collar and messily met his lips. It couldn't be a quick peck, that's too confusing. You wanted this to last forever. He kept his lips sealed shut at first, but that didn't last long. With a shakey breath against your lips, he pulled you in by your waist suddenly, bringing you as close to him as he could. The motion took the air out of your lungs, forcing you release a vocal sigh. He only held you tighter after that. Your arms trailed up and around his shoulders, combing through the hairs at the nape of his neck. He broke for a moment, his kisses traveling down your lips to your jawline, then down to your neck.

Flicking your hair back, he latched an incredibly wet kiss on the softness of your neck. Lucifer took the invitation of your strapless dress to fully cover you in kisses, occasionally running his tongue up the length of your neck. A panting mess, you pulled him back up by his chin, finally getting a good look at his face. He was falling apart at the seems. He looked desperate to get back to working on your neck, like he hadnt been intimate with anyone in years. You needed his lips against yours again. Holding his jaw, you pressed a kiss on his lips, then squeezed your thumb amd index finger to open his lower jaw and push your tongue into his mouth. He let out a nervous moan, before quickly catching up to you.

This wasn’t right. This part wasn't in your mental picture of a perfect family. And you knew why. Your thoughts were silenced, feeling his mouth trail back down to your collarbone. He thumbed at the top of your long glove, beginning to pull it down. God, never let this moment end.

But you forgot. You're in Hell.

With a frantic patting on his shoulder, you quickly attempted to get his attention. When Lucifer met your eyes again, they had gone wide, and he finally noticed you shaking. "Hey, hey! What is it? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"Yes." He froze. He slowly turned his head to the door. Lillith.

—

"Darling, please, I'm sorry, you know you're the only one for me - it was a long night, mistakes were made, let's just move on, hm..?" He was begging for this moment to be over, as Lillith moved past him and approached you. You had to crane your neck to look at her, your entire body trembling. You had mascara running down your eyes, and your lipstick had smeared in all directions. Lillith lifted your head up even further, wiping some smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth. "Lily..?" Lucifer let out softly. She let out a soft sigh. She didn't seem to be angry, which seemed to make you more nervous than if she was. "D-Don’t.. don't hurt her..." It's like he was scared to stick up for you. That, and the fact that he just called this past interaction a mistake, weighed heavily on your heart. "You think that little of me, my love? I would never. It was a mistake, after all, just as you said." She spoke so calmly but knew exactly what to say to make you cower in fear. You let out a pathetic whimper, "P-Please... I'm s-sorry, Your Highness..." She smiled and tightened her grip on your jaw for a moment before letting you go. You didn't realize she was actually lifting you up slightly until you were dropped down. “So.. we can talk and figure this out, right? Lily?" She kept her eyes off of the anxious mess that Lucifer was becoming." Of course, love. We'll talk in the morning. Oh, and obviously - " She turned towards you just before leaving the room. 

"You're fired.”

—

HA

Anyway, there is absolutely a part 2 for this don't worry and I'll get to it.. eventually.

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➯ HARRY IS A LITTLE OBSESSED WITH Y/N AND Y/N JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHEN HE’LL HAVE SEX WITH HER AGAIN. ✰ dom!harry sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 14k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Harry doesn’t love his job.

He doesn’t hate it either. But he certainly doesn’t love what he does.

It’s not the hardest of occupations; since becoming CEO (and after getting over the guilt of surpassing his colleagues in status), having the option of assigning others to complete otherwise arduous tasks for him has eased some of his tension.

However—inevitably—those smoothed over stress bumps are quickly replaced by bigger, more stubborn protrusions that take more than a gentle palm to flatten out.

But Harry is comfortable—he’s financially secure, surrounded by a loving family and loyal friends, and treated with respect, revered even, by some. So despite being true, what Harry had told Y/N—that You think I was wishing to own a finance company when I was a little boy? indicating that it has hardly been a dream come true—he is grateful for his position in life. Aware of his privilege but also immensely proud of how much his hard work had paid off.

However right now, as he sits behind his desk with his phone burning a hole in his pocket, Harry hates his job.

Hates the schedule that’s pulled up on his monitor, hates the squeak of his chair as he rolls over to the filing cabinet, hates the way the clock is ticking louder than he’s ever heard it before. And the seconds are taking twice as long as they should.

With each passing minute, the presence of his phone in his trouser pocket becomes heavier and heavier; its lack of buzzing and dinging feeling abnormally disheartening. And everytime his work phone—that’s lying face up on his desk—lights up with an email or a phone call and creates its shrill cacophony that pushes the line of Harry’s brow deeper and deeper into his already default frown, he becomes less and less of the easy-going boss he presents to everyone.

It’s enough to drive anyone mad; this torturous waiting. Harry feels as though he’s being dangled over the edge of a cliff but never dropped, never given the sweet release of death which he would gladly take over the pain of not knowing when he was going to fall.

One week. It had been one week since Harry first met Y/N. One week since they’d had maybe the best first experience he’d ever had with someone, and one week since he’d heard a single thing from her. And the memory of that night is enough to have Harry distracted. Enough to have him on the edge of his seat.

ㅤㅤ

“Please.” She whines—to Harry’s teasingly obvious question.

“More what?” He wants to ask. Wants to make her spell it out for him. 

But he doesn’t. He’s nice. 

Nice as he stretches her open with his fingers—intrusion more than easy with the copious amount of slick between her thighs—whilst his tongue plays with her masterfully. She pants and whines, bucks and wiggles. Loses the ability to say coherent words without stuttering over them.

He takes his time—relishing in the fierce, squeezing heat around his fingers—in the way her excitement makes his palm shine the longer he goes at it.

And he’s thorough in the treatment he gives her. Behaves as if he’s a professional that’s been paid to change her life. He imagines Niall as his agent who had come to him earlier in the day with a ‘great opportunity’ and demanded Harry give his absolute best. 

Pretends that his entire career rides on Y/N’s enjoyment of this night.

Harry thinks, really, that Y/N’s lack of experience means he could do a subpar job in actuality—but the thought just makes him go harder. Makes every flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers feel like the best thing she’s ever known.

She’s soaking into his skin and it’s filthy; the way Harry’s throat rumbles out a groan at the thought of his stubble bathing in her—the resentment he’ll have in washing his face later.

Little does he know that Y/N is thinking the same thing—or rather, imagining the irritation of her thighs his facial hair will leave behind. The soreness that can only come from pure satiation, that she’s sure she’ll admire with great joy. Her first marks, her first memory-jolting piece of evidence of the night she was finally touched. The day she’s been waiting for—for far too long, in her opinion.

Especially now, as it’s happening, and Y/N doesn't know if she’ll ever be able to stop chasing this feeling. Her limbs fight between stretching out in tight, desperate attempts to grasp for her orgasm—and melting into the mattress in a mangled mess of flesh and bone. Harry’s mouth struggles to compete with the smile that overtakes his expression, watching Y/N’s body writhe in response to his ministrations.

This is his favourite thing to do.

She tightens, and squeaks, and drips—Harry’s fingers working her just right and tongue curling in fast, pointed flitters—as she propels further towards the edge. Close, so close; lips moulding around a string of garbled sounds and hips pushing up into the large span of his hand. She’s trying to beg but she doesn’t get the chance because Harry is feeling her spasm in contracting waves and she’s slicking down his fingers, crying out—

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s debauched daydream fizzles away when his work phone chimes insolently. The screen lights up, forcing his eyes towards it.

A reminder.

Team meeting | in 15m

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry runs his hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair as the leather stretches. His trousers are tighter than he would consider comfortable, but he’s safe—no recognisable evidence of unprofessional thoughts in his professional environment.

Harry considers himself to be a focused man—often finds solace in working to provide distraction—but this constant replay that has been leading his mind astray whenever he even attempts to shift his concentration is proving to be a hurdle too high for Harry to jump over. He thinks if he makes himself come then the unavoidable meeting that’s starting in thirteen minutes might be less torturous to sit through.

But just as he smooths a palm over his thigh, there’s a telltale knock on his door. The rapping a pattern that only his assistant uses.

Harry clears his throat, shifting himself higher to appear more orthodox in his chair.

“Come in, Mr Rowland.”

The door makes way as it’s opened, rattling the blinds that preserve Harry’s modesty—matching that of the ones on the full-length windows that look out into the building.

The man moves to stand stiffly in front of his boss’ desk, suit free of creases and long hair tied back to maintain formality. Harry used to have long hair once.

Mitch Rowland is a quiet man; stoic, but not unfeeling. Harry believes him to be the thoughtful type, and he chips away more and more of his exterior everyday, he’s sure. Cracking a joke that makes Mitch laugh feels like a reward—an acknowledgment of all the hard work he puts in to becoming closer to his reserved assistant.

“Time for a briefing, Mr Styles?”

Harry nods, gesturing to one of the armchairs facing his desk. “Yes, go ahead.”

He’s respectful enough to look intently at the man sitting across from him. As he speaks, Harry doesn’t drift off into his fantasy land full of strawberry embroidered dresses and passion fruit martinis—no, he converses with Mitch like the approachable boss he takes care to be, discussing the best way to go about conducting the team meeting and how to amicably pull up the areas that his employees are lacking in.

Truth be told, it’s life changing having someone like Mitch as his assistant. He demonstrates capability—enough so that Harry can often sit back and let him take the reins—it’s satisfying when their brains match up like they're connected via bluetooth. It’s an easy relationship to maintain, and Harry often ponders about how grateful he is.

But never has Harry been more grateful for Mitch as he is right now. (Which is cruel really, for a situation that would probably lose in a battle of importance if voted on by a large audience.)

The meeting is going fine, most likely—Harry wouldn’t know because his mind is elsewhere once again.

ㅤㅤ

“That’s it, take a deep breath for me, darlin’.” He’s good at maintaining composure, but God if Y/N isn’t testing Harry right now. She’s still fluttering—more than ready to let him start pushing into her—as her arousal coats copious miles of skin. He leans over her, pressing a soft kiss to the dip above her chin as he rolls a condom over his neglected cock. The throbbing gets harder to ignore now that she’s laid out for him; all stretched and wet.

“Are you sure it’s gonna… fit?” Y/N looks down, pupils expanding at the sight. Long, and thick, and hard.

“I’m sure,” Harry drags his nose against her throat, lifting back up to catch her blown-out eyes. He smiles.

“I… I want you to feel good too, Harry. Please?”

His heart thumps and his eyebrows pinch. She’s special. He wants to take such good care of her.

“I feel so good, love. I promise.” Harry drops his hips to prove it, sliding through her folds and nudging her sensitive clit as Y/N’s breath shudders. “Are you ready?”

“Can I—can I hold your hand?”

She’s a doll. (Maybe in more ways than one permitting she’d like to be pliable for him, but right now Harry knows she’s cuter than even the sweetest of puppies). He wants to coo right in her face, obnoxious and embarrassing, before his voice takes on a squeaky pitch and he expresses Of course, you can hold my hand—you’re just adorable, aren’t you?

Instead, he wordlessly transfers his weight to the now singular arm holding him up as he reaches for the girl’s empty palm and tugs it up beside her head. Their fingers entwine as the mattress creates a mould of their knuckles—and Y/N’s eyes clear themselves of the fear of rejection, gazing up at Harry with such appreciation that he doesn’t even receive from his employees. Not that he’d expect them to but the way Y/N is looking at him makes Harry feel as though he’s done something far more significant than hold her hand or coax a few orgasms out of her.

It’s almost sad.

“Ready now,” she whispers, and Harry’s forgotten everything else.

He reaches down to stroke over her hip bone in soothing circles. “Keep looking at me, okay?” She nods, eyes never wavering even as Harry guides himself into her drippy hole.

The first feel of intrusion is new—different to his fingers—exciting and tight as the mushroom tip of Harry’s cock presses in gently. Y/N gasps but it doesn’t hurt; it’s a filling sensation, one that makes her question why she’s not always been doing this. It feels right, like it’s meant to be.

And when she breaks eye contact to look down, she sees that he’s hardly an inch in and exhales heavily into Harry’s face. He squeezes her hand, green surveying her expression. It takes all of his composure to ignore how tight she is around him. It’s euphoria.

“H-Harry,” Y/N whines, shiny mouth falling further with each centimetre discovered inside of her.

“So good, baby, you’re so good. Keep looking at me…there you go.” His voice is taut, even Y/N can tell, and she blinks at him because it’s all she can do—hoping she is communicating well enough with her eyes.

As he gets deeper, she suddenly expels a great breath, jumbled words tumbling out. “Thank you, oh—that’s so—oh my god.”

And Harry is bottoming out, balls resting against her bum, as he lets out some air of his own. “Look at that, darlin’,” he smiles, “took all of me, first try.”

Y/N’s face suddenly splits into a grin. She chances a lift of her leg, to open herself up more as she stretches it to the side, bent knee pressing into the sheets.

“I didn’t know I had that much space in there.”

Harry laughs (it’s quite literally forced out of his lungs) and Y/N starts to let out endless strings of giggles—delirious with overwhelming happiness—as her stomach starts to contract. She can’t stop laughing. And every one has her core tightening around Harry’s cock in pulsing flutters.

If he wasn’t searching deep in his mind for the stability not to build up too quickly, then Harry’s heart would be bounding at the sweet sound of Y/N’s giggles. Pure elation in the form of prancing lilts. Bouncing off the walls and racing past their ears; slicing through any of the nerves she had left.

To see her face bunched up in laughter is to witness beauty in its rawest form, Harry is certain. All whilst she lays bare with himself inside of her—connected as far as he can possibly reach—this feeling doesn’t compel him very often. If ever at all.

