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redtsundere-writes · 1 day

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sukuna and servant!reader is so good!! looking forward to rescue more of them <33

Eyes On Me | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: Uraume can't play chess with the king right now, you must step up. Contents: Obsession, pining, kinda fluffy, mentions of blood and body parts. Uraume uses they/them pronouns. Word Count: 2404 words. Author's Note: I love writing this ship. People have been asking me to make this a series. I'll try my best lol I think you can still read them individually, but there's a preferred order.

Beginning. ← Previous |

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on temporary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining.

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it’s up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although… There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing.

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked about themselves, you never asked.

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire.

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef.

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him.

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence.

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him.

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture.

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen the king playing. You knew from the other servants that he was a good player and only plays with Uraume or some brave guest. This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw.

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity.

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and taking orders, but what else can you do?

“Yes,” you answered with a smile.

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that.

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you.

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down.

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it.

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be.

Your father had taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn’t take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions.

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple movement of his fingers. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. This was a good opportunity to do so.

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square.

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble.

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king.

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to concentrate on what he was doing. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts.

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up.

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king.

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king.

“Well, well...” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started.

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade.

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology.

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction.

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them.

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed.

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room.

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move.

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle.

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat.

“She has potential.”

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their eyebrow at the confusing statement.

“She has the potential to become a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently.

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that.

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table.

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful woman, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question.

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Author's Note: I poured my poor knowledge on chess for this lol I hope it makes sense.

Order your own fanfic!

Masterlist.

#fanfic #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #jjk imagine #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #fluff #jjk fluff #king x servant #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen x reader

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underestimated-heroine · 3 days

Text

The fact that radfems spread this post around is actually really interesting--infuriating, but interesting. Because what they've really done here is tell on themselves.

This is the shrimp guy story:

From an anonymous green text called "shrimp saved my life" [emphasis mine]:

>be depressed, suicidal xanax- addicted incel >one day I go to my /aq/fag uncle's house for some shit >he has pet shrimp, never seen anything like it before >he offers to get me some 53 KB JPG >throw them in a barely cycled tank with some shitty rock >several shrimp die >realize that I killed them with my apathy >realize I need to take responsibility for once in my life >do research, learn about water parameters and so on >eventually I have a beautiful planted tank with no more deaths >notice a female shrimp carrying eggs >haven't felt this excited about anything in almost a decade >the eggs disappear and I once again think I fucked up >a few days later I see a tiny transparent baby shrimp >l suddenly know how the shepherds felt as they gazed upon the newborn Christ >by this point I live and breathe shrimp >all my spare time is spent on shrimp research and watching shrimp videos >l spend most of the money I had saved from my last job on shrimp products >quit the Xanax to support shrimp spending >start putting effort into college in hope of getting a good job for my shrimp >grades improve, no longer facing the prospect of dropping out >relationship with parents improves since I am finally passionate about something and applying myself >l see genuine happiness in their eyes when I talk excitedly about my shrimp >for my birthday my mom makes me a shrimp cake >it even has fondant legs and little chocolate eggs >cry like a little bitch when I see it >mom hugs me and tells me she's always been proud of me >college dorm neighbours demand to see my shrimp >shit they're gonna think I'm autistic >they actually think my shrimp are really cool >they start inviting me to their social events >start interacting with girls, get told by girls for the first time in my life that I'm fun and smart >l think my shrimp would be proud of me if they knew >We're gonna make it bros. Even if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the animals that depend on you.

He did address his relationship with women. By finding a hobby and passion and working on himself--"touching grass"--he stepped away from the echo chamber that filled him with all this rage and convinced him women were to blame for all of his problems. As someone once wisely observed, "the cure is going offline and realizing it's just. really not that big a deal."

And that is what radfems have not done, so of course they didn't spot the quiet flashpoint of shrimp guy's personal development within his story.

Edit: it's been brought to my attention that the version of the greentext post I lifted the text from was censored by someone else. My bad for not realizing that, tbh it was done so well I thought shrimp guy had done it himself, but that's an important part of the post. I've gone back through and un-censored it. The reply which was spread around with the original post addressed the words themselves well, I think; however distasteful and fucked up the incel rabbit hole is, it doesn't diminish his growth.

#posts i actually wrote #cw radical feminism #cw transphobia #incels

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mediumgayitalian · 2 days

Text

“You ready, Lou?”

“Duh.”

“Cecil? You’ve got full faith in your cabin?”

“Yep.”

“What about you, Will? Were your threats successful?”

“My bribes went wonderfully, thank you.”

“Then I think we’re a go.”

“Gods, this is going to be great.”

———

Knockknockknock.

Nico locks in on his game. He is so, so close to finally making it through this stupid quest, he can feel it, and if he doesn’t beat The Imprisoned before Percy he’s going to set the camp on fire.

Knockknockknock.

“Just — hold on a second!” He spams B, cursing loudly to himself, ignoring the twinge in his lower back from holding this position for so long. “Fuck, fuck, come on.” He clenches his teeth, knuckles white against the Wii remote, until finally — the boss falls. He cheers.

Fuck yes. Take that, Percy.

Tossing the remote on his bed, he jogs over to the door, sliding open the three bolts and unlocking the chains. On his porch is a blur of movement, hair frizzy and pulled-on, shirt rumbled.

“Oh, hey, Annabeth.”

She barely acknowledges him, focusing intently on pacing back and forth on the stone porch at the speed of light. He settles against the door frame, stretching out his spine, watching her mutter to herself.

“Chiron is leaving,” she says.

Nico raises an amused eyebrow. “I am aware.”

“With Mr. D. To some conference.”

“I heard.”

“He’s gone until early tomorrow evening.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He left me in charge.”

“Probably wise.”

“I need an allegiance, Nico.”

“Slow down and tell me what you mean, first.”

She sighs, coming to a stop in front of him. Her fingers still drum across her biceps, and her eyes dart around, evaluating. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

“Camp’s a lot of work,” she says finally. “I’ve never been in charge of so many people at once before, and like hell am I gonna let Chiron think I can’t handle it. I have a Plan, and you’re a part of it.”

Nico resists the urge to groan. Chiron leaving is supposed to mean he gets the next day or so off — no classes, no socializing, nothing. Just him in his cabin and the genuinely disgusting amount of junk food he has amassed.

(…And Will. Maybe.)

“It’s nothing crazy,” she promises. “I just need you to lurk.”

“…Lurk?”

“Yeah, you know. Chill in the shadows and scare people into complacency. You don’t even need to do much, just that thing where you stare at people like you know the exact day they’re going to die.”

“I do love lurking,” Nico admits. And to basically have a free pass to scare the shit out of whoever he wants… “I’ll do it.”

She smiles brightly. “Thanks, Nico! I knew I could count on you. I’ll meet up with you right after Chiron heads out, okay? To give you a list of people to keep your eye on.”

“Sure. Bye, Annabeth.”

“See ya!”

He closes the door and pads back to his setup, shaking the remote to get it going again. He can’t quite shake the smirk off his face.

The next twenty four hours are going to rock.

———

“Swiper No Swiping, initiate phase one.”

“Roger that, Sunny Dick.”

“…I’m revoking your code name priveledges.”

“No no no, I’m sorry, I’ll change it.”

———

Before Chiron leaves, he gathers them all in the amphitheatre.

“Children,” he calls, adjusting the bow slung across his back. “I am leaving now for my conference. I will be back before the sun sets tomorrow.” He gestures towards Annabeth, standing stiffly beside him. “Annabeth is in charge. Consider all my authority transferred to her before I return, am I understood?”

“Yes, Chiron,” courses the camp, some with significantly more attitude than others. Across the gathered crowd, Will catches his eye and winks. (Well, tries to. He has yet to catch on to the fact that he cannot, actually, wink, and instead just blinks really intentionally. Kayla and Austin have sworn him to secrecy.) Nico rolls his eyes, ears burning, and looks away.

“Good. Regular rules; no maiming, killing, or injuries above level seven. Any arson will result in a revoking of dessert privileges. Yes, Julia, even if you help in putting out the arson. It is the fire that is the issue, you understand. Excellent.” He claps his hands together. “I am looking forward to one day of peace. Try to avoid ruining it for me too quickly. Goodbye, children.”

With a wave and a fond squeeze of Annabeth’s shoulder, he trots over to Half-Blood Hill, ignoring Mr. D’s loud complaining about how long he took. With a snap of Mr. D’s fingers, they disappear. For a brief, uncanny moment, everything is still.

“Alright,” Annabeth shouts, clapping her hands together. Nico jumps. “Dinner is in an hour. Whoever is the first to fuck something up will be doing dishes. I will be watching. Dismissed.”

Wading through the swathes of ambling teenagers, she walks by where Nico is leaning against a pillar, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Lurk,” she orders, passing him.

Nico shoots her a mocking salute, fading into the shadow behind him. He barely catches her grin before he dissolves into the darkness.

———

“Phase two in effect. Ready to go, Sabrina Spellman?”

“Prepped to go, Teletubbies Sun Baby.”

“I hate both of you.”

———

“Halt!”

Across the common, three suspicious figures freeze, glance behind them, and then resume walking as casually as they can.

“I said halt! Do not move! Cease all function!”

Milling nervously towards each other, Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest pause, shifting the three massive cardboard boxes they hold each.

“Hi, Annabeth,” Will says, smiling innocently. Cecil and Lou Ellen match him, eyes wide, expressions angelic.

Annabeth stomps over to them, fists clenched at her sides, entirely unmoved by the cherubic display in front of her. Nico stays right where he is, hidden by the shade of Cabin Eight.

“Explain yourselves,” Annabeth orders.

The three stooges exchange a look.

“Whatever do you mean,” Lou Ellen asks, shifting the boxes to free up her hand only to place it delicately over her chest. “Why, we are only helping our dear friend William —”

“Our dear, dear friend,” Cecil adds.

“— carry these many boxes of medical supplies, so as to lower his great burden —”

“Massive burden,” Will says sagely.

“— and free up his evening in order for him to spend his limited time with us, his most cherished friends.”

“Especially cherished,” Will and Cecil chorus together.

Unable to bite back a smile, Nico rolls his eyes so hard his skull hurts. They’re not even trying to not get caught, at this point. Idiots.

Clearly agreeing, Annabeth scoffs. “Yeah, right. Boxes down, all three of you. You’re being detained for suspected illicit substances.”

“Annabeth!” Will cries, hand to his chest, “after all I do for this camp, you would accuse me of being — illicit?! Me?! The outrage! The insult! The impugn, the —”

“Can it, Solace. Open the boxes.”

Huffing in perfect unison, the three of them carefully lower their boxes to the ground.

“Tape off.”

Intentionally slowly, they run a nail along the edge of the packing tape.

“Flaps open, guys, c’mon.”