ㅤㅤ

Sitting at the head of the table with absent eyes, Harry’s nodding his head in faux-interest whilst his mind is full of filth. Not many eyes are on him anyhow, as Mitch talks through the monthly rates but—understandably—when his personal phone starts ringing disturbingly loudly, the heads of everyone turn to watch their boss answer it alarmingly quickly. The same boss who most employees have never seen handle a personal phone in their entire career at his company; might have believed he lived permanently in his office, in fact.

It’s a shock when he holds the phone up to his ear, shoots his assistant a glance and says, “You’ve got this, haven’t y’Mitch?” before exiting the room with a curt nod and a rushed shuffle to squeeze around the chairs.

Harry knows it’s unprofessional of him, but he’s been waiting for his phone to ring all week. So he’ll be damned if he misses an important call just to maintain formality. He can’t fire himself.

The voice on the other end of the line doesn’t quite contain the lilt he was hoping for, however.

“Heyyy, Harry.” He can’t help but sigh as he closes his office door and slouches unceremoniously into his chair. “You’re at work, aren’t you? Surprised you answered.”

“The luxury of being your own boss, Niall,” Harry watches the seconds hand spin around the clock on his wall. Each tick is echoed by nails tapping wood. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was ringing to ask about you, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard from Y/N at all?”

Harry looks away from his clock. “I haven’t. Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s more than alright. She had a great time with you.”

He smiles a little, “That’s nice. She’s very sweet, Niall.”

“Mhm she is… I think you should see her again.”

Harry thinks so too. “I’d like that. But I haven’t heard from her, which is fine—I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”

“That’s the thing though—she’s so nervous, even though she’s been proper gushing about ya. She’d love to see you again, I’m sure. But she’s too scared to call you.”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. “Alright… what are you saying, Niall?”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N is shy. 

Chronically shy.

She always has been and that certainly isn’t going to change overnight. Especially not if she were to meet the most attractive man she’s ever seen, have him take her home and then alter the very definition of pleasure itself. Especially not then.

But she so very wishes that was the case.

The post-it note hasn’t moved from the position Harry left it in when he penned his number. He’d been so sweet when asking if he could give it to her—like making her come multiple times wasn’t enough of an indication that she might want to see him again.

And she really does. God, she wants it more than anything.

But she’s an overthinker. She’s a worrywart, a nervous Nellie, a wet blanket—whatever. In every version of the phone call they have in her mind, she says the wrong thing, or Harry lets her down gently, or someone else picks up the phone. And if she texts him, her responses are awkward, or he leaves her messages on delivered—or worse read—or even worse he asks to see her again and then Y/N has to panic over fifty completely different hypothetical scenarios.

She decides that it’s just not meant for her—relationships, or human interaction, happiness—she’s not sure what specifically, but she knows it’s too much to handle. Harry would only be disappointed in the long run anyway; Y/N is simply saving his time—doing him a favour.

Niall isn’t inclined to agree—because of course the topic came up in conversation. Her friend had never been so eager to talk about anything in his entire life, and he loves talking.

The morning after Y/N met Harry, she was greeted by a dozen text messages, followed by multiple missed calls. (If Niall was ever in danger, Y/N thinks she’d be inclined to ignore him—never phased by the multitudes of spam she receives on a daily basis.) And at the first opportunity he had, Niall was knocking—no, pounding—on her door, sing-songing her name from outside her flat.

There was a reluctance in letting him in. This was all new territory for Y/N and Niall knew that. However in fairness to her—rather oversized golden retriever of a—friend, he attempted with all his heart to pretend he wasn’t bursting at the seams for as long as he could. Grinning in a somewhat subdued manner as she opened the door—elated beam withstanding his journey to her sofa—until he sat down and just couldn’t help himself, springing back up.

“You didn’t fuck on the couch, did you?” Half teasing, half deadly serious as his eyes widen and he shuffles away in an attempt to evacuate quicker if Y/N were to confirm his fear.

Y/N cowered behind her hands, cheeks burning, “No! Don’t say it like that, Niall.”

“Oh right, I’m sorry, hang on,” he cleared his throat obnoxiously, “You didn’t make sweet, sweet love on the couch, did you?”

She squawked and Niall cackled, holding his arms in front of his face when Y/N started to batter him with a sofa cushion.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll be nice.”

He was nice. A relief to have someone to talk to, and never before has Niall been happier about anything, Y/N is convinced. She didn’t realise the status of her sex life was something to be so thrilled about, but his smile threatened to blind her.

And once the initial embarrassment had somewhat passed, Y/N was honest.

“He was so lovely, Niall. Far too good for me, I mean—God,” she smiled but it’s a little sad.

“Hey,” Niall’s eyebrows pinched, “don’t go there with me, young lady.” He flicked her arm. “Harry wouldn’t have initiated a thing if he didn’t want to. And he left his number, come on.”

And that’s how they’d ended up in a tizzy over calling him. Y/N just couldn’t make herself do it. No matter how sweet, and pretty, and kind he’d been to her. Niall had even offered to do it for her but that had sent humiliating shivers down her spine, imagining it play out. My friend has a crush on you—absolutely not.

The days pass and Y/N works. She eats poorly, often asleep standing by the time she arrives home—and if it is proper food she’s ingesting, it’s something she’s woken up at two a.m. to bake because she’d had a sudden itch to do it. The rest of her time at home is spent cleaning the mess she made whilst baking—which turns into moping with a feather duster in hand. Moping about the best night of her life and how she’ll never get a part two.

Nighttime comes and her fingers don’t feel the same. It feels fruitless to even try. She’s hardly got hands big enough and none of the curling does her any good. It only makes her angry, and that’s the one thing she was always told not to be when going to bed.

She asked Niall not to bring Harry up in conversation again; that it would only make her sad and she’ll just have to get over it. Over him—or over whatever he could’ve become.

So the last person Y/N assumes is at her door when she hears knocking, is the very man she’s trying to pretend doesn’t exist. She’s exhausted—been home for no longer than an hour after a long day of answering the phone to far more people than usual, trying to maintain equanimity as she booked meetings in the rapidly filling calendar. Her lunch break had been undeniably cut short—some may argue it was cut out completely—when the computer she was entering sensitive data into decided to crash (without saving) and Y/N had to compose herself in the toilet so she didn’t stain inky droplets all over her desk.

She was hungry, and tired, and sad, and—above all else—overwhelmed. Y/N’s not sure the last time in her life when she wasn’t, and it really builds up in a person. It’s near impressive that she’s even still running. If Y/N were a computer, much like the one at work, she would have crashed years ago. And point blank refused to turn back on again.

It’s unsettling, to say the least, when she hears that knocking. Because who could possibly be at her door right now? It’s too late for it to be the postman, Niall is still working—and that is literally all the people she knows.

In a panicked rush, Y/N scrambles to answer it, too startled to check her appearance or wipe the panda circles from around her eyes. It feels like everything happens in slow motion, from the door opening to reveal the man standing behind it—to the unveiling of his gentle smile and kind eyes. Y/N is half-inclined to slam it shut in his face with an affronted squeal.

She doesn’t quite squeal, but a noise is certainly made. One of terror, Harry might believe, as her eyes widen and flit around his face in a frenzy. The flowers in his hand are only just noticed, and she pauses on them for a moment, an expression of disbelief passing over her features before they become chaotic once again.

“Harry! I—” Y/N pastes a hand to her cheek in bewilderment, heart sinking at the sight of the man’s eyebrows kinking, migrating towards the centre. Then she trails further down, sees him still clad in his suit—crisp navy pressed to perfection. It’s jarring the way her brain switches from awkward to lewd for a split second, until she looks away with shame.

“Darlin’, are you alright?” He steps forward, hand reaching out. “You’re not going to faint, are you?” His voice is light and Y/N wants to laugh because what a ridiculous suggestion, of course she’s not going to faint! but she’s not so sure she believes it.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she lies.

“Let’s sit you down. Can I come in?”

Y/N swallows, exhaling as she looks up at him, before nodding slightly and stepping to the side to allow him room. Harry barely stops to assess his surroundings—only guides her to where he’s been before—her sofa feeling like the softest of clouds in this moment, while her heart is racing and her skin is tingling. He stays remarkably calm and light on his feet, whisking himself away to do God knows what but Y/N is hardly concerned. All she can think about is the fact that he’s here, and she’s a catastrophe, and she has not prepared for this. She has NOT prepared for this.

Harry finds the kitchen, near tripping over his feet to turn down the boiling pot of water that’s about to overflow. He throws some pasta in the saucepan—something quick he can fill her tummy with—and digs around for another that he fills with a jar of sauce. Then he’s rifling through cabinets to find a vase for the bouquet in his hand—which is something she apparently does not own, so a jug will do—before filling both that and a glass with water to take back to Y/N.

She looks timid and small—hands fiddling with themselves in her lap as she disassociates whilst staring at her coffee table. Harry places the jug down right where she’s looking and she blinks some. Her lips upturn just a little at the sight of the buttery petals.

“Drink.” Y/N accepts the glass easily, swallowing multitudes. Her face is dewy, a slight sheen of anxiety, and her knees bounce. “Better?” Harry softens his gaze, aware of the tension between his eyes—he knows he can sometimes appear cross without realising.

Y/N nods, rubbing at her nose like a little rabbit, he thinks.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is small, “you’ve been at work, and now you’re here and I’m… I’m a mess,” she tries to laugh but it falls flat.

“Don’t be silly. I’m a big boy, Y/N, you don’t need to apologise.” He’s encouraging as he smiles, rubbing over her knee soothingly. She’s still in her pencil skirt and white shirt—but she looks less like a sexy secretary and more like a sweaty schoolgirl. It’s hardly self-respecting.

Y/N grips the glass like it’s an anchor, altering her train of thought. “Uh… no one has ever… bought me flowers before.”

The smile he gives her is compassionate. A small curve of his lips and the widening of his eyes as if to implore his feelings to display correctly on his face. The way he disagrees with the fact of it—why could that be true? It shouldn’t be true. Everyone deserves flowers.

“There’s sunshine in your smile… yellow tulips, that’s what they mean.” He offers the information with zero insecurity.

Y/N’s face starts to burn, heart fighting to burst through her ribcage. She opens her mouth, and then she closes it. Harry’s watching her so, very intently, eyes crinkling when her hands press into her cheeks as if to will the heat away.

“I don’t know what your favourites are, but I thought you might like those.”

“No…” Y/N shakes her head, “yellow tulips are my favourite flower… definitely.” She chews on her lip to detain the smile threatening to break free.

“Yeah?” His eyes are shining, light reflecting off the sea glass of his irises and unlocking the depths of his spirit. “You gonna let me see your sunshine smile, darlin’?”

She laughs, a bright, bubbly giggle as her palms smother her face. “No!”

“What?” Harry grins. “What’s so funny?”

“Stop talking like that… it’s— I’m… flustered.”

“‘M just talkin’!” He insists, hands holding themself in a surrender.

“You’re being… a lot.”

“Too much?”

“No. It’s just— people don’t talk to me like you do. It’s nice… but I don’t know how to react.”

“Just show me your pretty smile, I think that’s a good place to start.”

She giggles again, eyes full of mirth—trying so desperately to embrace the fire in her cheeks. “Thank you for the flowers, Harry.”

They hold each other’s gaze.

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” his voice is soft.

“Can I— Can I make you dinner?” She starts, desperate to repay him in any way that she can. And then her eyes widen and she springs from the sofa. “Oh shit—”

“It’s okay, I did it, love.”

“What?” 

“I turned the water down and put some pasta in. I’ve got it all sorted.” He touches her elbow, conveying his wish for her to sit back down.

She doesn’t.

“You— Really?”

Harry nods.

“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be doing that! I can’t even boil a pan of water properly.”

“Listen to me, Y/N.” His voice hardens a little. Not enough to be scary, or rude, or suggest he has ill intentions. His voice hardens and suddenly Y/N wants to listen to him, just like he said. It’s relieving, almost, the way his words cut through the thick fog inside her skull.

“Sit down, okay?”

She does, eyes wide and nervous.

“You remember what we spoke about last week?”

The look on his face prompts Y/N to answer—to brush past the sex despite it being the first thing she thinks of. “About you being a— a dominant? Or… uh… taking care of… people?”

“Mhm. How would you feel about letting me take care of you?”

And Y/N is shy—it’s been discussed—but she knows she really has to be honest right now. Even if that means embarrassing herself.

“Guilty,” she murmurs.

Harry straightens up some. “Guilty? Now why would you feel like that?”

“Because! You’ve turned up today with—with flowers and you’ve put dinner on and I already want to pay you back. I don’t deserve it, I’ve done nothing to warrant all of this.”

“All of this?” Harry parrots. His eyebrows furrow but he maintains a gentle tone, shifting closer to Y/N and holding his hand out, palm facing up. She places her own on top with the hesitance of a newborn lamb, eyes meeting his. “Darling, I don’t mean to be blunt but… this is not a lot. Flowers are really the bare minimum, and putting pasta in a pot is hardly a back-breaking task. Lovely… relationships, friendships—they’re not transactional, okay?” His thumb drags across the back of her hand.

She’s going to cry.

“You don’t need to pay me back for anything. I’m here because I want to be. And I want to show you that you deserve to be taken care of. Because you do, Y/N. You do deserve it.”

A tear brims over her rapidly filling waterline. “I’m sorry,” she laughs wetly. “I’m just tired.”

Harry nods, “I know,” wiping her cheek. “You just need a little help. And that’s okay.”

“You wanna do all this… and you barely know me… why?” He’s cloudy in front of her eyes, tears obstructing his handsome face.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week. You know that?”

“Okay, sure.” Y/N rubs at her lashes, smearing more mascara around. But she’s smiling a little, at the absurdity of Harry’s words.

He replaces her hands, the soft pads of his thumbs doing an adequate job of preserving her dignity whilst he wipes the smudges away. 

“Mean it. Been distracted at work remembering it all.”

She’s not laughing anymore. No, her skin is tingling now. And her throat squeezes around a swallow.

“But it’s not just about sex. I like you, Y/N. And I want to like you more—get to know you, spend time with you. Is that convincing enough?”

Y/N shakes her head. But Harry sees the glint in her eye. He narrows his own at her.

“No? Are you playing with me? I thought you were a sweet, good girl.”

The skin of her cheeks has never been subjected to so much heat in such little time. It spreads out to her chest, and down her arms. She must be praying to some sort of God to ensure her hands haven’t become sodden yet.

“That’s not fair,” she squirms. “I just… like hearing you talk.”

“Hm, you like hearing me say that I like you, is that it?”

“Maybe,” she looks down. “Never really heard it before.”

“Well, get used to it, love. I want you to become sick of those three words.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Harry just smiles. “Will you let me?”

ㅤㅤ

Y/N is confused. 

Or rather, she is tentative. Anxious, uncertain, disbelieving—waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Harry sits across from her in the café they’ve frequented quite a few times in the last two weeks. His eyes are closed, taking in the first gulp of his coffee as it slinks down his throat and warms his chest, leaving a pleasant trail of heat in its place.

She admires him; something she wishes she could do more without his beady eyes on her and making her feel all embarrassed. He’s pretty—she likes to look at him. Especially when he’s not in his usual suit and slack attire. (Not that her brain doesn’t start to malfunction when he’s embraced by the flattering lines of fabric clutching to the muscles Y/N has had the pleasure of being crowded by but…) The contrast of seeing him comfortable and unfiltered is enough to make her relax too.

Or attempt to relax.

The first time Y/N and Harry came to The Little Snail Café, the former of the two had been nervous. (That is hardly information anyone would pay for.) It was a date as far she had been aware; Harry had explicitly labelled it so. And Y/N hadn’t been on a date since she was with her ex… but their time out was hardly ever impressive enough to warrant any kind of excitement.

Even remembering that she’d had a boyfriend renders every moment spent with him as less and less meaningful. As time spent wasted. He’d never told her her smile was that of sunshine. He’d barely ever told her he liked her.

But Y/N wasn’t thinking about him. Not on that day.

Harry had forced her to let him serve her dinner that evening he’d brought her flowers. Had implored that she change into something comfortable and sternly ordered glue your pretty arse to that sofa, little miss. That had been hard to argue with. Then he’d proceeded to plate up perhaps her first proper meal she’d consumed in a week and ask her about her day.

Y/N had been a little hesitant to admit the extent of her misery but Harry cottoned onto her pause quicker than most would. He was earnest in his sympathy, eyes void of ridicule as she detailed all her misfortunes.

“No wonder you nearly stacked it when I turned up,” he’d joked. “I’m sorry you had a rough day, love.”

It had been nice to have company. A pleasant silence whilst the two filled their stomachs. Y/N had missed it irrevocably—someone to breathe the same air with. 

That had been when Harry asked about taking her somewhere the following day during her lunch break. A quaint place I think you’ll like. It wasn’t far and he’d have her back at work just in time. Y/N found that she trusted his word.

And although she had been worrying about it, as soon as Harry walked through the front doors and into the reception—wearing a chestnut suit that once again clung to him, like thick globules of honey, with his slicked hair that begged to curl onto his forehead in ringlets like that of a piglet’s tail—she had tunnel vision.

Her boss could have come in and fired her on the spot and Y/N wouldn’t have heard a thing. Only the rush of blood in her ears as her pupils expanded to the size of ten pence pieces and her stomach became the home to a dozen butterflies.

Harry had watched her reaction as she’d read the sign above the café—smiled at her bright eyes when she’d told him how cute it was. Had smiled even larger when he took her inside and let her discover the tiny snails etched into the edges of the tables.

“No one else has ever shared my passion for these little guys,” he’d emphasised as they sat down in the corner, sunlight flooding in through the windows and brightening up their irises, making Y/N giggle easily. Harry could tell she wasn’t laughing to make him feel better—or just to flirt—and that only made him try even harder to elicit those sounds from her pretty mouth.

He’d insisted he wanted to get to know her better. So that’s what he did.

Harry learned that Y/N eats far too much sugar, doesn’t sleep enough, and wishes she could have a pet cow. Or that is how he heard the words that exited her mouth. Y/N had only said she usually baked goodies in the dead of night and that videos of little fluffy calves make her cry.

The two never glanced away from one another. It was the kind of chemistry that drew eyes. Subtle glimpses from other customers sipping their warm drinks and cherishing that collective sense of human connection just from witnessing two people so innately into each other. Old couples nudging the other to reminisce on their younger days—workers wiping down tables and feeling a sense of respite during their long day at the unmistakable widening of the woman’s eyes in an attempt to see all of the man before her—to hang onto his every last word.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Pink.”

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

Y/N had asked him lots of those questions. And had seemed very content with every answer he gave her. Perhaps apart from that last one. Y/N might have preferred cats but it wasn’t a dealbreaker.

It didn’t last long enough, in her opinion; their date. She had to return to work far too soon for her liking. But Harry paid for her toastie and hot chocolate, much to Y/N’s disarray, and dropped her off with a stroke of his thumb to the back of her hand and a kiss to her cheek.

She’d smiled so much she’d had to bite her lip to tone it down. Receptionists were never that happy.

ㅤㅤ

Their second date had been impromptu. And not really a date. Harry had knocked on her door once again—however this time, Y/N hadn’t jumped out of her skin. In fact, she’d just finished decorating a cake she’d hoped to surprise him with and the shock of his presence was replaced with elation at the coincidence.

The door opened, and before Harry stood a smiling girl with youthful glee painted all over her face. A pleasant difference from the last time. She giggled to herself and instructed he close his eyes as she guided him to her kitchen where the sweet smells were surely giving away any element of surprise. Still, Harry played up to it—feigning shock—(it’s not that he’s a cruel man but Harry remembered things about people and Y/N wasn’t so hard to read).

“Oh! It’s beautiful, darlin’… you made this f’me?”

Y/N nodded, grinning. A proper smile, unabashed and without premeditation. Harry felt its warmth; lucky to receive such a display from someone he’d previously seen so reserved.

The cake was cute; rusticly smothered in vanilla buttercream and decorated with halved strawberries circling the edges (Y/N was not so hard to read) and it tasted heavenly. Harry never believed he was much of a cake person—he’d always much preferred ice cream—but devouring a slice with the knowledge it had been made with care, especially for him, had his taste buds in a sugarcoated frenzy.

Y/N had been so elated to watch Harry enjoy her baking that she’d failed to realise that he had come to her home for a reason. And so had Harry, apparently—a look of epiphany crossing his face as he was placing his plate in the dishwasher. (Y/N had tried to do it for him but Harry had smoothed a large palm over the top of her head and all thoughts just melted away.)

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mhm?”

“Weather’s supposed to be nice this weekend. Picnic?”

And Y/N still got flustered, sure, but…

“You came all the way here to ask me that? You have… you have my number, don’t you?”

Harry couldn’t help his smile, tongue stuffing his cheek to attempt to control it. “Yeah, I do. I do. Just wanted to see you. Good job I did too.” He nodded to the cake.

But Y/N was all twinkles. In her eyes, over her face, all the way to her toes. She had half the mind to believe Harry visited her just to garner this reaction; to inflate his ego.

“I won’t be able to take you for lunch tomorrow though, ‘m sorry.”

“Oh… that’s okay,” she smiled. It wasn’t okay. It was world-ending news. What was she supposed to look forward to now?

“Been offloading a lot onto m’assisstant lately—should really give him a break.”

Y/N frowned, “I’m sorry.”

Harry barely let her finish the word. “No. No, I don’t want to hear that.” He moved forward, nudging the back of his index finger under her chin. “Not your fault, is it?” His eyes bored into Y/N’s, stern but imploring her to not worry herself like that. To take the blame for something that was not her fault.

“I’m— I…” Words failed to form, eyelashes brushing her cheeks in repeated blinks.

Harry swept it under the rug. It’s not something he wanted her to get het up about. Another time—he’d thought—another time he’d make sure she understood never to apologise unnecessarily. To feel guilty about him causing an inconvenience just to see her; because God forbid she accepted that she was good enough to be treated with such consideration. Another time. “I’ll come see you the day after though, yeah? I still want you to try the beetroot soup.”

“Idon’tlikebeetroot,” the girl mumbled, lips downturning with the admission.

“What was that, love?”

“I don’t think I like beetroot, Harry.” Her eyes lifted…and there was that guilt once again. Fear that disliking something may cause offence or trouble.

“Have you ever tried it?”

Y/N’s silence was deafening. She smiled shyly up at him, skin tingling with the beginnings of heat—whilst Harry simply shook his head with a playful eye roll before stroking his thumb over her chin. The plush pad met with a soft indentation.

“Have an early night tonight, okay? Get some rest.” The syllables rolled off his tongue like a gentle caress; told her she looked tired in quite possibly the kindest way.

Y/N nodded, focusing all her energy on the feeling of his thumb on her skin.

And when Harry had gone, leaving her heart an overexerted mess of muscle and blood turned flower petals and bubbles, she’d simply looked to the ceiling with a shit-eating grin as she tried to swallow a giggle. There was nothing inside her that was not touched by Harry—and everything transformed from rickety and paint-chipped to sturdy and ornate—embellished down to the finest details.

ㅤㅤ

It had been a joy to wake up on Sunday.

Y/N felt the rays of sun through her curtains warming her sleepy face as her alarm blared—an alarm worth setting despite it being the weekend—and as her consciousness came rushing back to her, the memory of Harry promising to pick her up at eleven had her residual tiredness dancing away like it was performing the quickstep.

Dress weather made Y/N happy. Made her feel pretty and confident and giddy; something quite contradicting considering her skittish personality. And that’s exactly how she felt when she admired her sundress in the mirror of her wardrobe—square neck framing her chest, white fabric bunching around her shoulders in sheer puffs and cinching at her waist to flow into a floaty skirt. She looked sweet; the picturesque vision of a girl about to perch on a blanket under the sun and consume saccharine confections. Y/N pulled the hem between her finger and thumb, exposing the skin of her upper thigh, deep in thought at the fantasy of Harry taking her all in. His own confection.

And he did of course.

Though it didn’t unfold in perhaps the way Y/N had hoped. Which is why they’re called fantasies, she supposed. Because she was still her—despite feeling like a whole new person, she certainly wasn’t.

Harry had knocked on her door at two minutes to eleven, which may have been a problem had Y/N not been ready over an hour earlier than she needed to be. (With another bunch of flowers—white gardenias—“They mean I have a crush on you,” Harry leaned over and whispered as though it was some big secret. Y/N took them with a stifled titter and scurried off to place them in water, dress swishing around her thighs.) His gaze had dripped down her, as respectfully as he could manage when all he wanted was to glide his palms all over. The sight of soft skin contrasted by the sanctity of white cotton—her silky hands carrying a wicker basket (the true vision of a picnic) which Harry had plucked out of her grasp with little hesitation.

As a true gentleman would, he offered Y/N his arm to place her hand; the crook of his elbow providing a safe seat to rest from the weary necessity of holding the weight of her own limbs.

Y/N, however, would only be so lucky to mirror Harry’s formalities—to uphold the stereotype of womanly elegance—as her toe catches on a step down towards his car. Emulating their first night outside of her house, only this time it felt worse. It’s far more embarrassing, Y/N decided, to fall when holding onto the person you’re so enamoured by.

It was hardly a fall—moreso a drag of the foot, a buckle of the knee. But it was still enough to have her gasping and untangling herself from Harry. Harry who had kept her secure without any chuckling or patronising. Had his brows furrowed in concern and his hand to her elbow to steady her. Y/N still ripped herself away, turning so he couldn’t see her.

“Oh my god! Don’t look at me.” She was mortified; as the pair stood halfway down the steps, suspended in a moment.

“Darlin’—” Admittedly, Harry did have to try his hardest not to laugh. Not at her trip but her reaction; the drama! “Darling,” he tried again, “you’re alright.” His hand ghosted over Y/N’s shoulder blades, where fabric met flesh.

“That was—I’m mortified—that was so unattractive!” She barely meant it; was just humiliated as she’d said, but Harry shook his head behind her.

“You’re still very pretty, Y/N. Just a little clumsy. But that’s okay,” he turned her around, “you’ll just have to hold on tighter.” Harry admired the kinks in her brows, expressive in her shame, as he guided her hand back to his arm. “Very pretty.” He’d almost whispered it—not out of a wish that she had not heard but as an attempt to reseal their bubble—their intimate world.

The sun stayed magnificently bright for them.

As though it was watching its light bounce between their eyes; wanted the moment to last as long as it could maintain the warmth; the incandescence.

Harry followed the motions of her hands, fingernails painted in alternating shades of soft green and pastel pink, as Y/N devoured a punnet of strawberries. (She’d brought two.) She was a head-bobber, munching away with the occasional hum as her eyes transfixed onto his knees. 

He was wearing corduroy shorts and a big floaty shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a white top poking out from underneath. Y/N admired his golden skin, the delicate tattoos bracketing his kneecaps, and the dusting of hair covering his lean limbs. It was still a joy to see him so underdressed, the true image of a boy she would take home to her parents.

The two looked symbiotic—two sides of the same coin, or heart, or strawberry—as Y/N offered one to Harry, who took it graciously with a smile and a scrunch of his nose. (Mild hayfever, he’d described it as.) From an outside perspective, they looked established. A relationship that surely began as highschool sweethearts. Enough so to have strangers whispering I’ll bet you a tenner he’s about to propose to her.