With flourish, the trio fling open the thin cardboard panels. Inside each box is rows of bandages, packaged syringes, sterile bands, tongue compresses, and more that Nico can’t name. Annabeth glares at the boxes with perhaps more disdain than the situation calls for.

Then again.

It is camp.

“See?” says Cecil, gesturing grandly. “The shipment just came in from my dad.”

Like a hound dog locking in on a bleeding squirrel, Annabeth’s eyes narrow. Her lips spread into wide, frankly maniacal smirk.

“Your dad is in a conference with the rest of the Olympians right now, Markowitz.”

Caught.

“Well,” Cecil says, and then nothing else.

“He meant it in the royal sense,” Lou Ellen pipes up in his silence. Cecil nods frantically. “You know, ‘just’ as in, like, recently, as in this morning —”

“Do you three think I’m stupid.”

“It’s just medical supplies! You can look through them if you want —”

Even if they weren’t acting like criminals, Nico knows his friends. He knows his boyfriend, especially, and recognises that damn look on his face. He can also physically see Annabeth’s stress ulcer coming back.

Closing his eyes, Nico fades into Cabin Six’s shadow. It’s a quick jump, so the stretch is easy, and the darkness bows easily to his hold. He reappears silently behind the group, taking advantage of the setting sun, and darts out to grip Lou Ellen’s arm.

“Boo,” he whispers.

She shrieks at the top of her lungs, jumping three clean feet in the air. Coincidently, the boxes of medical supplies flicker, turning into a truly baffling amount of instant mashed potato boxes.

“I knew it!” Annabeth shouts.

On cue, all three doofuses turn to Nico, jeering and complaining about ‘ruining the fun’. Nico’s glare is ineffective on Doofus #1, but the other two can be cowed. He focuses on channelling the flames of hell to reflect in his eyes like his father showed him until they look away, muttering at the ground.

“We still don’t have any illicit substances,” Will insists, glaring right back. Nico sticks out his tongue. He crosses his eyes like a four year old. How immature, honestly. “So we’re just gonna take our stuff and —”

“Absolutely not, Golden Boy. Put that hand away.”

Wisely, Will draws slowly back from the boxes, tucking his hands in his pocket.

Annabeth stares, hard, at the three of them, flicking her dark eyes from the potatoes and back. The tips of her worn-out converse tap slowly on the packed grass, tip-tap-tip-tap, as they all squirm.

Understanding dawns on her quickly.

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, for the strawberry plants.”

They squirm harder.

“Oh, you godsdamn bitches.”

“It would’ve been really funny,” Cecil mumbles, staring at the ground. “Rain making the ground turn into a sea of mashed potatoes. Like Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.”

“The only meatballs around here are the ones clogging up your skull!” Annabeth shouts, which doesn’t quite make sense but sounds clever coming from her anyway. “Who was gonna clean that up, huh? Magic?”

“I mean, probably,” Lou Ellen says, promptly shutting up at Annabeth’s glare.

“And you, Will! I cannot believe! Where is that responsibility you’re known for, huh?”

Will pouts. “I can be responsible and do fun things.”

“Fun, he says. I’m going to fucking kill you, how’s that for fun. The one day I’m left in charge, I cannot believe —”

“If it helps, it’s less about you and more about April Fools being tomorrow,” Cecil interjects tentatively. “Like, we were going to do this whether or not Chiron left.”

Annabeth glares darkly. “Of fucking course you were. It’s always you three, I swear to the gods. I should have known.”

“It’s honestly kind of embarrassing for you guys,” Nico adds. He smiles smugly at them, relishing in their rolled eyes and mocking hands. “Like, everyone expected this. You did this to yourselves, honestly.”

“Boo, you jag,” Lou Ellen protests. The other two knuckleheads joint in the booing, Will taking it an extra stop forward and blowing a raspberry, both thumbs pointing down. Nico responds with a wide grin and two middle fingers.

“Enough,” Annabeth says, rubbing her temples. “Extra chores, all three of you. Go help the cleaning harpies until sundown. And not another peep of complaint or I’ll have you on chores tomorrow, too.”

Without another glance at them, she turns around and walks away, muttering at least you caught it early at least you caught it early at least you caught it early over and over to herself.

“Pretty sure you guys have physical labour to do,” Nico says brightly when she disappears into the Big House. “I’d get started on that, if I were you.”

“Butthead,” Cecil mutters.

“Kiss-ass,” Lou Ellen agrees, making a face.

“Traitor,” Will whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he walks past.

Nico watches them go, standing guard over the boxes in case they try to come back for them.

He can’t help but think that they all look a little too jovial for having their plans ruined before they even started.

———

“Is he still looking?”

“No.”

“Okay, Phase Three, let’s go let’s go let’s go —”

———

Every time Nico wakes with the sun, he sets aside twenty minutes of his morning routine to curse Apollo, his father, Apollo again, Phanes, and Prometheus. In that order.

He does like the bonus of getting breakfast. Usually he sleeps through it and has to hope Will saved him coffee cake, which he does, every time, because he wants to bribe his way into Nico’s affections. But there is something to be said about camp coffee cake when it is still warm, crumbly on the top and soft on the inside. It is a rare and occasionally worth-it treat, and on his bleary walk to the dining pavilion, Nico tries to keep this in the forefront of his mind. Fresh coffee cake. Fresh coffee. Fresh fruit. And Will, probably, not that seeing him is worth getting up early or anything. (So what that he gets all excited and energetic when he sees Nico up in the morning. If anything it’s embarrassing for him.)

For once, he’s actually early enough that there are very few people already at breakfast. He sees most of the Athena kids, still half-asleep over their mugs, and pretty much every camper under the age of eleven. A few head counsellors, too, watching out for the little ones or catching up on a rare moment of quiet. Nico makes a beeline for the breakfast spread, cutting a slice of coffee cake to leave on the platter and putting the rest of it on his plate. He puts a single strawberry in the middle of it so no one can accuse him of being unhealthy, then ambles over to the Apollo table.

“Neeks? Where’re you going?”

Nico pauses. He shifts his plate to one hand, rubbing at his bleary eyes. He looks at the Apollo table. He counts one, two, three heads — Kayla, Austin, and…Cecil?

“Nico? You good, babes?”

He turns, slowly, to face the voice. Picking at a plate full of pineapple, next to Reika Onason, Lou Ellen's sister, is Will.

“I know mornings are hard for you, but you’re meant to eat at your table,” he teases. “Come sit, doofus. Unless you’re taking advantage of Chiron’s absence to make friends elsewhere, I guess, but it seems unlike you.”

“You’re — what’re you — what?“ Nico says dumbly, struggling to reconcile the imagine in front of him.

For some reason, Will is eating his breakfast at the Hecate table.

And that is not all.

For some reason, his camp shirt does not say head medic. For some reason, he is wearing black jeans. For some reason, dozens of Celestial bronze rings adorn his fingers, carved with sigils. For some reason, his hair is clipped back, and there is black eyeliner around his bright blue eyes, and his nails are painted darker than Nico’s, and he is sitting at the Hecate table.

“What are you doing?”

“Having…breakfast,” Will says slowly. His lips turn down in concern. “Nico, are you okay?”

“I’m fine! It’s — you’re the one acting weird!”

Will and Reika exchange a look.

“Maybe you should go see Cecil,” Will suggests carefully. “Did you sleep okay last night? Maybe you hit your head —”

Nico looks desperately back at the Apollo table. They watch him strangely now, too, and after a second Cecil gets up from his — Will’s — seat, and walks over.

“Everything okay?” he asks, impish expression almost serious. “You look pale, Nico.”

“I’m worried,” Will says. “He’s acting — confused, Cece, maybe there’s a —”

“I’m not confused,” Nico scowls. “You two are — doing something.” He gestures vaguely between them. “As revenge for yesterday.”

Will snorts. “What, the potatoes? Don’t let Lou hear you discredit her like that. If you think she’d plan some revenge prank on you this early, you don’t know her at all.”

Nico’s head starts to hurt. He sets down his plate, rubbing his temples. Why would Lou Ellen be so bothered by that? Why isn’t she here, with her sister? What the hell is going on?

“Both of you — cut it out. Whatever dumbass prank you’re pulling is just stupid.”

“Did I hear something about a prank?” Bounding over from the camp store, arms laden with contraband junk food, is Lou Ellen, smiling brightly. “Whatever it is, I want in!”

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re back.” Will makes grabby hands at the pile. She tosses him a pack of twizzlers off the top, rolling her eyes as he tears into like he didn’t just polish off two and a half entire pineapples and three bowls of oatmeal. “I was going through withdrawal.”

“I’m not helping you when your stomach cramps up,” Cecil promises, snorting. His eyes follow the candy ropes in their harried journey towards Will's gaping maw. “You can sit in your misery.”

“Bleh bleh bleh.”

Nico narrows his eyes at them. Clearly, they’re all in on this — bit, or whatever it is. It’s a little too coordinated to be a quickly-planned revenge prank. They must have had a backup to the potatoes, although a pretty weak one. Unless they somehow managed to bribe the entire camp into agreeing to act along with their dumbassery, and Nico knows none of them can come even close to affording that, then all it takes is one person on Nico’s side before their little ruse is broken.

“It’s too early for this,” Nico says, interrupting their bickering. He picks up his breakfast and trudges off to his actual table, ignoring Will’s pouting. He has to brush the dust off the bench, but it’s worth it to avoid whatever headache the three of them will inevitably give him.

Coffee cake, save him.

———

“It’s not looking good, Katara —”

“I actually like that one.”

“— he’s totally onto us.”

“Just stick to the plan. Power onto Phase Four.”

———

To Nico's great satisfaction, many other people do double takes as they walk into breakfast.

As the Athena table, minus Annabeth, who is likely putting out a literal or metaphorical fire somewhere, wakes up, they start to notice the strange seating situation. It starts with Malcolm, who stares at Cecil in a lab coat with the same expression Nico has seen him wear when attempting to solve the Hodge conjecture. He leans over to murmur something in his brother’s ear, and then all seven of them are looking between the Hecate, Apollo, and mostly-empty Hermes tables with suspicious frowns and furrowed brows.

Nico catches Will’s eye, smirking.

Game’s up, he mouths. Will only shrugs innocently at him.

It’s Annabeth who finally puts a stop to the nonsense, striding in at the tail end of the rest of the slowly-waking crowd. She has grass in her hair and murder in her eyes.

Excellent.

“I swear to the gods, I just dealt with you three,” she snaps, raising her voice so they all can hear her. Coincidentally, it attracts the attention of every other nosy person at camp, which is everybody. “Just ‘cause Chiron’s not here doesn’t mean the rules go out the window. Back to your tables, let’s move.”

“We’re at our tables,” Cecil protests. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Annabeth takes a very deep, very long breath. She has a whole day of this, too. How unfortunate for her.

“Maybe because you are full of shit, Markowitz. Go sit with the rest of you troublemakers.”