But neither registered any sort of outside perspective, they were the only two people that mattered, after all.

“You ought to be careful, love, you’ll get a bad tummy if you eat so much fruit,” Harry prodded, as Y/N opened up the second punnet of strawberries.

“Oh,” she frowned down at them. “My stomach sorta always hurts anyway.” He perturbed her none, eyelashes fluttering as she bit into a picture perfect fruit. Harry hardened his gaze—registering her unbothered tone with concern.

“That’s not… ideal, Y/N.” He was slow, cautious. “Y’shouldn’t be hurting all the time.”

Her eyes rounded out as she looked at him, lips plush as she took another bite. But she just shrugged her shoulders, tastebuds too preoccupied by the blossoming on her tongue. The wind picked up a little, blowing her hair across her face in soft streaks—as though the Earth was wielding a paintbrush, and using her strands as the medium. She whined a little, trying to avoid getting hair in her mouth as she finished the rest of the strawberry. Harry watched with starry eyes—zoned in on her shining skin—as a drop seeped out of the edge of her lips and dribbled down the side of her chin.

He reached over without hesitation, thumb swiping the liquid away, and Harry basked in the subtle widening of Y/N’s eyes as he brought that very thumb to his mouth to coat his tongue. Her fingers scrambled at her face messily, brushing all hair out of her eyes. It felt incredibly humid all of a sudden.

“Hey,” she pouted, refusing to be swept away under Harry’s ruse, “that was my juice.”

And Harry couldn’t help himself. Not when she was setting the scene just perfectly. “Mm, sorry,” he hummed, “d’you want it back?”

Y/N nodded, tongue darting out to wetten her lips.

“Hm?” He prompted.

“Yeah—yes, I do, please.” She swallowed; Harry’s eyes followed the contraction of her throat.

“Come here then,” he tempted. He was already in a very alluring position, elbows bracing his weight as he sprawled across the blanket, knee propped up and easily manoeuvrable. Y/N shuffled on her knees, the short space towards him, setting herself down with her hands placed on her thighs as though he’d instructed her to.

Harry pushed up, hand ghosting along the side of Y/N’s cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” Their breaths mingled, swirling across one another’s face and sinking into their skin. Y/N’s eyelids dropped closed, patiently asking, waiting. He took his time to admire her anticipating face, leaning closer to drape a sigh over her bottom lip.

“Kiss—kiss me,” she exhaled, eyelids twitching—wanting to open. But they didn’t. They stayed shut, stayed waiting, stayed hiding her from the world around them.

Harry smiled and Y/N swore she could feel it. Feel as he leant forward and brushed the tip of his nose down the front of hers. His hand stroked through the hair behind her ear, large digits coaxing her to melt and mollify into his hands, which she did so easily. She parted her lips wider, blindly tilting to try to meet his. Harry let them touch for a second—a press of flesh—before he leant back, nose nudging hers once again.

Y/N expelled a shaky breath, a little whine falling out of her neglected mouth. Her eyebrows kinked and her pretty nails dug into her thighs.

She chose to stay in the dark—from fear that it would be over if she opened her eyes. But that was something she needn’t have worried about. Harry leant back, enough to see out of the corner of his eye and reach for a strawberry.

He resisted the urge to indulge himself, mouth watering at the thought, and instead brought the pointed tip towards Y/N’s eagerly awaiting lips. Harry grazed his nose along her cheekbone, words finding her sensitive ears as he pushed the fruit to touch.

“Bite,” he whispered.

A noise of complaint lodged itself in Y/N’s throat, but she complied regardless, teeth sinking into the strawberry. Its juice coated her tongue and lacquered over her lips, the gooey pulp going down smoothly as she dared to open her mouth for another offering.

But as she did, suddenly the air around her face shifted, and the heat of Harry’s breath ghosted across her once more. Pointed and heavy exhales from his nostrils as she felt his tongue dart out to swipe across her bottom lip. It felt exploratory, leisurely—like he had all the time in the world to get to know her mouth. And it’s not like they hadn’t done this before—kissed—but it felt new, all the same. It had her breath hitching and her body leaning unconsciously into his touch.

Once her bottom lip stopped being enough, Harry pulled it down with the pad of his thumb and unlatched Y/N’s jaw in the process. He opened her up, and she let him completely, sat still on her knees as he played with her. She didn’t feel toyed with really—was still processing being touched in such a way and wondering if it would ever stop feeling so intoxicating. Harry took one final moment to bask in her blind trust; to watch the stillness of her face and feel the gentle (but rapid) breaths fan against his mouth.

And then he kissed her.

He really kissed her.

Y/N’s hmph quickly turned into a muffled mewl, open mouth accepting Harry’s tongue rubbing over hers as though it was her resuscitative medication. The only thing to stabilise her bloodstream, to soothe her fighting heart. He tasted like strawberries. And so did she. Sweet, and wet, and promising. It felt filthy but it felt clean at the same time—renewing and resetting, like running across soft sands to plunge into bracing sea water—Y/N would let him drip juice anywhere he liked, she’d let him feed fruit from his own mouth into hers. She’d let Harry spread her out and do with her as he pleased. Right there. Right then.

And it caught up to her all too quickly, the overwhelming heat of her thoughts. They were in public. But yet she couldn’t possibly entertain pulling away—not when Harry’s mouth engulfed her entirely. It wasn’t a cute kiss, a sweet reminder of affection or endearment. It was a kiss you shielded your child’s eyes away from, or grimaced at from nearby. It was sloppy, and sticky, and mind-numbingly dizzying.

Harry’s lips left syrupy residue wherever they landed—her top lip, her bottom lip, her tongue, her cupid’s bow. Y/N felt poisoned. Drip fed for weeks until Harry deemed the time right as he went in for the kill. She wasn’t sure she was even doing much of the kissing; perhaps she was simply being kissed. She tried to keep up, returned his tongue with her own and let her mouth encase his bottom lip in a frenzied attempt at reciprocation.

But his hands were holding her face, and then they were sliding into her hair, and all Y/N could do was feel.

Feel, and be felt, and—and—

ㅤㅤ

And Y/N is still confused!

She’s drifted away from their cosy table at The Little Snail Café—well physically, she’s right there but mentally… Her eyes are glossed over and she’s still very much contemplating the state of their relationship. Because… that kiss had been nearly a week ago and… well, Y/N doesn’t want to be thought of as some sex pest (she loses her virginity and now she’s clawing at the walls for orgasms) but she always thought—completely aware of her ignorance and unrealistic education—that the role of a dominant was to… fuck the living shit out of someone on the regular.

And even as she’s thinking that, with Harry right in front of her, she feels crude and disrespectful. But he hasn’t so much as hinted that he was going to have sex with her again, and that moment with the strawberries has been going round, and round, and round inside her head for days and nights and it’s driving her insane. Because, as previously established, nothing she can do matches what Harry made her feel, so any attempt at quelling the ache leaves her worse off than before.

“Don’t much like hearing how I feel about squirting, huh?”

Y/N blinks, and physically shakes her head as if to wake herself up. “Sorry?”

Harry sips from his mug, smiling. “Joke, love.”

“How uh—” she clears her throat, “How do you feel?”

“Hm… messy, but hot.”

She nods—perhaps a confusing reaction to such a sentence. Most people would probably quip back something flirtatious or coy. But Y/N just nods.

“What’re you thinking about in there?”

“Um… I was just wondering when— when you were gonna kiss me… again…”

“Y’are, are you? How uncouth.”

“Well— I just… When you said you were,” she leans forward, volume dropping considerably, “a dominant… I just thought… something different would be happening.” And then she starts to spiral. “Not in a— not because this is… this is great. I mean—”

“Settle down, darlin’, it’s okay.” Harry sighs, scratching the top of his head with a thoughtful expression on his lovely face. “‘s my fault, really. I haven’t explained much to you. And I have no doubt you are basing all of your facts on poor media portrayal.” Y/N scrunches her nose in a silent show of guilt. “It’s not just about sex,” he starts. “It is for some people, but for you I don’t think it is. And I’ve been slow, and cautious in fear of overwhelming you, and it’s resulted in probably a couple confusing weeks for you. So, I’m sorry.

“The whole point is for you not to worry, and you’re still doing that because I’m not doing my job properly, but I was worried you might change your mind so I held off. You can still change your mind, by the way.” Y/N shakes her head. Harry continues. “I’ll take you home now, if you like, give you the whoooole run through. Does that sound good?” Y/N nods. “And you’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?”

“Yes, Harry. I will.”

“Can I take you to my home? Cook you dinner?” He asks, staring at the way Y/N’s head lays heavy against the headrest and her limbs are leaden, as she relaxes into his car.

She nods, lips quirking upwards with intrigue. At the blanks in her mind that will be filled. What to imagine when he’s in bed, when he’s watching TV, or eating… or… showering. “Can I help?”

Harry pretends to consider it. “We’ll see.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s house is… not what Y/N expects it to be.

Well, it is in some ways.

It’s large, and it’s expensive, and it’s astronomically grand. But it’s… it’s characterless. It lacks personality—and Harry Styles does not lack personality. Harry Styles is charming, and intelligent, and beautiful. But his house is stark white. There is no indication that his house is not a show home. It’s untouched, unlived in, unloved. And Y/N wasn’t expecting that.

“It’s too big, I know,” Harry gestures to the air around them as he watches Y/N take it all in.

“Not at all! No… it’s so beautiful, Harry.” And it is, it really is. She’s not lying. How can she lie when she’s staring at such a grand staircase? When the windows are so large, and bright that the space is nearly sparkling. And the garden she sees through the other side is blooming trees and unkempt flowers and just begging to be loved.

But as beautiful as it is, it’s still just… white.

He guides her through to the kitchen which…

“Woah,” Y/N admires, “you could make so many cakes in here.” She laughs and Harry grins just at the sight.

It’s true, there’s enough counter space to house at least ten separate mixing bowls. Impressively clean considering the observed shades of white. But there are signs of life in here—photos on the fridge, (one that catches her eye of two women that absolutely have to share his genes) post-it notes huddled around a pot of pens, a basket of cleaning products, a vase of flowers in the middle of the island. A comforting sight to see a little bit of the inside of Harry’s brain.

“They’re very pretty,” Y/N points at the photo on his fridge with a hesitancy that suggests she’s expecting him to berate her for being nosy.

“Mum’ll love that,” he laughs. “That’s her,” Harry points to the woman on the left, adorning sunglasses and a bright smile, and then to the right, “and m’sister, Gemma.”

“You look like each other.”

“Yeah? Y’think so?”

Harry shines when he speaks about his loved ones. Is so happy to talk about the photo of his father, his step-dad, his mum’s cat, the younger Harry surrounded by other young boys (“My mate Jonny, he was stoned as fuck in this picture. Had no idea.” His eyes crinkle around the edges and Y/N can only think about how beautiful those lines look).

Then he moves over to the island and tugs out a stool. “Come sit,” he pats.

He doesn’t let her help him cook—insists that she stay right where she is and carry on looking at him like that.

“Like what?” Y/N pretends she’s not shy about being caught.

“With those gooey eyes.”

“Gooey?”

“Mhm. You look one moment away from melting into the counter.”

“I do not,” she scoffs.

“It’s okay, I like it.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry owns the fluffiest rug in the history of the universe, Y/N is sure.

Obnoxiously cream in comparison to the rest of the colour palette. And in defence of Harry, the walls of his living room are painted a warm beige and his vast, velvet sofa is a deep forest green. The main attraction remains the rug, however. Long and shaggy and absolutely imperative to lie upon.

Y/N withholds the urge, but she stares pointedly and longingly towards it for too long to be considered a passing gaze.

“You can touch it if you want.”

“Hm?” 

“The rug… that you’re eyefucking.”

“I—” she blanches, “It looks so soft.”

Harry makes the first move, blue jeans creasing at the knees as he crouches down. He pushes his palms into the strands and watches as they’re swallowed up into the depths of the faux-fur. Y/N hesitates, looking down at him on his hands and knees and wondering if it would be inappropriate to join him. But when he leans back, hands bracing himself behind him so he can lounge—mirroring the position of the day they had their picnic far too much—Y/N caves and drops to her own knees.

It’s sensory heaven—quite frankly—and Y/N knows immediately that she could get lost stroking this sole rug for hours. Harry watches her with an informed smile as she drags her fingers back and forth through the threads, already lost in a little world of her own.

“G’na have a mature and adult conversion now, alright, love?”

Y/N nods.

“Are you going to be able to listen and finger my rug at the same time?”

She narrows her eyes at him, adjusting from kneeling to crossing her legs. “I’m not finger—” she swallows. “Yes, I believe so.”

ㅤㅤ

“—I would encourage you to eat, go to bed at a certain time, turn your phone off. And I would want you to listen to me—not to argue, to trust that I know best.” That sounds easy, Y/N thinks. “I would want you to raise concerns in a polite manner—I don’t think it’s ever necessary to shout. And it would be important to me that you are always honest about the way you are feeling. No trying to make me feel better or pushing it down, okay?”

Y/N had feared it may be complicated, from the way Harry had suggested—had put off having this conversation for so long. But his commanding voice, and intense eyes make her feel so safe, and incredibly mellow. New feelings for Y/N. She nods.

“And when it comes to sex… trust is the most important thing. I don’t want to be doing anything we haven’t discussed, and I certainly don’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable in an attempt to please me. Now I know you may not be experienced with a lot of the things that are involved in these kinds of relationships but would you be interested in learning… with me? What you like and dislike?”

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling now? Good?” When Y/N nods once more, Harry gets to his feet. His voice slicks down her spine when he drawls, “Come here then. And kneel.”