Kayla clears her throat. “Annabeth, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Her thin eyebrows are drawn tightly together, lips turned down into a frown. “Cecil is exactly where he’s supposed to be.”

That gives her pause.

That gives a lot of people pause. Nico sets down his coffee cake.

“Cecil’s at the Apollo table,” Annabeth says slowly.

Kayla meets her gaze, face creased in concern. “...Yeah, I know.”

“Cecil is a Hermes kid, Kayla.”

She snorts. “Yeah, sometimes I think so, too. But as much as I would absolutely love to trade my brother —”

“Hey!”

“He’s a healer, Annabeth. He got claimed and everything.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Annabeth says, dragging her hand down her face. “Kayla, I don’t know what they paid you —”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” With a clatter of plates, Will clambers on the table, clapping his hands. “Your attention please, everyone!”

Without so much as a pause, Will claps his hands together. Immediately, a ball of green light expands from them, flashing almost too bright to look at. Nico watches, slack jawed, as he tosses it into the air, making it explode into a thousand little sparkles, descending gently over everyone’s heads. The little kids laugh in delight, reaching for them like they’re bubbles.

“Does that settle things?” he demands.

Silence rings for one, two, three seconds.

The camp erupts.

Dozens of voices overlap, all shouting over each other at once. Hands gesture wildly at Will, at Cecil, at Lou — trying to piece things together. Will is their head medic — isn’t he? Then why is Cecil wearing scrubs? And why is Lou chilling at the Hermes’ table, chatting with Julia over a bowl of cereal? Something isn’t right.

“Just — everybody quiet!”

It takes a minute, but everyone settles down, sitting back in their seats and fidgeting, looking around with half-confused, half-amused smiles. Like they’re laughing at a joke they’re half convinced is real.

“Who thinks this —” Annabeth makes some vaguely indicative movement at Will, Lou, and Cecil — “is weird? Raise your hand.”

Almost all hands go up. Only a handful stay down — Will, Lou Ellen, and Cecil, of course, but the entirety of the Hermes cabin stays oddly silent, as do Kayla, Austin, Reika, and, shockingly, Clovis.

“Stoll,” Nico demands before Annabeth gets the chance, “you’re buying this?”

“Buying what?” Connor says after a moment. He shrugs, eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m just chillin’ with my sister, Nico. Cecil is great, but he hasn’t been in our cabin since he got claimed.”

The rest of the Hermes kids nod in agreement. Whispers filter through the tables — first Kayla, now all the Hermes kids?

“If I may,” interjects Clovis, yawning. “There’s an…energy, around.”

“Gods, yeah, I was feeling it too,” Will agrees frantically. “Almost a…blanket, of some kind. Something heavy and stifling.”

Malcolm looks over with interest. “You think we got cursed, or something? The whole camp?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe? Can’t think of any other reason you guys are remembering things weird.”

“It could be a god’s interference,” Nyssa suggests, raising her voice to be heard from the Hephaestus table. “I mean, that’s what happened to Jason and Leo and Piper, right? Their memories got fudged.”

“Yeah, but camp-wide…”

“Could still be possible.”

“There’s no way! They’re fucking with us, come on —”

It doesn’t take long for the arguing to start up again. This time, though, more people looked spooked — more people look to the dumbass trio themselves, eyes wide like they’re looking at ghosts.

Like they’re believing this shit.

Nico scowls, shoving away from his table and stomping over to his boyfriend.

“You are so full of shit I can smell you from across the room,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He wiggles his fingers in Nico’s direction. They spark with the same green light. “Want me to switch your eyes and ears again?”

That sounds horrifying. “Try it and die.”

“Alright, grouchy.” He holds his hands up, stepping back from Nico’s glare. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Alarm bells go off in Nico’s head. This is more than just strange, it’s wrong. And not just ‘cause he looks different — so what if he looks different. Will could shave his head bald and tattoo himself purple, Nico wouldn’t care.

But his aura.

The essence of Will, that Nico has grown so used to be stopped noticing. The quiet, warmth strength, the feeling of a soft breeze in the summer, of walking past a window in the late afternoon, of smokey August campfires and scratchy guitar, is gone. Is different, rather; almost blocked. It feels like a cloud blowing over the sun, making everything warped and off and shadowy.

Something is afoot. Something is wrong, and not just some vague, made-up spell like the Trickster Trio would have the camp believe. Something like smoke and mirrors, something shadier.

He watches Will fall into step next to Cecil, ducking away from his ruffling hand. He frowns.

If there’s one thing Nico can do, it’s wade through the shadows.

———

#can anyone guess what these dumb ass mother fuckers did.#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #solangelo #established solangelo #will solace & cecil markowitz & lou ellen blackstone #annabeth chase #nico di angelo & annabeth chase #my writing #fic #longpost

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buttdumplin · 3 days

Text

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

CW: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough #this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao #honestly this is just precious moments with each of them #i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader #prepare to be fucking sick of me #frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again #also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments

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semischarmed · 2 days

Text

River

River was a walking enigma.

Instagram, TikTok, Facebook- hell, I even tried looking for a yearbook. Nothing. I had nothing on the guy. Like an illusion, he merely appeared, did his work diligently and then promptly vanished. In fact, his most common phrase around the office was a “Sorry, I can’t- busy.” His distance seemed to put some people off. That only made me want him more.

When Chelsea threw a quitting party, he dropped in, chatted for a few minutes and then left without saying goodbye- except to Chelsea. He wasn’t rude by any means. I’ve only ever seen the guy be polite. I personally found it quite hot. His mysteriousness brought an allure about him.

During another quitting party- a dinner for Mark this time, I tried to make conversation, asking him why he was named River. I actually asked the question in a few roundabout ways. Most I ever got was a “just what my parents named me- they thought I’d have brown hair”. I tried to pry for his hobbies, asked what he did for fun and he only responded with a “I watch baseball, go to the gym, watch TV. I guess”, before asking me about mine. The conversation was cordial, and probably a little boring, but I was captivated. This had been the closest I ever sat next to him.

My breathing quickened, ever so slightly, as I watched his shirt struggle to contain the form within. I traced the vascularity in his hands, the craftsmanship in the sculpt of his neck, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut when he would reach to grab a napkin. There was a full plate of food in front of me but I was only salivating at one thing.

The conditions were not ideal- but what choice did I have? The guy was like a ghost. I laughed a bit at the irony. I sat right across, trying to filter the scents and the sounds of food and camaraderie to focus on him. This would take all my brain power. I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus, as I continued to answer and ask mundane questions about some work projects we both had. I started my work, mimicking every microexpression, every slight movement. I tailored every word from my mouth- even my delivery to slowly match his. This had to be subtle, of course- I’ve found out the hard way in the past how creepy this process could look in public if done too quickly.

River’s eyes blinked slower, like a haze was forming in his mind. I followed suit, weaving my slight impersonation in and out of our conversation. Like a pulse, I felt our movements begin to sync. Almost there. Now came the tough part, slowly drawing him out and isolating him without lo-

“C’mon, let’s all get shots- uh… River you ok bro?” Mark asked.

He shook off his daze, surprised at himself before laughing off the weirdness.

I was pissed the rest of the night, forcing myself to hide the permanent glare I would have worn for Mark.

As the night drew on, River left early- of course, and I continued on, staying a bit longer to wish Mark well in one final toast for the night.

That would be the last time in a while I’d be so close to him. The following drought was unbearable. For the next few months, no one quit. No big holidays were coming up, and our office wasn’t much for parties. Instead, I had to satiate myself with glances and the occasional short conversation.

= = = =

“Does that work for you two?” My boss asked. I nodded readily, eyeing River’s response. Another nod.

Fuck. I practically jumped when the boss said those words. A presentation. A presentation with River. A chance.

I think I deserved an Oscar for my acting in the few weeks after we were both tasked with the presentation. A wrong font here, corrupted save there, a missed chart. I “worked” tirelessly on the presentation with River, making sure to leave enough mistakes and gaps to drag the process out.

The guy was too polite, and I knew I had to use that against him. I ran the clock, watching the days progress into weeks and his brow furrow as stress deepened. Of course, I had to play my part, acting innocent at every step. A quick “sorry” for every mistake I planted was enough to ease suspicion. I even faked a confession about roommate drama causing my decline in performance. I thanked how private he was in that moment- I lived alone. Ever the hero, River was quick to take on the responsibility- even covering for me on few occasions. I knew I had to get inside this man.

Then came the day before the big presentation.

“I- uh… okay. Maybe we can finish this at my apartment,” He stated, clearly uncomfortable. I held back a moan.

= = = =

“You can set your stuff down there”.

It was a bit boring compared to what I expected. He was definitely put together at work, so it was a bit surprising to see some mess littering his apartment.

A few posters dotted the walls. Some basketball guy, I guess. An action movie. A generic college banner. His furniture boxy and grey, and the carpets running through the floors were in need of cleaning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his kitchen was pristine, practically sparkling, aside from a small collection of protein powders and supplements.

“Uh.. sorry I don’t really have any snacks.”

He sheepishly opened the near-empty fridge and offered me a choice in drink. Some kind of pre-workout beverage and water. I took the water.

“Okay, I need to head to the gym for a bit. You still have a few slides you wanted to add, right?” A Hoodie-wearing, duffel-toting River asked. I nodded, trying not to look too eager and straining to keep my eyes from staring at his well-defined legs.

And then, there I was. Alone in River’s apartment. Alone with River’s apartment. I ran to his dirty laundry pile.

“Mmmphhhh” My eyes rolled back as I took the deepest inhale of my life. These were River’s boxer briefs. The same ones he had just worn. Doused in the scent of a day’s work. It was damp- guess River was a sweaty guy, though the long walk and couple flights of stairs to get to his apartment may have also been culprit. I was paralyzed in bliss, as I took in every note of his natural musk.

It reverberated deep in my chest as I continued to circulate every ounce of River I could inside me. The underwear was practically glued to my nose and mouth before I finally relented and drew them away, gasping for air. Exquisite.

My dick jumped at the sight of a single strand of his pubic hair, like flickering flame. A perverse smile planted itself on my face as I gingerly pulled my clothes off. I shivered as the cold, damp fabric that had just touched his bare flesh was now touching mine. I felt his hair on my flesh, now caked in his sweat. The elastic snapped around my waist as I released, a bit tight. My breaths fell shallow, ragged as I sat there basking in his cold embrace.

Next came the tank top. I mentally hit myself for not putting it on first, as it was a significantly less erotic experience. Still, as I slipped my arms through the holes that his once filled, my dick couldn’t help but twitch in approval.

I ran to his bed, gripped his sheets, and stifled another moan with his pillow. This man had, until today, been a full on mystery to me. And now, here I was- deep in the recesses of his apartment, nestled in the indent on his bed, buried in fabric stained with traces his scent and natural grime. I was drowning in the all aspects of his daily life. It was an intimacy with River previously unheard of and practically a miracle I hadn’t cummed yet.

The next few moments were sluggish, mind hazy and drunk in pleasure, as I wore my jacket and pants over the River clothes I had already had on me. I mentally thanked myself for wearing tighter clothing earlier today, as I felt them compress River’s undergarments tighter on my flesh. I walked back, sitting on the dining table and pretending to work.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a panting River waved. He no longer had a hoodie on and left nothing to imagination. I eyed the feast before me.

I fucking knew it. This kid was ripped.

I salivated as my eyes followed every contour of the body that would soon be mine. His flesh was flush and glistening with sweat.

“M-must have been some workout,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

“Yeah, fucking kicked my ass today,” River said with a short laugh. My dick twitched. River never swore, never gave off a jockish vibe at work, but here he was, beaten tired and unable to contain his natural state behind a facade of politeness.

My lip quivered when his post-workout scent wafted into my nose. It was divine. True to his name, River had an earthy, deep musk about him. A delayed, almost sour afternote followed, the kind that clings to the nose. It riled me up, knowing this offensive, raw blast of testosterone had been working next to me for the past two years, hidden by layers of work clothes and pleasantries. River was cleaned, masked and sanitized for corporate America. And now I had a private showing to it. I was feral. I wanted-no, needed to be piloting this hunk for myself.

My trance was broken when River dropped to his couch, laughing slightly. This wasn’t his normal laugh- it dropped all pretense and I recoiled out of reflex, thinking back to that same laugh that emanated from the football jocks back in high school.

A lazy pair of eyes drifted up to meet me. “Sorry bro, just new a few minutes.”

I gulped. This was my chance. No need for precision, no need for focus. River was vulnerable. In any other circumstance, I’d be syncing to his movements, slowly, imperceptibly altering his as he would start following mine. Then I could pull him into my trance, lead him to a safe area as I continued the process. This was different. River served himself up on a platter for me, beaten to near immobility by his workout. No way was I gonna miss this. I stripped quickly, abandoning my original plan.

Without a word, I walked closer to him, grabbing his wrists.

“W-what are you”. In that instant, i jumped on top of him, allowing my body to follow the contours of his.

He grunted in defiance while I began to grind in pleasure. “Ughhh! Fuck bro. I can’t! I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be River!”

The process was quick- his drenched, energy drained flesh practically grabbed at mine, drawn by my own energy into itself. It was osmosis. I moaned as I saw the process start, and River’ meaty form encapsulate my own. His arms and legs splayed as he screamed at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you-“ He grunted in pain as he felt our two forms begin to meld. I laughed a perverted laugh, eyeing how deep I was inside him. His lack of energy had been his downfall.

I licked the inside of his head, feeling him shiver and whimper at the intrusion. I whispered venomously. “What am I doing?” I thrusted myself deeper into his muscled form, “I’m becoming River. I’m gonna wear you like a fine red suit.” I felt my facial muscles match his and pulled him into a smile he did not intend to make. “You boring prude. This body was built for sex. You’re starving this poor thing. I bet it’s backed up.” I whined in half-whispers. “Let me take you for a ride.” River moaned in horror, kicking his legs into the sofa in discomfort as his muscled back began to close over me. Possessing the ginger felt like a warm, dank hug. “You feel that?” I teased, this time his voice mimicking mine. He could no longer respond as it had become my mouthpiece. Instead, his head repeatedly slammed the sofa in resistance, forced to wear a smile that was not his own.

I laughed, feeling our combined chest heave in deep pleasure as I jammed my fingers deep into each bicep. I drilled into each arm, relishing in feeling his muscle fibers slip past me. Power. He shook as he tried in vain to resist my fingers filling into his. Putting on those vascular hands like well-fitted gloves. “Fuck yeah bro… that’s the stuff. Dominate me. Command me. Control my every move. My nerves are itching for their owner. Put this ginger meatsuit on…” I mock in his voice. Tears welled in my eyes, as I felt him continue to slam our slowly merging head into the sofa. I purse our lips before moaning further. “Wear my clothes…” My legs wove into his, twisting and binding into one. “Wear my personality…” the bottom half of our merged face laughs, while my new eyes blink away angered tears. I felt his memories begin to flow and surround mine. His rage and desperation flowed through me. The slamming slowed, coming to a complete halt as a reborn River’s eyes blinked into a lewd, sinful glee. “Wear my life.”

I stood up, piloting my new body towards the mirror. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” River’s outward defiance no longer showed over his perfect flesh but his mind was a raging storm. “Good.” His body lit in searing pain, sore muscle tendon and fiber forced to flex. I felt the storm calm as he was stunned. I myself winced slightly before my arousal imprinted itself through River’s face. This was my pain now. I could feel every fiber of his musculature tearing and repairing themselves. Building back stronger with the pre-workout mix he had drunken earlier. Building back with me embedded deep inside. Our leg wobbled in pain, before I slapped it back into submission, forcing it to flex. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff.”

I roared and patted my new chest and abs. “YEEAAAH!” Just one last piece of me was left. An intentional dessert I had left not internally bonded with River.

I let his normally stoic face relay the erotic pleasure I felt in wearing this flesh. I then pulled a “serious” face, bringing pained biceps into a flex. “We gotta live up to our name bro… gotta let the river flow”. A greedy tongue licked the dripping sweat hanging off ginger hairs of his armpit. I wanted to savor this. The tangy, salty nectar lingered in our shared tongue before I began to make out with my new reflection. With a grunt, I slammed River’s pelvis into the mirror, groaning as my growing hard-on began to fill into his dick. At first contact, I felt our senses mingle and the cold metal of the mirror. I grunted, trying to reign in the lust. With our linked sensitivity, I could feel my original body’s dick worming itself into my soon to be River-flavored cock. I thrusted my rod up, relishing in the soothing bare metal beneath the perverse cock and cock sleeve combination.

I grabbed at my new rod with one hand, while the other greedily dragged across my new body, feeling every new muscle and crevice and damp piece of the hunk. River thrashed inside me, disgusted at feeling his own flesh violate itself. At watching this new carnal entity that wore his face and name.

“S-someone’s gonna find out. Someone will fix this” He threatened in my mind.

“No bro… you’re the perfect host. No one at work knows a thing about you”. I cooed in his voice. “When we quit, when I take this thick ginger cock for a joy ride-“ tug “No one…” tug “No one will know.” I groaned as the last of his dick bonded to mine. We were complete. “I’m River now!” I shouted before devolving into whimpers of pleasure as I felt River’s warm seed stream out of me.

River’s softening, sore wood was forced back into full mast as I eyed the full extent of my- now his- depravity. Not wanting to waste a drop, I smeared my new lotion onto my new flesh, caking in layers of his drying sweat with layers of drying semen. I could only hear gagging in my mind as River was forced to taste his own produce. It’s my body now anyways, why shouldn’t it reek of sex and his natural musk?

#male possession #male merge #male corruption #male skinsuit

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justauthoring · 16 hours

Text

a promise he'll keep.

requested! -> also “who did this to you” with astarion would go absolutely bonkers. food for thought requested by! -> @the-sunflower-room

a/n -> thank you for your request! i saw your other one as well and definitely plan on writing it hopefully soon! also! i literally have been in love with this man since the game came out but im so nervous about writing for him i never gained the courage... tho, meeting neil yesterday made it feel like its only write i finally commit and write to him!

tw -> mention of blood, bruises and cuts/violence

pairing -> astarion x f!reader/tav

blood poured from the rather large cut across the side of your forehead, staining your skin and seeping into the tiny cuts littered across your cheek and jaw. bruises lined your neck, in the shape of a hands, and astarion was sure that the rest of your body mimicked the damage across your face.

armour torn, shaking and hurt, astarion's heart burns with a rage he's not felt in a long time.

long ago had he forgotten about the bloodlust of fighting. long ago had he healed from the trauma of his past. years had passed since astarion had first met you and years had passed since the both of you, along with the rest of your companions, healed yourselves from the parasites in your mind and effectively, saved the world.

your bodies had never quite healed though. the trauma of what you'd both experienced had never faded and most likely never would. you'd both accepted that as a fact of your lives and used each other as a means of healing from it.

it had been years since astarion has seen you bloodied and hurt like this, and it feels ten times worse then it ever had before. never a fighter, the second you'd no longer been forced to fight for survival, astarion knows you'd given up that part of your life.

you were strong. there was no doubting that. you could hold yourself and you'd proved that well enough given what you'd done for the world and most importantly, your companions. more than anything, you'd proved that with how you saved astarion from his tormentor and the horror of his past.

but you look so vulnerable in that moment; broken and hurt and bruised and his chest tightens, nails digging into the palms of his hands as the rage coarses through him, burning his veins and has him desperate to make whoever hurt you pay.

painfully.

"who..." and his words hesitate, the fire his chest making it hard to find his words. he doesn't want you to think any of his anger is directed at you... "who did this to you?"

you twitch at his words, arms coming around to hold yourself as you shiver, hesitating.

astarion's face falls.

taking a step towards you, he reaches out for you, hands moving to cup your cheeks, gently and wary of your wounds. he worries you'll pull away, given how afraid you are, but you know astarion and recognize his touch and some of the rage fades with concern and love for you as you lean into his touch.

his fingers work to brush the blood from your face, get rid of the dirt and grime that clings to your skin and tries to soothe you.

your eyes flutter shut in response.

"i'm sorry," astarion whispers. "i'm sorry, i don't mean to scare you."

you shake your head, humming in disagreement. "you didn't scare me."

astarion hates the way your voice trembles.

"i don't want you getting hurt for me," you explain. "you don't deserve that."

and astarion shakes his head. "it doesn't matter if it's you." he assures and he frowns when he realizes he might've not made that clear enough. he had a lot to make up for if you think that he wouldn't do anything for you. "i can't let them get away with hurting you like this."

"i'm okay," you try to deny.

astarion just tightens his grip on you, not enough to hurt you, of course, but enough to pull your attention on him. "you're not," he argues, desperate for you to understand how much it pains him to see you hurt like this. "you're bleeding, y/n. and fuck... you're hurt, badly. it breaks my heart to see you like this."

your eyes fall on him at that. wide eyes meeting his own as your lips part, as if shocked by his admission. maybe shocked wasn't the word—he likes to think the expression on your face is one of reassurance at how much his heart burns with love for you.

the tears that you'd been holding back fall then, your bravety and strength fading at astarion's warming and soothing words. they build at the corner of your eyes and astarion is quick to brush them away.

"i'll never let them hurt you again," he promises then, meaning every word of what he says. he says them with confidence, desperation and sincerity, eyes softening with a plea as he holds onto you, afraid you might slip from his very fingers. "them or anyone else."

your hand grabs his, squeezing.