Whilst Harry had been speaking, Y/N can’t deny the fact that her insides had started stirring around in anticipation. But now, as he commands her to station herself so far below him in stature, the silly little brain inside her skull begins to melt into mush. She crawls the short distance towards him until her eyes are level with the tops of his knees, and she just waits, sneaking a glance up to see Harry towering above her with a subtle quirk of his lip.

He brings a hand up slowly, warm palm ghosting the heat of her cheek and smoothing over her head in a comforting stroke. “I want you to call me Sir. T’help you slip quicker. You wanna be all nice ‘n’ mellow? Forget about all your stress?”

“Yes… Sir.” It comes out as little more than a squeak.

Harry chuckles, “You’re so good.” Y/N quite nearly beams up at him, insides swarming. “You like that? You like when I praise you?”

“Mhm,” she nods.

“Well it’s just so easy for me, darlin’. Because you’re so lovely.”

She closes her eyes, bottom lip nibbled to hide the giddy smile that overtakes her. Harry’s hand in her hair, scratching and smoothing, is already doing enough to make her eyelids heavy. But she supposes sleep is not the end goal.

“Your first time,” Harry starts. “Did you enjoy it?”

What? “Yes—yes Sir, of course.”

“What would you change about it?”

“N-nothing! It was perfect.”

He hums, nails dragging soothing lines into her scalp. “Which part?” Y/N opens her mouth but Harry keeps speaking. “When I fucked you open with my fingers? Got you nice and stretched for me—had your little pussy just quivering and begging me to fill her up?” He fists a more substantial amount of her hair. “Or maybe when I finally got my cock inside of you, and you were so happy. Squirming underneath me like a wet dream.”

Y/N can’t help but grab for his thighs, nails trying to dig in.

“Hands in your lap, darlin’.”

She pulls away regretfully.

“Was it when I fucked up into you, hard enough to force all those pretty sounds out? Or when I stretched over you and held your hands above your head? Had your body arching for me.”

Y/N is on fire. She must be. Her body is aflame and her insides have melted.

“I think…” Harry bends over some, trying to catch the eyes of the girl who is fighting every feeling. Her eyelids are shut, concealing the windows to her soul, and her brows are knitted together so tightly that she might induce a migraine. He smooths them out with a thumb before stroking over the delicate skin of her lids. “I think—look at me, darling—I think… it was when I had your stomach pressed into the mattress and a hand around your throat,” thick fingers squeeze her cheeks together with care, “and all you could do was lie there and take it. As I fucked you for the first time, just like you deserve. 

“And after you came around me for the third time, I flipped you over so I could see your pretty face, and I came between your soft thighs, didn’t I, love? Did you want it inside of you? Warm, and sticky, and all because of you? Is that what you’d change?”

Y/N doesn’t actually think he would have come inside of her—he’d worn a condom, after all—but if the thought doesn’t have her thighs squeezing… “Wouldn't change,” she shakes her head. “Liked having you— liked it on…”

“Mm, I think you’d say that about everything. What do you know, after all?”

He’s right, and she hates the way his condescension has her wilting even further into the palm of his hand. 

Y/N leans her face into Harry’s hand as he begins tracing over her features with a curious thumb, dedicating every line and mark to his memory. Then he’s crouching down with a little exhale and securing his hands under her armpits to pull her up with miniscule preamble. Y/N gasps, and her hands shoot out instinctively whilst Harry is lifting her up to his height. She grabs his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist using muscle memory she didn’t realise she had.

Her knees sink into the rich green of his sofa as Harry sits down, gently encouraging her hands down from his shoulders and behind her back. A buzz zips through her chest from the feel of his warm body underneath her. Warm, and strong, and solid.

“Wanna hold these here, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his rose-tinted lips. “Gonna be a little rough with you. If you want to stop, you say Red. If you want to slow down—take a break—you say Yellow. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he says, eyes trailing down her neck, deciding what to do, “good,” repeated solely to himself.

Y/N feels the frustration of choosing to put on jeans this morning, mind spiralling at the thought of being on top of Harry with just a skirt to hide her modesty. Just a skirt that would so easily be slipped underneath by his hands, and then her underwear…

But Harry seems less concerned. His gaze is transfixed to her chest; to the intricate lace of her camisole, that—in contrast to her jeans—provides very easy access. Y/N’s breathing picks up at the very thought, ribs expanding and only drawing his eyes further. She’s tugged forward by a hand on her hip, searing through the fabric, and the other holding her hands. Tugged until Harry is resting his forehead on her sternum and inhaling deeply.

Her lungs are working at an extreme rate, and more of his nose presses into her with every breath. Y/N is so close to his hair in this position—just has to bend her face down a little and his musky scent fills her nostrils. It seems they both have similar ideas—breathing one another in—but Harry seems far more relaxed than the near shaking girl on top of him.

It only gets worse for her when he pushes his lips against the valley of her breasts—small, tender kisses that have Y/N’s breath hitching. The straps of her camisole want to fall down her shoulders in angelic swoops but her cardigan prohibits all movement. Suddenly it’s the heaviest and warmest piece of clothing she’s ever worn.

“Har—Sir,” she breathes, head tilting back on her shoulders. The caress of his breath on her body is immobilising, and he seems content in moving at a snail’s pace for his own enjoyment. Whether he gets the message or not is unclear, but regardless, Harry lets go of her hands just long enough to shuck the chunky cardigan down her arms and discard it beside them.

As soon as he tightens his grip around her wrists once again, the strain of her arms has her camisole straps slipping down the curves of her shoulders, like a waterfall of silk. The fabric is so light and thin that it pools underneath her breasts—the crooks of her elbows the only things keeping the straps suspended. And Harry’s immediate response suggests he’s somewhat of a starved individual, teeth digging into the top of the left cup of her bra and tugging it down with haste.

He takes her nipple into his mouth and Y/N is all gasps and bucks. The sensitivity of her skin and the rough suction of his lips, the flicking of his tongue and the grazing of his teeth. It’s deafening; the blood rushing in Y/N’s head, it’s near predisposing. The spit, and the hot exhales from his nose against her chest, the indentations his teeth leave behind when he pulls away to admire the wetness of her breast. But he goes back in—bites at her flesh—chews, and laves, and consumes her entirely.

Y/N’s cunt is pulsating. She is wet, and fervently hot, and the subtle rocking of her hips is ceased by a large palm over hip, which has her whining into the air.

“Stay still f’me,” he slurs into her skin, desperate fingers pulling her bra down further and watching to make sure it stays, before he starts on the other side of her chest. Her wrists are encircled behind her back, and Harry pushes her forward—into his mouth, as if he’s not already practically eating her. And maybe she can try her hardest not to squirm but all that energy has to go somewhere, and she’s panting now—whimpering all these sounds that she’s never heard herself make before—and Harry can surely feel the vigorous inflation and deflation of her lungs.

“Oh—oh, H—Sir, please.”

Please what? Stop? No. Keep torturing her breasts? Also no.

Harry hums against her, long and unwilling as his mouth leaves her with a wet smack. He admires her skin, eyes flitting up to see the dazed girl atop him.

“Don’t like it?” He puffs, inhaling deeply, beginning to dance a hand around her ribs.

“I do, I do,” Y/N breathes, eyes still closed. “Too h-hot.”

Harry frowns though she can’t see, before he’s unclasping her bra and pulling her camisole over her head—standing her up on jelly legs and pulling her jeans down. Sat on his lap once again, he tightens his grip around her wrists and curls his fingers around her throat.

“Can feel your heat, baby,” he looks down to where her clothed cunt rests just before his bulge. His still very clothed bulge. “Give me a kiss.” And she still feels exceptionally inexperienced in the whole department but her body surges forward, urged by the pressure against her pulse, as her lips meet his shiny ones. 

This time, when Y/N’s hips start moving on their own accord, Harry doesn’t stop her—tugs her closer in fact. Right on top of where he’s warm, and hard. Their mouths part a centimetre, just enough to pant into one another at the feeling. Of his hand squeezing her throat, and pushing her arms into her back. Y/N doesn’t even notice when he lets go of her wrists—never daring to move them—as his palm comes down in an experimental slap to her arse. 

It’s light; enough to not hurt but suggest his intentions. And when Y/N gasps and twitches on top of him, he gets the idea. “Is that nice?”

“Yes.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” she whimpers into his mouth, lips pasting to his cupid’s bow and falling away when he does it again. Hard enough to leave a tingle that spreads out to her centre and up her stomach.

“Unzip my trousers.” 

There’s no hesitation, both his palms are holding her ass now, desperate to spread them apart but damned by the confines of her underwear. Y/N shakes a little but does what he says, exposing the hot pink of his boxers underneath—and the thick outline of his cock.

“Take me out, go on.” She meets his eyes—blown out and transfixed, mirroring her very own. “Take me out, Y/N,” he whispers, leaning closer to lick a stripe up the column of her throat, and then an open-mouthed kiss to her chin, and her mouth.

He’s heavy in her hand, and intimidatingly big. How did she ever fit this inside of her? But she feels the instinct to make him feel good. This was the one area she had experience in, afterall. The skin is so soft and all she has to do is spit down and watch as it drips from his head along his shaft. But Harry takes her hand instead and laves his tongue along her palm before guiding her down to wrap around him.

His breath hitches; their eyes don’t stray from one another’s. He holds her hand over him and starts to drag it up and down, his blinking lagging a little from the feel of her delicate fingers wriggling underneath his palm. It’s intense, and paralysingly slow—every second spent watching his face feels like sixty—and when she looks down, she feels herself clench around nothing at the sight of her smaller hand wrapped in his, and the way his cock looks between them. Red, and thick, and wet.

It must show on her face because Harry’s unwrapping her hand and reaching forward to press his fingers into the front of her underwear. “Put me in.”

“What? B-but I’m not… and you’re so…”

He nods, “I know. You can do it,” as he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet from his back pocket. Y/N’s heart jumps when he rips the condom open with his teeth—a true teenage fantasy—and slides it on with a swallowed grunt.

He tugs her gusset to the side, breaking strings of arousal and basking in the twitch of Y/N’s hips. She clumsily hovers over him, embarrassed as she holds onto his base. As she lowers down, Harry’s thumb finds her clit—swollen and hypersensitive—and she squeezes him reflexively. He groans, low and vibrating, content to roll her under his digit cruelly—distracting her from the attempt at swallowing him with composure.

Y/N whines as the thick head squeezes inside her tight hole, mouth ajar and eyes half-focused on the man who brings his shining thumb to his mouth and makes a show of relishing in the taste of her arousal.

“F-fuck,” the words force their way out of her shining mouth.

Harry rears a hand back and slaps her ass, harder than the other times, fingers staying on the skin to dig in and pull. “Don’t swear.” And Y/N doesn’t think he’s usually adverse to it but she’ll do whatever he asks of her right now.

“S-sorry, Sir,” she moans out as Harry sinks deeper and deeper inside. Maybe he should’ve stretched her out first but God if it isn’t the most blissful discomfort. That initial entrance—knowing what her body is accommodating for and how far he reaches inside of her most private place.

As soon as she’s seated on him, completely and utterly full, Harry confines her wrists once again as he sits up and encourages Y/N to lean into him. Her breasts squish into his shirt. His shirt. That he is still wearing. “Come on, baby. Tire yourself out.”

Exhaustion is already seeping into her bones but Harry’s voice croons into her ears so tenderly—it coats her skin in a sheen of glitter and pumps sparkling wine through her veins. She makes every effort in lifting up and sinking back down—in, albeit, slow and wobbly movements—but the concentration on her face is like a drug to Harry. It has him thumbing over her nipple and taking it into his mouth again, which only has Y/N stuttering and inevitably stopping. She pants, and wiggles, and whines, enough so to have Harry placing both palms underneath the seam of her underwear and gripping her bum like he’d wanted.

He squeezes and stretches to his heart’s desire, mouth still firmly attached to her breast, but his strong hold aiding Y/N in moving once more. She’s lifted up and down, and up and down—slow enough to feel every ridge of him opening her walls.

“M-my legs hurt. Sir.” Y/N wishes she were a gym fiend as she admits it.

“Do they, love?” He pulls back from her chest, discontent to stop nibbling her skin raw but her voice is oh, so fragile. He’ll take care of her like he promises all the time. “Lean your head on my shoulder—keep your arms where they are.”

When she doesn’t immediately listen, and looks up to his eyes with a silently begging expression, he cocks his eyebrow. “Can I f-feel you? Your skin, please, Sir.” He’d left his clothes on, somewhat intentionally, but he doesn’t feel so mean in this moment. A nod is all the encouragement she needs, as Y/N unbuttons his shirt with clumsy fingers, and pushes it off his shoulder to rest her cheek upon. Her arms go back behind her and her nose moves forward to press into his neck deliciously. He smells of allure.

Harry can’t help himself when he tears her underwear from her body. She’s too soft, and warm, and wet to simply entertain the idea of pulling out of her. And from the noise she makes—a surprised squeak but no beratement—and the clench around his cock, he can only assume she likes it. Likes the desperation, or the display of strength, or his pure animal brain—it doesn’t matter. Because Harry’s kneading her ass in heavy handfuls, and moving her faster and faster, and Y/N is flooding his neck in her warm, tight pants—sweet whines falling out of her mouth.

“Beg me to come,” he grunts, granting Y/N no kind of warning before his fingers dig in harder and his hips slam into her at a speed that has her lungs forcing out high-pitched squeals. The sounds are nasty, unmistakable and unexplainable. The slap of skin, the wetness between her thighs, the noises that leave both their lips. It’s raw, and scaldingly hot, and— and… she needs to rub her clit.