"i know," you whisper, "this isn't your fault."

he just shakes his head; "it's whoever did this to you's fault," he assures, although the twinge of guilt that festers in his belly is undeniable. he should've been there with you, keeping you safe; even if you knew you were capable of keeping yourself safe... having him there would've assured him and would've stopped this from ever happening.

"y/n," he calls again, voice soft, measured and even as he stares into your eyes and doesn't let you pull away. "who did this to you?"

and your lips part, breathing shakily but there's an ease that washes across your expression and then the names of the men who hurt you come pouring from your lips.

astarion memorizies them, keeps them trapped in his mind as he nods. "thank you." and he is thankful. thankful that you trust him to do what he'd promised. thankful that you know he won't fail you.

"i'll make it better, okay?" he whispers, his thumb stroking across your cheek as he pulls you into his arms, a hand falling on the back of your neck to press you into his chest. "i promise."

you hum your response, leaning into his touch before letting him guide towards your home so he can dress and clean your wounds.

and most importanly, shower you in the love you deserve.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #neil newbon

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 day

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Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”.

Well, that couldn’t be right.

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day.

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail.

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store.

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!”

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last.

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read.

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you.

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh.

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him.

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right?

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school.

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else.

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?”

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled.

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.”

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye.

“As much as I can be.”

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked.

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.”

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs.

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.”

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back.

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal.

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts.

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy.

But not now.

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle.

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them.

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going.

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later:

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck.

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END

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harstyle · 15 hours

Text

the styles' nanny: part two

Summary: Harry finally realizes his mistake, but is it too late? Featuring a measly encounter with Jamie’s mother, another sad drinking session and an unfiltered conversation that changes everything.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!y/n + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 10.2k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, mentions of sex

here’s part one!

A/N: guys!!! It’s been three months!!! I hope you haven’t completely lost interest in this story :( I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long, I just didn’t expect so many things to come up (plus somewhere along the way I lost motivation). I also hope you enjoy this second and (at least for now) last part. No smut, but maybe in a blurb/oneshot of some kind? Anyway thanks for waiting and happy reading!

—

I’m resigning. I will stay until we find a replacement but not longer than necessary. I thank you for your generosity during my time working for you, but I’m ready for a fresh start as I think it’s what would be best for me right now.

I’ll see you soon,

Y/N

That was the text Harry had received at 11am, just one hour ago. He’d called profusely, probably ten times in total, and sent out a pathetic amount of text messages that had all gone ignored and unanswered.

Harry had lashed out— he could see that now; he’d been horribly unfair and he had taken advantage of Y/N’s inability to express herself in situations of distress. Harry’s worst trait was his short-temperedness and while he had gone through years of therapy to work on it, sometimes it took ahold of him in ways he couldn’t realize until after the fact.

Of course the last thing he’d wanted was for her to resign, which was exactly why her message had twisted his stomach a bit more intensely than he would’ve liked; he had no idea how to rectify this situation. Most things in his life went as he wished and if they didn’t, he found it was easy to make it so they did. But not now— no, he had to think about this carefully.

It had turned one when his phone rang; he was typing away in his office, trying to distract himself. Her caller ID flashed on his screen, but it wasn’t her voice that caught his ears— it was a man’s. A man’s who’s name was Andrew.

“I’m from the viper,” he said, and Harry could swear he started seeing red, “your friend Y/N got a little too drunk for me to feel comfortable sending her away on her own. Is there any way you could come pick her up?”

Harry couldn’t help the string of curses which left his mouth as he gathered his house key. “Is she okay?” He asked, only to receive a conflicted hum.

“She had too many martinis and she was crying earlier. She said something about a fight.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, man. Will you keep an eye out until I get there?”

“Of course.”

As Harry got into his car, he felt the overwhelming urge to chastise her, to keep talking until she finally listened to him when it came to her own safety. Not even one day had passed since he’d had to pick her up the last time— no lesson learned, no regrets.

But then, as he neared the bar, the rational part of his brain advised him against it. Y/N was no child, she was aware of her actions and she knew what was best for her— so for Harry to act high and mighty would be wrong and uncalled for.

He needed to just be there for her. Drop the barrier and be there.

He was ready to offer that to her.

—

Y/N could swear her eyes were playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be unrealistic, really, her vision had become blurry about an hour ago— but, well, she would probably recognize that silhouette anywhere. He wore jeans and a shirt and his hair was still styled for work; Andrew was pointing at her, and so his green eyes followed. When he spotted her, Y/N felt naked under his gaze.

And before she knew it, he was walking toward her.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, lower lip jutted out in a pout. Y/N had gone drinking in the hopes of distracting herself— and yes, maybe it wasn’t exactly working, but it definitely wouldn’t start working if he was physically here.

“Andrew called me. Stand up, I’m taking you home.”

Andrew was somebody she‘d met a few hours ago. Originally he‘d flirted with her, asking questions about her as she sat at the bar willing to answer all of them soberly— but once eleven had struck, all she could talk about was Harry. Y/N wasn’t fond of airing dirty laundry so she‘d left the gory details of their fight out, but Andrew knew of a fight.

She was starting to regret it now that Harry was here.

Instead of doing as he’d asked— or ordered, more like, she leaned into the booth further.

“No.”

His eyebrow raised, “no?”

“I don’t leave or go out with dickheads. You taught me that.”

He looked ticked off and it satisfied something within her that had been needing it all night. When he breathed a sigh, eyes closing momentarily, she knew she had him.

“Y/N, would you please humor me and let me take you home? We can keep talking in the car, but not in front of these people.”

“What if I don’t want to go home, huh? Why are you always telling me what to do like you have the right? You’re not my dad.” Her words were slurred and her expression loose. Then she laughed to herself, giggled actually, ridiculously loud. “That’s funny, of course you’re not my dad cause he’s dead! Dead, six feet underground, you know? Probably lower, cause he definitely didn’t go to heaven! He’s, like, really deep underground.”

Concern warped his features.

“Y/N,” he warned, “please.”

She’d turned heads.

“But you know what you and my dad have in common? Yelling. Just yelling, for no fucking reason— yell yell yell, make it feel like my fault even though it isn’t. Right? That’s what my dad used to do to my mom, you know that? That’s why he’s in hell.”

She was pointing an accusatory finger at him, slurring even more than before.

“And you know what I said to her when she left him? That I would never let a man treat me that way. Never! Promised, hand on my heart and everything, I promised. But you’re different, aren’t you? Cause I like you, cause you’re not like my dad.” Her face fell again into the surfaces of her palms, “you’re not like my dad, but you reminded me of him. And I feel— feel like I’m betraying my mom.” Y/N hiccuped quietly, stumbling over a few words.

The gravity of her words were not lost on him— in fact, he’d never felt as guilty in his life.

“Hey,” he beckoned her to look at him, placing his tentative hand atop her arm, “we’ll talk about it. About everything. But not now. Not here.”

“You’re so confusing, you know that? One second you’re really nice to me and then— and then you aren’t.”

“Sweetheart,” he grasped her face as a last attempt to catch her undivided attention. Harry thumbed at her cheek and stared dutifully into her clouded eyes, “let me take care of you tonight. I’ll make it better.”

In all fairness, she’d lost the fight the second his eyes had met hers. There was something about them, maybe their deep shade of green or how effortlessly she could read them, that could probably persuade her into doing anything.

“Fine,” she mumbled after a minute, letting Harry wrap an arm around her waist as they walked. On their way out Y/N said goodbye to Andrew and stayed quiet otherwise, choosing to give Harry the silent treatment. Harry knew he couldn’t expect her to speak to him, so he didn’t force it.

As they drove, Harry couldn’t help glancing over every once in a while to study her expressions. There was barely a moment she wasn’t staring out the window watching cars drive by; even when his hand instinctively landed on her thigh she didn’t react, only moving it away slightly from his touch.

“Are you driving me to my apartment?”

And although both of them knew he’d really been directed toward his house, Harry still pretended to have chosen to take another route. “Course,” he muttered hoarsely, trying to mask his embarrassment with a quiet cough. Y/N sighed, her eyes pressing shut for a moment as she tried to let the guilt roll off of her back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.

“Where’s Jamie?”

He clicked his tongue. “Still at my mother’s.”

“Oh.”

The stubborn thing she was, Y/N refused Harry’s help getting out of the car. Instead she opened the door by herself, almost tripped when she jumped down from her seat and kept a distance anyway. Harry still watched, though, ready to help if needed.

Y/N unlocked the door (failing to find the keyhole several times) and kept it wide open for Harry to follow behind. The first thing she did was toe off her shoes followed by falling into bed.

“Y/N, have some water.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” she uttered, but accepted the glass of water anyway.

He ignored her. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep as soon as you’ve changed and washed your face.”

She groaned, pulling a blanket over her head, “Harry…”

“Y/N.”

That stern mention of her name was enough to get her out of bed, limbs pretty much hanging loosely from her body as if she had no control over them— and honestly, it felt like she didn’t. Her eyes closed as Harry wiped a cool cloth over her face, ridding it of a light layer of makeup and sweat, everything that had accumulated at the bar. There were times she leaned into him, forehead falling to his shoulder and arms wrapping instinctively around his waist for support. She could swear that for a moment he’d pressed his lips to her forehead, but the daydream she was in barred her from really registering it.

“Why’d you go out drinking again?”

“Wanted to.”

“Told you not to do that. I meant it.”

“Well people keep hurting my feelings,” she mumbled, “and drinking your pain away is kind of a tradition in my family, so.”

Y/N had never really shared personal details about her family to Harry, but… well, the words were flowing right out of her mouth and the memories reincarnated newly in her head. She was referring to her mother, the former alcoholic in the family. Growing up her mother had drunk so much that she’d almost died from liver failure. As a small child Y/N had promised herself never to end up like her, but she was starting to understand more and more why her mother spent so many years drinking.

Harry‘s thoughts stayed internalized, but he made sure to make her feel heard. Rubbing over the top of her eyebrow, his breath hit her forehead as he spoke, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve it.”

Her eyes peeked open, the previously warm towel no longer warm. Harry ran it under water again. “Deserve what?”

“Everything, especially the way I behaved earlier. I should’ve taken a moment to myself, instead I lashed out on you.”

It wasn’t until now that Y/N noticed the close proximity between her and Harry— obviously she knew he was cleaning her face for her, but it didn’t really click until now, she supposed. She could see everything, but it didn’t really matter; there was nothing about Harry, especially on him, that could deter her from thinking of him as the most beautiful man alive. Imperfections and all.

The towel met her neck this time, the other side held upright by his steady hand. She could feel his thumb tracing shapes on the surface of her skin and although she was trying very hard not to think of him in any inappropriate way, the image of his hand wrapped around her throat awakened something horrible within the confines of her intoxicated mind. It stayed there.

It was self destructive how often she spent thinking about him, really.

“You still there, baby?”