“I— Sir, I can’t—”

“No?” His thrusts don’t falter, not even once. She’s on her back in a second, and her wrists are trapped underneath her. He makes no move to readjust them, only stretches her knee to the side so it pushes into the back of the sofa before grabbing a throw pillow and stuffing it under her hips. “Come on, beg me, little doll,” his hand spans across her mound, thumb meeting her clit in a back-arching press. This, has her cunt tightening—pulsating, contracting, strangling his cock. And with the pillow angling her just right, Harry can feel himself underneath his palm; it drives him batty.

He fucks her into the sofa, hard and unrelenting, leaning over her to chew on her tits once more. It’s sweaty, and messy, and that only makes it hotter. “Beg, Y/N.” His thumb rubs faster, expelling the choked up cry from her throat. She’s so close, is writhing underneath him—fighting the rolling of her eyes into the back of her skull.

“Please! S-sir, I—”

“That’s it. Good girl letting me fuck you—your sopping cunt, baby. Beg better than that, come on.”

His words send her spiralling, orgasm racing up on her and she panics that she won’t be given permission before it happens. “Oh my god! Oh, pleasepleaseplease, Harry!— Sir, please l-let me, please.” It’s adorable, Harry finds, her minimisation of the English dictionary when she’s so bent out of shape. Her pleading is less begging and more repetition, but he’ll let it slide.

He’ll let it slide as he presses his thumb harder and leans back to watch as he murmurs something akin to the value of diamond. “Come. Fucking come f’me, darlin’. Look at you.”

Y/N can’t hear anything. Not now. All she needed was that first word of permission and she’s seeing stars. Spasming around him so tight that Harry’s own moans started flowing out, pace increasing as he rolls her clit under his thumb. “Fuuuck, there you are. Keep squeezing like that, there’s a good girl.”

It takes her a while to come down from, no surprise considering Harry is still pounding into her, and her whimpers echo his moans—desperate and unabashed, his lips red and brows tight. He looks so handsome. So beautiful above her with his flushed skin and his flexing muscles, unbuttoned shirt floating around him. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever felt so peaceful, in a dreamlike state in all her vulnerability. And she keeps contracting around him, like he asks—because when he groans like that, she’d have to be a sadist not to—and as his moans build up in pitch, and his eyes meet hers in frenzied pleasure, she’s sure she wants him to come more than she’s ever wanted her own orgasm in her life.

Harry surges forward, smearing his lips all over Y/N’s mouth. It’s messy, and uncoordinated, and his tongue is slicking her skin. But it’s the hottest kiss she’s ever had. And it feels so good when his groans hit a crescendo, and his hips stutter, and Y/N can feel the warmth of his spurts inside the condom. She whimpers against his open mouth, arms losing all feeling behind her back, but she doesn’t care because his eyelashes are brushing against her cheek and it’s the most intimate thing she’s ever felt.

They’re lethargic, Harry’s movements, and he’d like to be much more alert but his body is tingling and Y/N is looking up at him so trustingly—he wonders if she’s fallen into a stupor.

“Th-thank you, Sir.”

He strokes her hip bones, pulling out with a soft hiss. Y/N whines a little at the sensitivity.

“You can call me Harry again now, if you like, darlin’.” He leans down to kiss her forehead, consuming palms holding her cheeks.

She’s not really listening. “Mm, feels… feel kinda drunk.” She smiles, nose turning into his thumb. Harry gives her another kiss and pulls away, to knot the condom and collect her clothes. Minus the pair of panties that are no longer wearable. He doesn’t feel even an ounce of guilt.

He’ll make her some food, watch as she eats it with her eyes begging to close, and then let her sleep in his bed—hoping she’ll want him to stay.

Little does he know that Y/N will wake up in the middle of the night to raid his kitchen in a matter of ways that Harry will reprimand her for. 

But for right now, he’ll keep her as happy as he possibly can.

[unscripted-if]

DEMO || PINTEREST

Lights…

Camera…

Action!

Those three words, along with the flashing of cameras and screaming of thousands of people, had made up your life for over a decade. Following your rising star into the stratosphere where you could look at where you’ve been upon your lofty perch in the sky. You were the ruler of your universe and there was nothing that’d bring you down…

… Until, of course, there was…

Suddenly in a free fall, without any chance of catching yourself in sight, you’re hurtling back to the ground with only one thought, one goal, in your mind: Find your way back up.

When a new project comes your way, new opportunities arrive with it, but nothing is ever cut and dry within Hollywood. You’ll have to put your all into this movie if you want any chance at salvaging your career.

Try to stay on script…

Unscripted is a slice-of-life interactive fiction where romance, drama, and the trivialities of life intertwine to create your story. Rated 18+ for explicit language, optional sexual content, drug/alcohol use, and violence.

Features

✰ Customizable MC: Name, gender (male, female, non-binary), sexuality, appearance, some of your past projects, and history with a few of the characters.

✰ Maintain your fan base and make sure that they haven’t forgotten about you. Will you earn more as your journey progresses?

✰ Be interviewed from sidewalk reporters to one of the biggest Late Night Shows within America. Just make sure that you make a good impression— there is such a thing as bad publicity after all.

✰ Romance one of the characters that’ll either have the crowd roaring or scratching their heads. Will you find common ground with your sworn rival? Take a chance at love with someone from your past? Give your hot-and-cold manager a shot? Time will tell…

✰ Adopt a new friend that will hopefully make your lonely nights less so.

✰ Rise back to the ranks of Super Stardom and take back your throne.

Romances

The Rival: Angel Sinclair [M/F] — Ever since you arrived in Hollywood, Angel Sinclair has been there. You’re not quite sure when, or where, your rivalry even began, only that it’s made a ton of tabloids rich with the stories they’d print due to it, and you’re even less sure why you keep running into them on the same lot you’re shooting your newest movie. Is it another twisted form of punishment? With an icy exterior that puts the Arctic to shame, you don’t think you’ve ever seen them smile— at least when they’re not in front of the camera or interacting with fans. Will you uncover more as your random run-ins start losing some of their randomness?

Route: Rivals to Lovers.

The Manager: Kieran/Kiera Walker [M/F] — Probably one of the few reasons you’re still where you are. With a keen mind, a sharp eye for detail, and an even sharper tongue, K has never taken it easy on you, and they’re definitely not doing so now. While pragmatic about their approach, they’re not afraid to tell you what they think, when the time calls for it, which is something that’s definitely caused some tension in the past. Still, you don’t know what you’d do without them; as they’ve stayed steadily by your side through it all. And you don’t think they’re going anywhere anytime soon.

Route: Slow Burn.

The Director: Spencer Hale [M/F] — Last Laugh, the title of the movie you’re now part of, is the passion project that Spencer has been working on for years; trying tirelessly to get it to the silver screen. You would know— after all you were there when they began to write it back in college. Despite not having seen them in years, the gentle look in their eyes hasn’t shifted in the slightest; even if it is a bit more wary now, they don’t hesitate in offering you the same level of kindness as before. Though, even that, still feels different, wrong somehow. Can you recover what’s been lost between you? Or will you forever be two ships passing in the night?

Route: Ex-Best Friend/Lover (can choose if they were your lover or not) || Second Chances

The Newcomer: Cameron/Carmen Rivera [M/F] — An up-and-coming star within Hollywood from the music scene. Having wanted to take a shot at the silver screen for years it’s only with this project that they’ve finally been given the chance— cast as your love interest, no less. You’re not too sure what to make of them. From everything you’ve read they’re sunshine incarnate, with a beaming smile always on their lips, that completely contradicts the darker colors that they typically wear. Something tells you, an almost bone deep intuition, that they’re an array of contradictions all rolled up into one package. Will you ever be able to uncover any of them?

Route: First Love (to them) || Age Gap

The Bodyguard: Roman Locke [M/F] — With a penchant to wear nothing but black, sometimes with muted tones of gray thrown in, you don’t know much about the individual that’s been guarding you with their life for the last five years. Only their stellar history in the Navy, coupled with a possible connection to being a CIA Agent, though that’s never been confirmed, and the other rudimentary facets of their past that any employer needs to know. However, even if they rarely speak, you know that you’re in more than capable hands and that they take their job seriously. But what happens when that professional facade begins to crack?

Route: Bodyguard Romance.

The Assistant: Harley Park [M/F] — Someone who’s very good at their job while also being everywhere and nowhere all at once. You don’t know if they’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your first meeting— with them being in a fandom shirt from a project you had done a couple of years before, with you at center stage on it. With an undeniable charm, if a bit awkward in their approach, Harley is definitely someone that’d you miss interacting with once you got the chance to do so. You just have to get them to actually interact with you first.

Route: Oblivious Love.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Don't Get Attached | Drabble Series

"I'd rip anything off you,"

“Y/n, are you still mad at me?” Junkook’s breathless voice echoes in the men’s washroom as the two of you exit the tiny stall. Chest heaving up, you run your fingers through your curls before wiping the smeared lipstick off of your face. 

“Why would I be? Mhm? I looove the sight of my ripped dress on the dirty floor,” you scoff, rolling your eyes as your arms fold over your chest which was left covered by the mere fabric of the lacy bra. Just a few minutes ago, you were so immersed in the pleasure of Jungkook’s slender fingers that it took you a good second to realize why you could suddenly feel the cool breeze all over your body. 

“To be fair, I’d rip anything off you,” he says softly, hands inching closer to your waist as his broad shoulders cage your form under him. Arms on either side of you, he leans closer, tilting his head to the side to meet your furrowed gaze before noticing the goosebumps covering your soft skin. 

“Koo …” you whisper, placing your hands on his blazer as his sly smirk slowly softens looking down at your doe eyes. It doesn’t take much for him to fold, just the innocence in your gaze is enough of a motive for him to lift your body onto the countertop. And, as your legs naturally spread apart, the tiny space between you two welcomes him in, as if reserved solely for his touch. 

“I’m sorry baby, you know I don’t do too well with sundresses,” Jungkook mumbles, tucking a few stray curls behind your ear before giving your pouty lips a quick peck. 

“Well, now what? I’m literally naked,” you chuckle from the disbelief, leaning back on the stained mirror. For some context, tonight is your friend’s big gallery exhibition and Jungkook was supposed to be your plus one. But now, it seems like the only exhibition the two of you came to watch is your own mirror sex. To be quite frank, you’re not even sure how it all escalated to this. One second the two of you were arguing about who was more artistically gifted and the next you watched him pin your arms over your head as his thrusts gradually increased in speed. 

“Fine by me. Just the way I like it,” Jungkook says with a grin, nibbling on his lip rings as his eyes scan his favourite canvas. 

“Koo, I’m serious. I can’t go out like this in front of all our friends,” you snap him out of it before slightly pushing him off of you. 

“Here, put this on,” he says, handing you his blazer. “Now, we’re even,” a teasing chuckle escapes his parted lips as he unbuttons his black dress shirt, exposing his sculpted chest and the silver chain that would usually dangle over you. 

“I’m not sure how this is supposed to help us hide the fact that we just fucked,” 

“Who said I wanted to hide it?” Jungkook replies with a sly wink before opening the door, eyes following your every move as his blazer covered just enough of your skin to eliminate possible suspicion. As far as everyone else is concerned, this is a fashion statement. 

“I would lay you down on top of this piano if you’d let me. Listen to the echoes of your pretty moans bounce off the brick walls, giving these people the pleasure of some real live music,” the sound of his raspy voice dragging behind shifts your attention back to your needy boyfriend as you turn around to see him manspreading on the wooden piano bench. 

“What an intriguing offer, unfortunately, all you do is talk, pretty boy,” you tease, as the sound of your heels inching closer to him adds to the heated tension. 

“Don’t do that, y/n,” 

“Do what?” 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” his hooded eyes shoot up, hands tracing circles on your exposed thighs. 

“I think I’ll be just fine,” 

“I know you will. I’m more concerned about myself. When it comes to you I seem to lose all control,” 

“Oh? I’m sorry?” you attempt to act shocked, blinking your naive eyes as to create an image of pure innocence. 

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook scoffs, jerking his head back, and pulling you onto his lap as your lips rest inches apart. 

“I’m not. I like the taste of dominance,” you give into a quick peck before straddling his thighs, earning a slight hiss.  

“And, I like the taste of you. To each their own, I guess,” Jungkook mumbles the last part before pulling you into a deep kiss. Tongues fighting for the said dominance, the space between your heaving bodies is no longer apparent. And, as your hands trail up his warm chest you could feel him smirk into the kiss, his grip tightening around your waist.

“Koo,” you manage to let out a hitched breath before cupping his face which was busy leaving trails of purple marks on your collarbone. 

“Do we have to go back? We can put on our own show at home. I’ll be the artist and you can be my muse, mhm? How does that sound?” he virtually pleads, eyes sparkling under the dim lights of the hall. 

“No way one sundress got you this needy,” you can’t help but giggle, gaze softening at his vulnerable state.  

“You could walk out wearing a sack of potatoes and I’d still beg on my knees,” 

“What will you do if we break up?” you ask hushedly, caressing his soft hair. 

“Oh, there’s no breaking up, baby. I’m too consumed now,” Jungkook grins, sneaking his hands under your blazer before earning a soft yelp from your parted lips. 

“And what if I’m not?” you say teasingly, slowly straddling your hips back and forth, innocent eyes locked on his darkened gaze. Of course, you are, but what’s the fun in admitting your weakness? 

“You’re not?” he asks, smirking at the way your mouth slights parts as his thumb rubs circles over your throbbing heat. You might be his weakness but you also stand no chance when his possessive side takes over. 

“I said if,” you whisper, chest heaving up from the suffocating tension. 

“I’ll make sure you are. Make sure you’re mine,”

Don't Get Attached Masterlist

[flowerandblood]

Equation without solution 

[ Michael • Gavey x painter student! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, trauma, mention of bullying, mention of physical and mental violence ]

[ description: Michael sees no point in worrying about anything, especially relationships, when all he needs is math. His calm, logical world falls apart when a female painting student asks him for help in calculating the best possible composition to create a portrait. Sexual tension, angst, a litte brat taming and domination kink, great childhood traumas. ]

The fragment with Michael in the trailer inspired me to write this. The whole discussion around this oneshot, whether it should be made at all, made me very tired. I don't think we'll get his backstory in the movie, but even if we did, I just felt like writing it - so here it is. Have fun reading.

Part 2 − Formula for perfection

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Ever since he could remember, his father had explained to him that an intelligent man is not guided by emotions, but by logic. That's why he married his mother, that's why he went into the army. A long belt hung in plain sight in one of the cupboards of their house, so that he could use it to remind him this when necessary.

His father never hit him with his hand. He did not slap him, considering it humiliating for a man to do this to another man. Punishments were in the nature of a ritual, which he said he did not find pleasant either. He reiterated that only strong people survive in this world, that if a classmate beat him up at school he should not cry, but punch him back even harder.

He was afraid to tell his father when, once again after being hit by Creg, one of the school donkeys, his glasses broke in half. In panic situations he would run to his mother, who would look at him with terrified eyes and only repeat "quickly, your father must not find out".

He and his mother shared secrets, which she told him they could not tell his father so as not to upset him. Such things were the sweets she had hidden in one of the containers that pretended to be flour, or the savings she meticulously counted when he was away.

She would say that one should always be prepared, but he didn't understand for what.

One day he found a container of sweets standing by his bedside table and his mother had disappeared, leaving him and his father with only a short note, which his father tore up and said they would never mention her again.

He threw away pictures of her, all her clothes, everything, even his toys or his books, which she was the one who bought and read to him. He only managed to hide one, which was a maths exercise book that had slippery, oiled pages from which he could erase the results of equations at will and fill them in again with a dry erase marker.

This book became his favourite; he would only take it out at night when he was sure his father was already asleep and fill in all the blanks one by one, knowing them by heart.

He created his own ritual.

This calmed him down.

Later, however, these tasks proved too simple and tedious, he needed a challenge and asked his teacher, Mrs Rosaline, to recommend something to learn. She did so willingly, surprised by his diligence, and when he came in the next day saying he had solved all the tasks, she started sending him to maths competitions.

Maths was wonderfully logical and cool, you couldn't interpret it in different ways like poetry, you didn't have to get into the mind of the author of an equation to understand the result. Everything was preconceived and safe, a wrong result could always be explained, you could get to the root of it.

There was no reason to be sad, nervous or happy.

When, in high school, his tutor announced to his father that he was a genius and that he should start a career in science his father was furious. He said that mathematician was not a profession, that all his life he would remain the victim of fate that he had apparently always been destined to be.

He wasn't happy when he got into the best university in the country without any exams, he wasn't happy that he was one of the few to get his own dorm room and a big scholarship.

His father told him that he was already a man and not a boy, that he would not beat him with a belt to explain to him that he was not a genius but an idiot.

What he had learnt from his father was not to worry about such words. He would grin at him when he tried to explain to him what a mistake he was making with amusement and satisfaction as he watched the man who told him that emotions were a sign of weakness become enraged.

His father was weak.

He was emotional.

Even the army and the fact that he beat him didn't change that.

He thought that this was probably what his father, that is his grandfather, had tried to instil in him, but he had failed miserably.

He truly believed, however, that his father was right.

He didn't need emotions.

Numbers were enough for him.

He could calculate the probability of whether or not he would be able to communicate with someone by analysing quickly in his head with what frequency that person spoke about things that did not interest him.

He didn't consider whether he liked them and didn't even have any idea how he would have known that. He recognised that deciding on the basis of chemical reactions in his brain about his acquaintances was absurd.

Just because he didn't feel anything didn't mean he wasn't laughing or enjoying himself. On the contrary, he smirked a lot, usually while listening to other people's discussions or when he managed to get someone off balance.

Wealthy alpha males who owed the place he had earned only to their rich parents reigned around the university like kings, pretending to be intelligent, studying law, medicine or banking without having a clue what they were doing were his most common victims.

"I could never defend a rapist or a murderer. I don't know, it makes me flinch at the mere idea." Said Kyle once when they were sitting in the library, them pretending to study, actually sitting over open books they weren't concentrating on and talking, distracting him.

When he needed real focus he would study in his room, but when he felt like a bit of entertainment he would go out to listen to them.

It was better than a comedy in TV.

"After all, every man deserves a defence lawyer, he's innocent until the court hands down a final verdict." Matt, a boy who read a lot and could memorise things, replied, throwing quotes from his sleeve without much understanding of them. Kyle snorted, shrugging his shoulders.

"So what? Sometimes you subconsciously know this person did it by looking at them or the evidence is incriminating enough." He replied with a certainty that surprised him.

He corrected his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger, wondering how this moron was going to defend anyone in court if he himself was constantly undermining his client's innocence in his head while he himself wanted to be the judge against him.

"If it was as you say, there wouldn't be so many innocently convicted people in prison. Evidence seems incriminating until one new clue, piece of evidence or witness comes along that changes everything. It is the duty of the defence counsel to look for such details to the best of his ability, and not to judge his client unless he himself wants to plead guilty." He heard a second, frustrated voice and lifted his gaze, noticing a girl standing by the bookcase who had heard their conversation while looking for some book.

He recognised her only by sight, and knew that she had studied painting, so her person did not interest him at all. However, what she said frustrated Kyle and disturbed his nepotistic sense of superiority, so he gave this scene his full attention.

"I didn't know kids drawing with crayons knew anything about such serious matters as criminal law." He said piteously, a mocking sweetness in his voice, his gaze feigning warmth, meant to bring her out of her funk.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking at him like he was an idiot.

"I don't need to know this to realise that no amount of money will make you a good lawyer. I feel sorry for your future clients, because you will destroy them yourself." She replied, raising her eyebrows in amusement, completely unfazed by his insult.

It surprised him that she looked happy and pleased to see his angry face, not letting him get a word in edgewise, grabbing the book she was looking for and walking off towards her friends sitting at a table in the distance.

On his way out of the library he heard her voice, heard her laugh, light and unforced, glanced at her and their gazes met for a moment before he walked out into the corridor.

He had forgotten about her until an incident when, sitting in the university restaurant, he noticed Kyle walking past her and pretending to stumble, the entire contents of his cranberry juice spilled on her dress, leaving big pink stains.

"Sorry, are you okay?" He asked, feigning seriousness and concern, and she stood up, furious without even speaking to him, walking away.

He watched curiously as Kyle sat down with his friends and high-fived Matt, clearly pleased with himself, putting his arm around some silly giggling girl.

After a while, however, that girl came back, dressed up, wearing only a man's long-sleeved shirt all soiled with paint, covering the small part of her thighs that she apparently used as an apron while painting, socks and trainers on her legs.

He felt something strange seeing her soft thighs, thinking of the fact that he himself wore similar shirts, and took a sip of coffee from his cup, watching as she sat back next to her friends, saying something quickly, going back to eating her lunch, unconcerned.

She laughed.

He shuddered when their eyes met and quickly glanced at Kyle, who was watching her from afar, licking his lips, his leg moving in impatience, the girl he was embracing whispering something in his ear, but he wasn't listening to her.

He was thinking.

Usually when he had to move from one building to another he went through a side exit, so as to have a bit of peace and quiet, but on this day he decided to walk through the main square, walking on its right side, looking through the windows.

He was not at all searching for her with his eyes when he saw the rows of easels and people around the model, dressed in historic Renaissance costume.

He didn't feel the heat stroke at all and stopped involuntarily when he saw her sitting with her back to him, her canvas smaller than the others, she sat closer, focused only on the portrait.

He could see her underpainting, just an outline and a sketch, and the lines she had drawn to help herself.

The golden ratio.

He shuddered at the thought that she was deliberately using mathematical proportional division to achieve a subconscious effect of harmony in the whole composition, which was, after all, just a base for the actual layer with chiaroscuro and colours.

He gasped when one of his year mates slapped him on the back, asking what he was looking at, and when he saw what he was observing behind the window, he laughed.

"These artists. They will die poor, but at least in their mind they will have created something outstanding. Until a critic comes along who says what they've painted is ugly." He muttered with amusement, putting his arm around him as if they were good mates, although they were not.

He looked back and noticed with pounding heart that this girl was turning over her shoulder, looking in his direction.

His friend had said something about the Mona Lisa, about how ugly she was and that he didn't understand how that portrait could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but he was unable to focus on it.

The golden ratio.

The balance of the composition.

Her painting was thoughtful.

He was convinced that painters only recognised their own artistic intuition and thus created ugly paintings, which they then called contemporary art.

He didn't think about her, or at least tried to until his mates told him that Kyle was throwing a party, to which he was obviously not invited.

"Apparently he even invited the girl he doused with juice at the time as an apology. Bruce says he recently brought her flowers during her classes and that he seems to have a crush on her."

"Sometimes it's one step from hate to love."

He didn't like the uncomfortable feeling he experienced in his chest, a sort of sting and tightness in his throat. He went back to the equation he had just solved without listening to them further.

Even if someone didn't know there was supposed to be any kind of party going on, they had certainly heard it that Friday night, the music, laughter and screams from Kyle's room echoing loudly through the dorm.

Even though women weren't allowed in there there were plenty of them, he could hear them running to the toilet, squealing and giggling, driving him furious as he couldn't concentrate on what he was reading. He pulled down his glasses, massaging the space between his eyes with his fingers, closing his eyelids, trying to calm himself.

His emotions wouldn't change anything.

He shuddered when he heard a knock on his room and looked uncertainly towards his door. He feared it was Kyle and his pack who had drunkenly decided they would have fun at his expense.

He swallowed loudly when he heard her voice.

"Can I come in?"

He felt his heart start pounding hard, a multitude of thoughts running through his head. He tried to analyse whether he should do it or not, what she might have wanted from him, but nothing came to mind, there was a complete void in his brain.

God.

"Come in." He heard his own uncertain voice, and after a moment the door opened and there she stood.

She came in smiling and cheerful, happy for some reason, closing the door behind her, looking around his room as if she had come at his invitation, wearing a large long-sleeved sweatshirt with the university logo reaching halfway down her thighs, long light wool socks and trainers on her legs.

He wanted to say something, to ask why he owed this visit and what she wanted from him, but all he did was stare at her legs, at the small patch of her exposed naked body between her sweatshirt and the material of her socks. He felt a strong pulsing in his black sweatpants and swallowed loudly knowing what it meant.

Fuck.

He'd only fucked twice in his life, and they'd been fairly inept acts of physical intimacy between a man and a woman, where they'd pursued their fulfilment on him, not caring much about him, maybe even imagining he was someone else, some more handsome boy who just happened not to want to look at them.

It didn't bother him, because he didn't feel anything for them himself, they didn't even arouse his desire, but they were just very horny, and he decided that he didn't want to remain a virgin for the rest of his life.

It had been more of a relaxing than a pleasurable experience and he didn't understand why men were so overpowered by it, but now, looking at her, he felt his brain and his logic start to give up in favour of what was going on in his trousers.

"You didn't go to the party?" Her light, gentle voice snapped him out of his reverie, causing him to lift his eyes to her face, which, to his surprise, seemed very pretty up close, her eyes large and bright, framed by long lashes, her pink lips curved in a smile.

What made her so happy?

Why did she come to his room and ask such things?

"No. NFI." He replied dispassionately, lowering his gaze to her legs again, unable to contain himself, covering what was happening to him with a book. She blinked, furrowing her brow.

"What?" She asked with amusement and curiosity.

"Not Fucking Invited." He explained and she burst into soft laughter, he wasn't sure he'd ever heard anyone react like that to anything he'd said.

"Maybe it's better for you too. I went there for a while, but they act like pigs in a shed. A friend told me I could find you here so I thought I'd take the opportunity." She said calmly, walking over to his desk, leaning over his books. He wondered with a pounding heart how she had the confidence to just walk into a stranger's room and talk to him as if she had known him for years.

He chuckled and shook his head, running his hand over his face in an attempt to hide his nervousness and what his imagination was suggesting.

"Are you going to tell me why you came here, or are you going to continue wasting my time?" He muttered ironically, figuring that by doing so he would somehow discourage her or force her to stop pestering him.

He blinked and lifted his knees higher when she suddenly sat down next to him on his bed, as if just waiting for that question, excitement in her eyes.

"I've heard you're a mathematical genius and that's a very good thing, because I need someone to help me determine the right proportions for my painting."

She said quickly and he felt his heart beat harder, he got warm in his lower abdomen and all he could think about was wanting to back off and run away.

"Isn't the golden ratio and Fibonacci spiral enough for you?" He muttered, knowing that it was these two proportions that were usually enough for artists to create their compositions. She hit her knees with her palms as if he had said exactly what she assumed.

"No! I want to analyse it more, but I don't have the tools to do it. Nor an exact mind. I want you to help me, take a look at my sketch and tell me what you think could be improved. From a mathematical, compositional point of view." She said with an excitement that frightened him in a way, a gush of enthusiasm that he didn't know what to do, how to discourage her with.

"What's in it for me?" He asked, recognising that perhaps a materialistic approach would discourage her, yet she merely twisted in her seat, completely unmoved, apparently recognising that he was entitled to demand payment for his contribution to her work.

"And what would you like?" She asked lightly, and he swallowed loudly, his gaze involuntarily escaping to her thighs, to where he could see her bare skin.

He looked at her face again, hoping she hadn't seen it, but something in her gaze told him she had noticed it, her lips tightened. He felt his heart pounding like crazy, he felt like he was just going through some kind of heart attack.