And he was so gentle— whenever he wasn’t yelling at her, of course— and soft, knowing the lines of what she could handle and what she couldn’t. No man had ever been this considerate and while it may just be his nature, it meant everything to Y/N. As the boundaries had begun to blur more and more, it became easier to misinterpret normal gestures for something more, something so much realer than it could ever be.

But he was calling her baby, and nobody had done that before.

“Yeah.”

“You were much more mouthy back in the bar,” he breathed out, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t wanna yell at me anymore?”

“No, I‘m not like you.”

“Ouch.”

Harry was humoring her and while it was really really nice; this whole thing, the gentle touches and the giggles shared in between a serious conversation, Y/N couldn’t let it get to her head.

“You were really mean to me and I didn’t do anything.”

His eyes searched for hers, but hers were stuck to his chest. “I know. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but I’ll spend a long time trying, I promise. You’re so sweet to me, so nice, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know that, right?”

And although her heart was still furiously bleeding out, she was willing to ignore that for now. Throw bandages on and refuse a trip to the hospital because really she was just fine. There was just something about how he spoke to her that made it feel like she was floating— like she really was fine.

“Yeah.”

“Good, it’s very important to me that you do.”

Y/N’s eyes nearly glazed over when she thought about Harry being like this on the regular. It was a dangerous game they were playing.

“Look at me,” he breathed, beckoning her to do so with the grip he still had on her throat. Her eyes looked so innocent in this moment and although Harry knew Y/N was nothing if not tainted, she looked like she’d never been touched by the realities of life. “So pretty, you know that? So beautiful.”

She felt smaller in his gaze. “You think so?”

Y/N didn’t think anyone had said that to her ever. Nothing of the sort.

“I know so.”

“Thank you.”

“How about we go find you something comfortable to sleep in, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N shook her head, willing to rid herself of this weird tension in her body before allowing Harry to lead her back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed as Harry retrieved some clothes and looked up at him expectantly when she could barely keep upright.

“You sure?”

“I physically can’t stand up, Harry.”

And though he looked torn, he ended up reaching for her sweater to pull it over her body, revealing the lacy bra she hid underneath. Y/N’s breasts had always been the biggest ones amongst her skinny friends and growing up she often felt ridiculed for it, though she supposed she could count on Harry not to judge. They were just there, so why pretend like they weren’t?

For Harry, taking off Y/N’s sweater was a completely different experience and although he didn’t wish to be a creep, he couldn’t help but letting out an awkward but knowing cough when he accidentally stared right down them. He hastily threw the shirt he’d brought her onto her torso, scared of what would happen if he were to delay it any longer. Harry prided himself on being a respectful man, but being with Y/N had always tested that quality of his.

“What?” She asked, a touch of feigned innocence to her tone, and he rushed to shake his head.

She knew what.

“Nothing.”

“M’kay.”

“Stand up for me?”

Y/N felt less amazing about her thighs, to be frank. She couldn’t really explain it, but they weren’t visually pleasing to her; cellulite littered the back of them and she obviously didn’t have a thigh gap, but that had become less of an issue. Y/N felt like her thighs had no real redeeming quality. It was a destructive way of thinking, she would admit, but… well, she’d carried that around since childhood.

As Harry pulled down her jeans, she felt void of anything. She didn’t exactly feel great, but better than when other guys had taken off her trousers. It was probably his age. She figured maturity increased as age did, and if Harry were to dislike the look of her body, he would be graceful about it.

“Hold onto my shoulders and lift your right leg.”

He got on his knees in front of her, pulling one leg in after the other. After doing so successfully, he allowed her to get under the covers.

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbled into the covers, eyes fluttering to a close.

He hummed, “I know.”

“But thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me for taking care of you.”

“Mhm,” she breathed, “it’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Sleep was pulling at her eyelids.

“Last time what?”

He received no answer. Upon a closer look, he saw Y/N completely overtaken by sleep. Her lips were situated in a pout and her foot peeked out of her thick comforter in the way he had already seen last time he’d brought her to bed.

He allowed himself more time to watch over her this time, scared that if he were to leave it would be the last he saw of her. The anxiety settled on his chest in heavy waves and the image of a precious Y/N was slipping further away from his mind. He had been a horrible person, allowing himself to become the type of man he’d always tried not to be… and he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t let this be that with her. He couldn’t bare it.

Harry had always thought of himself to be tattooed with imperfections. As he stared down at Y/N’s sleeping body, he couldn’t help the guilt that wrapped around him like a torture blanket. To him, she was perfect. She was kind and beautiful, she carried her heart out on her sleeve and overcame her past to grow in spite of painful trauma.

What he didn’t know, though, was that she thought the same of him. She thought of him as the most capable person, strong and kind. Her heart yearned for him in ways no one could comprehend.

She thought of him as everything but instead of embracing it, he’d pushed her away… and now both of them had to suffer the consequences.

—

Harry had stayed the night, but he hadn‘t slept; he‘d spent the night lying on Y/N‘s uncomfortable couch with various thoughts swirling around in his head. At eight he‘d stood up, started preparing breakfast and wasted time looking through social media to distract himself from the girl sleeping in the next room.

Y/N slipped out thirty minutes later, surprised when she saw Harry moving through her kitchen as though he knew it like the back of his hand. She coughed, not knowing where to put her arms and folding them in instead.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he tried to smile, “I hope you’re hungry, I made you a bagel with eggs if that’s okay.”

“That’s… yeah,” she swallowed a lump in her throat, stepping close to the counter, “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“My pleasure. You—“ he pointed at the side of her face, “you have something there.”

“Oh, I—“ Harry reached forward to swipe at it, wiping his finger clean on his trousers and stroking her cheek once for good measure. “Thanks. Probably toothpaste.”

“Probably.”

Silence decorated their next few seconds, awkward glances and uncomfortable tension felt down to the bones. Then Harry straightened up and breathed in, simultaneously Y/N opened her mouth.

“I—“

“Are you— oh, sorry.”

“No, you go on,” she urged, waving a dismissive hand at him.

Harry smiled, “are you okay?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah, I am actually. Bit of a headache but that‘s expected. Thanks for…picking me up, I guess. I didn‘t want to be a burden, but I kind of told Andrew about you and he got a hold of my phone…“

Harry’s eyebrows drew together, “no, I’m glad he called. You should always reach out to me when you’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, but last time didn’t go over very well, so…”

Harry cleared his throat. “Right, I’m sorry about that. I was out of line, but that doesn‘t mean I don‘t want you to call when you need help getting home. There’s nothing more important than your safety, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but…” Y/N shook her head, overwhelming thoughts swirling endlessly inside rendering her speechless. There wasn’t anything she could say to efficiently express these concerns to him— Y/N had always been bad at communication and the last thing she wanted was to poke the bear even more.

“No go on, tell me.”

“I just… I don’t know. I felt like shit after last time.”

“I know,” he breathed out lowly, “I know you did, and I’m sorry. I didn‘t mean it.”

“But clearly you did if you felt the need to say it. I mean, it doesn’t just come out of nowhere, those accusations. You felt them. And I was thinking about it all day yesterday and… you were probably right, we are too unprofessional.”

“No, sweetheart. I enjoy our dinner sessions and I appreciate that you feel comfortable to talk to me when something bothers you—“ It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could say to change her mind.

The words that left her mouth were mostly involuntary. They were a protective barrier, a reason to say no, back off and a clear indication that she had no capacity for this. And although it hurt somewhere deep within her chest to express them, to become a viscous reminder of last night, especially when Harry’s eyebrows drew together in deep regret, it needed to be said.

“Harry, I meant it when I quit last night.”

A reasonable response was lost on Harry. For a moment he needed to think, to gather his thoughts— not that there were very many. He had to admit, he’d hoped they would gloss over her drunken text and pretend as though it hadn’t been. He’d hoped that Y/N felt a small spark of embarrassment when she thought about it, that she looked back on it with regret. Alas, she didn’t.

“Oh.”

He pulled back, shoulders tensing when the gravity of her statement had pulled him down along with it.

“Yeah. I mean, I love working with Jamie, I do, but I—“ I’m scared that I’ll form an attachment I will never recover from. I’m scared of the proximity we share, of how sometimes you let your fingers brush over my thigh. I’m scared because I don’t know what you mean, scared because psychoanalyzing doesn’t work on you. Or maybe— maybe I’m scared of love. With you. Or with anyone. Maybe I’m not capable of being loved. And maybe I’m not even capable of loving and maybe— just maybe, this will be the end of me. And for what? For you to say that the affection you extend to me is customary? That I have a tainted perception of reality, of love? Because I know I do. I know I do, and yet hearing it from you would hurt much more. And so maybe… maybe in this case, finding out isn’t worth the hassle. You’ll probably find I’m not either.

There was so much to say and such little capacity to say it. All Y/N could think to do was sputter words she didn’t mean and hope he understood because the alternative was ridding herself of every. little string of dignity she still possessed and she simply couldn’t do that. She couldn’t allow herself to unfold in front of the only person who’s perception of her she wanted to nurture. No one had stayed. Even if he would come to leave, she wanted him to leave with a sound picture of her.

“But you…”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t… because of yesterday?”

“No. I mean, I guess that was a bit of an eye opener, but I—“ Y/N breathed in, “I think I’m getting too attached to you. You and Jamie.”

His eyes widened just a bit and he took a small step toward her. It was so small she hardly felt him entering her space. “I don’t mind that, Y/N, you don’t need to quit—“

“I do though,” she interrupted him, a stern undertone to her voice. She coughed and said again, “I mind.”

“I think you’re still angry about yesterday.”

She had to contain the urge to roll her eyes, “I’m not. This is separate from that.”

“So it’s the attachment that’s the problem?”

“Yes.”

Harry scoffed, “that’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with attachment.”

“It depends on what kind, doesn’t it?”

“Enlighten me then.”

Y/N’s mouth closed. She couldn’t do that.

So she deflected.

“Harry, my contract says that as long as I stay long enough to find a fitting replacement—“

“Fuck the contract, Y/N,” the volume of his voice almost caused Y/N to flinch into herself, “I know what my contract says. What I don’t know is why you’re giving up a job that you love, a job that pays you well, for reasons you can’t even explain to me.”

“Is my resignation not enough for you? Would hearing my reasoning really change anything if I will keep insisting on resigning no matter how often you’ll advise me against it? I doubt it matters. I doubt you would even so much as give a shit, Harry."

Y/N shook her head, tears building in the ducts of her eyes. Her father had been of great emotional abuse, her mother had spent half of her life drinking herself to liver failure and her brother had moved to Madrid as soon as he’d turned eighteen, leaving Y/N to fend for herself in a household that contained not one ounce of love— and yet this felt worse. This felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest, dropped on the floor beating and bleeding.

“You think I don’t give a shit? Really?” Y/N couldn’t help rolling her eyes, huffing when he tapped her on the wrist, muttering with a steady furrow in his brow, “don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“You know why I’m quitting and yet you want to hear it come out of my mouth. I’m not going to do it.”