"Do you want this?" She asked softly, warmly, and he threw her a shocked look, wondering if she was implying what he was thinking, his gaze escaping to her thighs again.

Fuck.

Did he want this?

"What do you mean?" He asked coolly, trying to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. He felt his pupils dilate as she corrected herself in her seat so that her sweatshirt lifted up slightly, he had a feeling that a millimetre would have been enough for him to see her underwear.

"You can touch me if you want. Just gently. Don't throw yourself at me." She said softly, a blush on her cheeks, her eyes warm and understanding, he even thought she seemed slightly embarrassed, her words sounding innocent despite the obvious subtext.

He wanted to tell her that she thought too highly of herself if she thought he was so desperate, but instead he just looked at her with his lips slightly parted, fighting with himself.

He wasn't sure if his mind controlled the movement of his hand, the way it involuntarily rose and gently touched her thigh, stroking it in a slow, steady up and down motion. He heard her sigh softly and a shudder went through her, saw her lean back and close her eyes.

He couldn't focus on anything other than the thought of how soft and firm her skin was, he wasn't sure he had ever touched anything more pleasurable. He felt both shame and thrill at the thought of how painfully hard he was, tightening his lips and swallowing with difficulty.

He glanced at her face again when, after a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at him with a warm, misty gaze, as if she had drifted away with her thoughts somewhere for a moment. She smiled, but there was no mockery in it, her expression had something of girlish innocence.

He didn't quite understand what was just happening between them. His mind wanted to classify this as a prelude to physical intimacy, but he wasn't sure he was right. He felt immense tension and lust, but also a sort of tightening in his pit, intrigue and anxious anticipation.

"If you want, we can kiss. You have such full lips." She said softly with some kind of admiration and sincere desire, from which he felt a tightening in his throat.

He wasn't good at choosing his words when it came to this kind of discussion, and he didn't know completely how to act, so he just stared at her, her thigh under his hand seeming to almost burn him.

Seeing the lack of any reaction from him and the clear shock painted on his face she moved a little closer to him, there was something encouraging in her movement and gaze, some kind of comfort and concern.

She was close, but far enough away to still not invade his space, giving him the sense that she was waiting for his decision.

He stared at her, feeling that his cock hidden in his trousers was about to explode, all swollen and throbbing and after a moment their lips pressed against each other in a sudden, wet dance of tongues and teeth, their hands clenched in each other's hair, the loud, lewd click of their saliva echoing in his ears louder than the muffled music coming from several rooms away.

"Be gentle." She just whispered into his mouth between their drawn-out, sticky kisses, and he hummed at her words, smelling the pleasant scent of her shampoo in his nose.

He grabbed her softly around her waist and seated her on his thighs with his arm around her, throwing his book to the side, rubbing against her from underneath, letting her feel what she had done to him.

He heard her sigh in contentment at feeling how hard he was, both of them beginning to pant loudly as she began to massage him with the motions of her hips, herself clearly taking pleasure from it.

He clamped his hands on her buttocks and drew in the air loudly feeling that she had no shorts on underneath, just her underwear alone, and for some reason it turned him on even more.

Had she planned this all along?

She moaned feeling his hands slip under the material of her panties and squeeze her bare skin with confidence, she ran her fingers through his hair as the tip of her pink, wet tongue ran over his upper lip. He felt a strong shiver run through his entire body and involuntarily began to pant along with her, having never experienced anything like this before.

Her touch, though filled with desire, was not cold and crude, focused only on her pleasure, her hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his neck with tender, caring movements, her firm, full lips merely teasing him, not wanting to give him any more full kisses, so he only growled, frustrated, pulling her forcibly tighter, sliding his tongue deep into her throat.

He didn't even feel the need to undress her, the very thing they were doing now, the senselessness and yet purposefulness of it made him shiver, her certainty of what she wanted.

Was she really going to do this?

Sleep with a total stranger?

What was the logic in this?

He shuddered at the thought that maybe there was none.

None.

She wouldn't let him think about it, he drew in the air loudly as he felt her nimble fingers untie his sweatpants, slipping them down slightly, exposing what was underneath them, he felt his hard, throbbing manhood being enveloped by the cool air.

He saw her rise slightly, with a movement of her hand apparently pushing the material of her underwear aside, positioning herself above him as he grasped his length in his hand, automatically directing it between her thighs.

"− I'm taking pills − I'm clean −" She whispered softly and he just nodded, not knowing what more he could answer, looking at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

They both moaned embarrassingly loudly and squeezed their eyelids shut as she lowered herself onto him, slowly pushing him deep into her body. He could feel how wet she was, how her fleshy muscles pulsed hungrily against him, how tightly they wrapped around him on all sides miraculously enhancing his sensation.

She lifted herself up with a loud click of her moisture only to fall back down, riding him in a slow unhurried rhythm, and he just leaned down and sank his face into the hollow of her neck, taking in her scent, pleasantly sweet and fresh, panting loudly.

She embraced him, stroking his hair, clearly sensing his uncertainty, terror and desire mixed together. Unwittingly, his hips began to respond to her movements with sure, deep thrusts, to which she moaned loudly, something of helplessness and delight in her sounds.

"− do you want to stop? −" She mumbled softly, kissing his hair with gentle, warm click. He lifted his face finding her lips in a greedy kiss before turning her onto her back, recognising that he couldn't take it any longer, that his cock was about to explode.

"− yeah − I want to stop very, very much −" He growled frustrated at the way she was teasing him, resting one hand on the backrest of the bed in front of him, the other holding her hip tightly, sliding into her with rapid, quick thrusts from which she began to moan and pant loudly, startled, looking up at him with her lips slightly parted.

"− don't you feel it? −" He asked ironically, thrusting his cock so deep into her that he felt like he would pierce her stomach, her body arched backwards as if trying to escape from him, he felt his thighs all sticky from her juices, their bodies smacked against each other quickly with a loud, wet slap.

"− please −" She mewled and he felt a shudder as well as heat in his lower abdomen, something in the way she said it, in the tone of her voice, in her gaze made him lick his lips feeling that just a moment more, a few more thrusts and he was about to come.

"− please, what? − can't you put a fucking sentence together anymore? − you like it when someone fucks you so rough that you don't have words, huh? −" He hissed and groaned low as he felt her walls clench tightly around him at his words, her thighs spread wide in front of him, allowing him to slide into her as deeply as he wanted in a gesture of total submission.

"− I'm sorry −" She mumbled, looking at him helplessly like a rebuked child looking at a parent, and he thought he could devour her whole right now, fuck her all night if she wanted to, if she would react the way she did now.

"− good you're sorry − fucking brat −" He growled, panting loudly along with her and suddenly, without even knowing why, he kissed her greedily, impaling his cock into her with quick, brutal thrusts.

He felt her come, her walls began to clench on him greedily, not wanting to let him go, her whole body was trembling, she tried to push him away, sobbing and moaning with pleasure into his mouth.

He fucked her through her orgasm until he finally gave in and cum inside her, panting loudly, not recognising himself, his sounds or his reactions.

"− oh God − fuck − fuck − fuck −" He mumbled clenching his eyes, coming down from his peak, still moving inside her, hearing her loud breathing underneath him.

What exactly was that?

He collapsed on top of her, completely powerless, smelling the scent of her hair, her hands embracing his waist. They laid like that in the light of his bedside lamp, breathing heavily, listening to the muffled music, the screams and laughter from the party taking place a few rooms away.

He swallowed loudly feeling that he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began, they were both all sticky from her moisture, her insides hot, pleasantly enveloping him on all sides, giving him some strange sense of security.

He thought it was for some of the hormones that are released after orgasm designed to bring partners closer together and bond.

He shuddered when he suddenly heard her soft, quiet voice.

"So what do you say? Will you help me?" She asked shyly, quietly, and he sighed heavily, silent for a long moment.

No.

"Yes."

_____

Part 2 − Formula for perfection

@at-a-rax-ia @daemonskelitsos @alphard-hydraes-blog @travelingmypassion

[solrovivrus]

I watched The Menu today and it was probably one of the best movies I have seen in a while.  There are many themes going on within the film, the philosophy of giving and taking, the tension between those who serve and those who are served, how something that was once considered a passion can be twisted into obsession, but one thing that I think really stuck out to me was the Female Chef.  I forget her name sadly (which considering the themes of the film, the alienation of the worker, is a touch ironic) but what strikes me is that the whole concept of the menu, the idea that everyone should die at the end, is her idea. 

She starts her dish with a personal story about how she was abused and sexually harassed by The Chef himself, how after she refused his advances he refused to acknowledge her or even talk to her for weeks.  Many female chefs in the workplace could probably relate to this story, how men in positions of power exploit the women working underneath them, how even if they refuse it can still harm them and their careers.  She in her dish is able to get some revenge, by stabbing him in the thigh. The same thing that The Chef did to his father when he was attacking his mother.  When the male customers run off she goes and sits with the female customers who eat the actual meal.  When she breaks down crying none of the women give her any actual sympathy, they only tell her that the dish is delicious, that she is talented.  They only praise her for what she is able to provide, her craft, but fail to see her as a human.  When the critic tries to barter with her she reveals that, while she may not have created the entire menu, the idea that they all must die is her pitch.  That it must happen to tie everything together. 

Despite the fact that the whole concept of The Menu being her idea, that the overall arching theme of death being her pitch, it’s still The Chef’s masterpiece, not hers.  The Chef at the end of the film calls himself a monster.  And he is one.  Not only has he lost any love for his work, he has abused and mistreated his fellow chefs, and now they have no love for their work either.  You can point to many reasons for this transformation, the treatment of workers, the ways that the industry props up abusers who never receive any consequences, how capitalism forces restaurants to get “better and better” but what that really means is get more expensive.  But ultimately The Chef is still a person, and ugly person who has done harm to those around him.  But he doesn’t want to, or really he doesn’t mean to cause harm.  It makes sense that for his final act, his last dish as a chef is a common cheap dessert that anyone can make, the smore.  And as he, the chefs, the customers, are about to die he says to them “I love you”.  And they say it right back.  

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

joanna robinson on the prestige tv podcast said "often when we talk about wanting them to escape people will come back and say, like, but they're horrible people, why are you rooting for them? and i'm like, i'm not rooting for them. i'm rooting for the idea that the poison doesn't have to drip through. that there is some choice you can make or some freedom you can have in all of this if you realize it in time." and i was very struck by that as a very lovely articulation of a disconnect that exists in the ways people talk not just about succession but about all kinds of fiction, and as something i certainly relate to a lot. and to be clear i don't think when she says she's rooting for that that she means that's what she thinks the show should do or that the show going elsewhere (which is where it's going) would be a flaw or a mistake. like i am not, in fact, rooting for this the way people root for sports teams (probably. i was born missing the brain cells that allow a person to root for a sports team so i am hypothesizing here). it's about, like, this is the empathic desire that this narrative (succession and also other things) stirs in me, it touches on a particular part of my own humanity that is inescapably animated by this impulse. it has nothing to do with what i think should happen artistically or how i would analyze the show morally if i wanted to (which i don't, because it's Pretend), but it's not right to say that it's separate, either - part of the pleasure of watching the show is having that part of myself activated, and part of the pleasure is also sick vertigo between that desire and the moments where i do react viscerally to the characters' monstrosity, and part of the pleasure is also the friction, increasing by the minute this particular season, between that hope and its gradual decimation onscreen. but like, yeah, i do care about my pretend children the roy sibs, because they are pretend and i don't have to weight caring about them against anything else on earth, but also because since they are pretend, the reason to care about them is because they connect me to something i have emotions about, which is, well, several things, but the one i'm thinking about in this post is the idea that maybe the poison doesn't have to drip through, or to mix sources for metaphors that there are ways to close the portal. and, like, i don't think that's where the show's going, but the places it's gone and the place it's going are only interesting to me because of the tension they create with that wish. if it weren't for that, i... would probably not find the show interesting enough to watch, and if i did i certainly wouldn't be so motherfucking obsessed with it! lmao.

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere Alastor Headcannons

Alastor considers his public persona important. This applies to how you view him, as well as how others would view your relationship. Therefore, he would not want to use direct approaches of intimidation to attain you, rather using more subtle suggestions to worm you into his arms. He would be livid with whoever shatters the illusion he has created for you, which would likely be a caring and attentive friend to lover. This wrath would also be turned on you if you attempted to be spiteful and ruin his public image in some way.

Part of this is that he is quite skilled at verbal manipulation. As a radio host, it should be no surprise that words are his greatest weapon. Whether he uses it to turn you against those in your life and isolate you or convince you to do things that ultimately benefit him, you would have to have an iron will to resist him.

When you inevitably do realize his true nature, he will be able to start being more direct behind closed doors, but even then he would rather not. A gentleman of his time, he prefers not to use aggressive methods with his lover, who he would like to view as dependent, elegant, and delicate. Rivals on the other hand are much less lucky.

On another note, Alastor seems like the kind of person to enjoy the chase just as much as the acquirement of his goal, if not more. Someone who is ultimately less powerful than him and does everything in their power to avoid being in a contract with him or under his thumb, only to be forced to do what he says after a long domino affect of bad happenings, would be the whirlwind “romance” of his dreams and your nightmares.

Along with the gentleman aspect, some more positive things about having Alastor as a partner is that he would willingly perform as the dutiful and romantic lover. There would be dates and gifts, both on a whim and on special holidays. As a gentleman of the 1920's, there is a certain elegance and class in the way he treats you. You're not his "ho" or "bitch."

As an asexual, he has zero interest in performing anything remotely sexual with you. The whole matter is undignified and dirty. As long as you never mention it he won’t either. But he may be willing to “relieve” any tension you have if you nag him enough and if he thinks it will make you more compliant to him. He would prefer to use his magic to do so though rather than do it himself.