“I don’t know.”

She almost laughed, “sure”

“Sweetheart—“

“Don’t call me that.” She gave him a sharp glance before heading back to her bedroom, arms falling to the sides of her timid frame. Harry stopped her just short of the door, a steady hand gripping around her wrist. She couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth, built up tears finally streaming down in heaps— embarrassment brewed in her stomach and she couldn’t bare to look him in the eye anymore. Harry’s touch elicited a spark on her skin, blistering with uncomfortable heat. “What?”

“You’re being rude. I really think you should consider this.”

“There’s nothing to consider, okay?! I… I feel too much for you, there’s too— there’s too much, okay? There’s too fucking mu—“

What would transpire between them next was a kiss. Initiated by Harry.

It was barely a kiss, more of a brushing of the lips— tentative movements, gentle breaths. It was the minimum and yet it was more than enough. There was an electric feeling that dragged through Y/N’s entire body as she closed her eyes and let herself feel. Harry didn’t seem very much like a gentle lover— generous, without doubt, but Y/N had always pictured him as a pin-to-the-wall, bite-to-the-lip type of man and she quickly received confirmation when he began squeezing her hand as if feeling restrained.

Y/N hadn’t kissed many people; less than five, probably, but she could say with certainty that this was already better than all of the other ones combined. She knew why. She knew the reason was that she genuinely liked Harry, that he made her feel things she’d never felt before.

But then again, Harry was her boss. He was off limits, taboo. And he was absolutely out of his mind right now.

“Wait.”

His breath fanned against her chin. “You don’t want me to?”

“No I do, I just—“ she shook her head, thoughts in a disarray like they’d never been before.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out, merely staggered breaths as she tried to regain the ability to think. The interruption came when Harry’s phone rang on the counter.

He groaned, took a glance at the screen and broke away when he saw his mother’s name flash as the caller ID.

“Yes?” He called into the speaker, frustration molding his features as he kept on listening. “Yes, okay, tell him I’m on my way. Give me twenty minutes… Love you too, bye.” When he turned to her, phone slipped into his back pocket, she could tell that he yearned to say more, that he yearned for her to say more. She knew he would halt his actions, leave time for her to get her words out before he left for whatever emergency he’d been called in for, that if she only said something he would consider putting her as a second priority after his son. She knew that he would make her feel important. But she said nothing. And nobody, not even the most patient person in the world could work with nothing. “Jamie’s asking for me. I need to go get him.”

She only nodded.

He sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “Alright. I need to go. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

She stood at exactly the same spot as Harry slammed the door shut, unwavering.

Her heart was still pounding as the words she should’ve expressed minutes ago died on her lips.

—

Résumés had been sent to him, interviews were lined up, and Y/N had received no reply back. She hadn’t received anything, really, just a text on Thursday that he would arrange for another babysitter to come in for Jamie while he left for his late meeting, to which Y/N had typed a dry ‘ok’ and left it to sit in her inbox.

The week had started fresh and Y/N had finally left home again (only to her classes, but still). After days of not working, she was scheduled to pick up Jamie at two thirty and hoped for these last weeks to resume seamlessly. She’d gotten the car from the house, locked the door back up again and made the ten minute drive down— everything was fine.

Until now. Until Y/N set foot on preschool grounds and noticed another woman hugging her arms around Jamie’s shoulders. She seemed unfamiliar at first— glasses tipped back on her long blonde hair, a pencil skirt concealing her toned legs. Y/N had no idea who she was dealing with until she took a closer look and recognized this woman to be Stacie. Y/N had seen a picture of Stacie up in Harry’s study— she seemed to have changed a little, but the structural features she associated with her still remained intact through all these years (big blue eyes, defined cheekbones).

As soon as Jamie’s eyes set on Y/N, though, Stacie’s hands were torn away from his shoulders as he ran for her. She got on her knees, his familiar smile melting away all of the cold spots she’d developed in over a week of not seeing him.

“I miss you!” Jamie pulled away to plant a kiss right on the top of the apple of Y/N’s cheek, something he only started doing recently. She guessed he’d only really learned how to. “Daddy said you pick me up today.”

“I missed you too, buddy. I see somebody else came to see you?”

“Oh, Stacie. She wants to take me home but daddy said you pick me up.”

“Yeah, okay. Do you want to wait a second while I talk to her?”

Jamie nodded, moving to stand next to her (small hand clutched in hers, of course) while Y/N greeted Stacie. Well, greet was a bit of an exaggeration; she didn’t get to before Stacie decided to introduce herself first.

“I’m his mom, I called Harry in the morning telling him I’d come for pick up. I have a packed schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you could let go of my child.”

Y/N almost laughed, the audacity of this woman a damn near mystery to her. “Wait. Don't talk about him like some sort of property. Harry never told me about anyone else coming to pick up Jamie.”

“He must’ve forgotten. He’s a busy man, I’m sure he would confirm—“

“Well then let’s call him, shall we?”

Stacie wanted to interject, she could tell, but Y/N had dialed way too fast for that to happen. The phone only had to ring once before Harry picked up, his voice coming in clear.

“Hey, you‘ve got Jamie?”

“I’m here at preschool but Stacie showed up before me and wants to take him home. You didn’t tell me, so I…” she trailed off, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

It seemed to take a minute to click. “Stacie? His mother showed up at school?”

“Yes, was this arranged beforehand or…”

“No. No, don’t let her take him home. Shit, we talked about this last week, I don’t—“

“You… you talked about this last week?” The confusion dripped from Y/N’s voice and all she could hear was Harry’s attempt at concealing profanities. “What did you talk about last week?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just get home, tell her to call me to clear this up. I don’t want Jamie knowing Stacie is his mother yet, okay? So just get out of there before she tells him herself.”

A frown settled over Y/N’s features before she continued to end the call, scoop Jamie up into her arms and walk away after quick word. Stacie protested, but both her and Y/N knew she wouldn’t do much more than that in fear of causing a scene.

Y/N failed to pay attention to Jamie as she fastened the belt on his seat, only registering when she looked back into the rearview mirror and noticed the little pout starting to pull at his small lips.

And when he finally asked her, little quips of fear polishing his quiet tone: “is Stacie my mum?”, all Y/N could do was pretend she hadn’t heard and hope he would forget, knowing he wouldn’t.

—

Y/N bombarded Harry with questions the second he‘d unlocked that front door.

“Y/N—“

“No, I’m entitled to know this time. I’m entitled to know when she ambushes us at preschool. Don’t you want me to know what I’m dealing with if it happens again? That woman almost fucking kidnapped him—“

“Calm down, Y/N. Sit down and I’ll explain it to you.”

She huffed in annoyance, listening nonetheless. She set herself down on one of the kitchen stools and tried to take control of her breathing. She watched as he took a seat opposite her.

“Stacie came to visit last week on Wednesday. She’d called beforehand, asking if it would be okay. She came and we had dinner, we talked some things out while Jamie was in bed. She apologized, asked if we could start working things out again. I agreed under the condition that she would approach the idea of Jamie as a friend first. She said that she would respect my wishes and that she wouldn’t come near him unless I gave my permission. That’s it. So far all Jamie knows is that she’s a friend of mine. I didn’t—god,” Y/N felt bad when Harry buried his head in his hands, itching to reach out in comfort. She chose to play it safe, settling a gentle touch over his thigh. “I know I should’ve known but it seemed real when we spoke last, you know? I didn’t think she’d do this.”

Y/N hadn’t seen Harry this distraught over anything. “I’m sorry. That’s heavy.”

“It’s—“ he sighed, “it’s something I keep having to deal with. All she wants is to have him on the weekends, have him pose as her cute son. But she doesn’t actually care about him.”

Y/N couldn’t do much more than nod. She was caught between playing the comforting role and being honest. She wasn’t sure if this was the place, if her opinion would be welcomed or if it would contribute to Harry’s sorrows. “She seemed… uncooperative when I spoke to her at school. Like she was in a rush or something, it scared me.”

“Yeah, she’s hardheaded.”

“Right.” Y/N pulled her hand away when Harry lifted his head, clearing her throat and averting her eyes. The change in her behavior didn’t go unnoticed, though he knew he shouldn’t ask. “So when you talked… when you agreed to working things out, you meant that in a friendly manner? Or were you going to be… a couple again?”

“We… I don’t know. We kissed— well, she kissed me a few days ago when we met up again for a playdate with Jamie. Never discussed it any further.”

“Do you love her?”

Y/N had begun to hold her breath in, but she didn’t notice it.

Harry did. He noticed the suction of a deep breath and he noticed how his own hands got clammy with sweat.

Harry looked skeptical, as though there was something on his tongue ready to peek out tentatively, only it couldn’t because he had to spare her feelings. Because there was little Y/N, intimidated by everything she’d ever had to face in her lifetime— little Y/N who had rejected him and still expected loyalty. Little Y/N who couldn’t have him, but had always wanted to.

“I think a part of me will always love her. I mean, she gave me Jamie and he’s… the best thing to ever happen to me, really. I love him, and I will always love her for giving birth to him. I will always love her for the good parts of our relationship.”

Y/N hated herself for hating his answer. It was a perfectly reasonable answer, truthful as Y/N expected, yet her mind wandered past the barriers, past the barbed wire. She couldn’t fully grasp how he could still love her— and yet she understood perfectly. There was Jamie, of course, but there were many other things. There was her hair, her bright complexion, the beautiful curve of her hips and the effortless look of her makeup. There was the fashion, the business-casual look that seemed to mesh so well with Harry’s. There was this calling when Y/N pictured the two of them standing side by side, almost like they were destined to be together. She could imagine it perfectly, the many years they had spent together. She could see it. And it looked perfect.

Y/N coughed, head nodding along to his words as if she were listening to instructions and not some heartfelt confession. It seemed instinctual, though.

When it came time for her to speak, she let a smile mold her lips into a perfect crescent moon. She never thought faking a smile could hurt more than a physical injury, but she’d been proven wrong. Everything looked intact— Y/N was sure she almost seemed unaffected from the outside. She wasn’t, though, and she wondered if Harry would recognize that.

“That’s… yeah. I get that.”

This was the first time Y/N actually felt the age gap between her and Harry. He sat here, ready to air it out. He spoke about his concerns, about the state of his son, and the only thing she could fret about was herself. Her sadness had no weight, it was too insignificant in comparison to his and it made her feel pathetic. It made her feel young and stupid and pathetic.

Harry deserved better than this. He deserved careful consideration, security for his child. He deserved trust and honesty, a sort of transparency Y/N couldn’t afford to offer to him yet.

“That’s not to say that I want to approach her in that way, especially after today, but…” he trailed off, only finding his words when it’d clicked that she wasn’t responding, “I just want you to understand that it’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded. Then she cleared her throat, ready to rid herself of this spotlight. She always messed up in the spotlight. “Um, Jamie asked me if Stacie was his mum today. I didn’t answer, but you might want to think about what you’ll say to say to him next time. I also sent you a few résumés, I’ve talked to a few people and have set up interviews, the first one is scheduled for tomorrow—“ she visibly flinched when his hand came down on her thigh, “please, Harry. I can’t. Please just let me finish this.”

“Okay.”

A deep breath, “it’s scheduled for tomorrow after you come home from work. Do you want me to come on the call, or are you okay interviewing yourself?”

“I’d like you to come.”

“Okay. I’ll stay longer tomorrow.”

“Can we talk about us now? Properly?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Harry almost laughed, “there’s a lot to talk about. We just added on a good bit today.”

“I’m quitting. That’s it.”

“You know, I don’t understand why you insist that there’s nothing going on—“

“Because there isn’t,” she snapped. “There isn’t. I’m going to check up on Jamie.”

She was teary-eyed as she slipped from the stool, ready to conceal it all for the ball of sunshine sitting in the living room. She could do it all for Jamie— she would do it all.

Before he could say any more, Y/N disappeared behind the door. Harry could hear the two of them converse in the next room and his heart felt heavy as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Harry had always known what to do— he was a CEO, for god’s sake. He was trained to find solutions, take control of seemingly unfixable problems, to make life easy. And yet, this girl thoroughly baffled him. He had no idea what the fuck to do anymore.

And yet, he was determined to keep trying.

—

Two people had interviewed over zoom and Harry had hated every one of them. His excuses were vague, something about the lack of experience (even though they both knew that Y/N hadn’t had any when she’d started either) and the supposed ‘wrong vibe’. One time he’d criticized a woman for her ‘ridiculously shrill voice’, at which point Y/N had rolled her eyes and proceeded to walk home in a fury.

The next day Y/N showed up again, ready to interview three more people. She sat beside Harry as he set up the video call and listened as he asked questions. Y/N was mostly in attendance to listen and give her honest feedback by the end (she really did want to find someone spectacular for Jamie), so the difficult part came later. For now she could be quiet.

This woman, aside from qualified, seemed very kind. So far, it’d been the best candidate.

“So how flexible is time for you?”

“Very. I do online classes for uni, so I can very well manage my time how I see fit.”

“That sounds fine. And you’ve had plenty of experience, I see.”

“Yes, I started babysitting when I was fourteen, so for more than ten years now. The last family I worked for just moved out of the country, which is why I’m looking for something new, but I was with them three years.”

This woman had nothing but good evidence she would be the best for the job; no doubt better than Y/N. She had the experience, she seemed mature, she looked kind— she would act in a professional manner, something Y/N had never quite figured out yet.

That didn’t matter to Harry, though, because as soon as she’d gotten off the call, he muttered a ‘no’.

“Why not?” Y/N asked, bewildered by his blunt response, “she was literally perfect for the job.”

Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, busying himself with his laptop, “just didn’t feel right.”

“Okay, this is just getting too unreasonable at this point. You didn’t like the lack of experience, fine, that one woman’s shrill voice, fine— but this? She just didn’t feel right?”

“I don’t expect you to understand—“

“No. We’re not doing that.”

“It’s a feeling, Y/N. When I interviewed you, I got the feeling that it’s right, that I’d feel safe leaving Jamie with you. It takes trust.”

“But she’s— she’s so qualified, she—“

“Experience isn’t everything. It’s important, but not everything. You weren’t experienced when you came for your interview but you gave me the right feeling. Thus you were qualified for the job.”

And she understood, really, but it still fucking pissed her off. “That’s fucking— you’re being too picky.”

“For good reason.”

“At least two of the people we interviewed were qualified enough for a test run.”

“We still have about fifteen to go and there’s no rush.”

Y/N found this ridiculous. She muttered under her breath, pushing some hair back with a sweaty palm.

“Why is it that everything I do makes you angry?”

“Because you’re fucking infuriating.”

He breathed a chuckle, “that’s nice,” and closed his laptop. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll make your favorite pasta.”

“I don’t—“ but Harry had already gotten to work, tuning her voice out without much trouble. He smiled at her, almost mocking.

“Do you have another job lined up?“

“Uh,” Y/N didn’t want to admit no, that she hadn’t even begun looking properly (save for that one café down the street from her apartment), knowing the consequences and aware of the tiring reprimanding from Harry ahead. A pitied glance. A pathetic speech. “I’ve applied.”

“Where?”

“A cafe.”

“Where?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“Are you hired?”

She huffed, “no.”

“Where else?”

“Um, a… another café. It’s in... near my apartment.”

“Would be bad if it wasn’t,” he quipped, paying her a shortened glance from over his cooking pot. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Financial help, maybe?”

Y/N groaned, “no.”

“Because I wouldn’t mind sending you some money—“

“Harry,” she cut him off in an instant, glaring daggers at him, “I’ll just send it back. I’ve saved up enough to get by for a few weeks.“

“That doesn’t exactly ease my—“

“Can we just— can we not?”

And they didn’t. Harry closed his mouth— forced it closed, actually— having to clench his jaw to stop himself from voicing unwanted thoughts. Y/N looked away, pretending this conversation hadn’t happened at all. It was easier that way, to pretend he hadn’t conveyed such an open and honest display of care, to pretend that it hadn’t ripped her heart to shreds.

There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't. It was the first time in a while that Y/N stayed (somewhat voluntarily) after her shift, and he couldn't risk pushing her away further.

For now, he had to be okay with this.

—

Y/N couldn‘t keep her eyes off of Harry, images of last night flashing in between conflicting thoughts.

She was in bed. She was clutching her blanket, a wet spot and the outline of her body marked by sweat on the sheets. He‘d looked so real fucking her, he‘d sounded so genuine whispering into her ear as he thrust up into her cunt.

He‘d called her a good girl, and she‘d run with it, afraid to look back.

But it hadn‘t been real, had it?

It‘d been a dream. But god, was it a good one.

Would he do it all the same? Would be hold her close, spreading his fingers over the expanse of her breast as he kissed her neck? Would he glide them up, and wrap them around her throat? Would he— fuck. No. She couldn’t.

But he would. And they‘d look so pretty resting there. And she‘d feel so pretty as he overwhelmed her with his presence, his chest pressing against hers. He‘d look so right as he danced along the fine line of praise and degradation— the line of rough and sweet, cold and warm. Because he would know. He would know exactly what she would need.

Wouldn‘t he?

He would. As she watched him move through the space of his living room, she knew he would. She‘d always known, really.

And Jamie wasn’t here anymore, he’d fled up the stairs. And Y/N really, really shouldn’t be here with him alone.

She was biting on her nails, eyes cast downwards in avoidance as Harry read his book on the other end of the couch. He had an arm stretched along the back of the couch and her legs were tucked to her chest as she scrolled on her phone, trying her hardest not to let her gaze run wild. It proved especially difficult when his arm fell mere inches from her legs. And when he touched her, warm thumb rubbing comforting circles into the cold of her skin, she couldn’t help biting her lip.

“You okay?”

“Hm? Yes. Why?”

A smile stretched his mouth wide, “just seem distracted, is all. Squirmy.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

God, she was feeling small under his gaze.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. Harry saw her eyes, though, tired dark circles resting where they don’t belong. He saw how they widened, how desperate they seemed for something she didn’t want to disclose to him and he wanted so badly to satisfy that need for her. “I should go home.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Would you like me to drive you?”

“Um, no. It’s okay. Thank you.”

But she failed to move.

Y/N had shut him out for so long that the effect he’d always had on her multiplied by ten. It was much much worse and the finger on her leg burned through her skin with ease.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Come here,” he demanded softly, watching as a war unfolded on her face. He could read her like a book, sensing the exact moment her heart won and her head gave up. He pulled her to him, fingers dancing up and down her shoulder. “You seem tired.”

Y/N cleared her throat, tips of fingers holding onto the edge of safety and threatening to let her cascade into the depths of danger. “I had three classes in the morning and I’ve been writing this paper, so—“ she allowed him control as he made her face the other way, legs outstretched, her back just inches from his chest and his hands massaging her tense shoulders. Her eyes closed in pleasure at the sensation. “And last night, I—“

“Last night you what?”

“I had… I had this dream and—“

She didn’t want to finish and he didn’t need her to.

“Is this okay?”

His voice felt soft and comfortable against her neck. “Yes, thank you. You’re good at that.”

He hummed.

“I really should go home though,” she mumbled, getting quieter with each word. She knew she wouldn’t dare push him away now, but she supposed it was more about convincing herself that she’d tried. “Cause I have classes early in the morning.”

“It’s only seven.”

“Yeah.”

Harry snickered quietly, her awful try at resistance not surprising him in the least. He had never seen her quite like this though, weak and smitten in his arms, on the verge of purring like a cat. He definitely couldn’t complain when she inched closer and dropped her head so it could rest comfortably on his shoulder.

“Can you do my arms?”

“Of course, baby.”

She could’ve melted. In fact, she probably had without noticing.

And when she felt his lips pressing to her skin… well, then it was game over.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded promptly, heart racing.

Y/N was tired of rejecting this feeling, tired of pretending as though she didn’t want Harry’s affection. Because truly, it was all she wanted, all she’d longed for.

A love like his would feel so great.

“You look really beautiful, you know that?”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, sensing Harry’s chuckle rolling against her back at the response.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re the one who keeps running.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Y/N took her time answering, grateful when Harry didn’t rush her. He would sit here waiting for an hour if he needed to, she was confident in that. There was no hurry, just soft hands on scalps and warm kisses on necks— Y/N hadn’t experienced such an overwhelming feeling of comfort in the arms of a man.

“I’m scared to stay.”

He sounded unfazed, giving her a surge of confidence when he asked, “why?”

“Because we’re such different people. You’re a dad, a very accomplished ceo. I’m a student, so much younger—“

“Don’t make me out to be so old, love.”

Her eyes rolled. “A little younger than you. And last week when I saw Stacie, I don’t know… it did something with my brain, I guess. You seemed so right together, you know? I didn’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything, don’t think I could bear that.”

“Look at me,” he muttered, tilting her head so that he could pin her down with a stern stare, “I couldn’t regret you, sweetheart. I regret much in life, but I wouldn’t regret you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Eh, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

“Harry,” she warned, “I’m not the most lovable person once you get to know me.”

“I doubt that,” he retorted.

“Past experiences have proven as much.”

He gave gentle strokes to her cheek, a glaze he didn‘t expect overcoming her eyes, pulling him in, “so let me show you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his nose mere inches away from hers. “Show me what?”

“How easy it is to love you.”

Time stood still, but it couldn’t not have with a statement of that kind. It seemed so easy for him to brush off concerns as something undeserving of thought, to create an allusion of simplicity where it didn‘t belong. Those words meant everything to her.

“You must know how wonderful that sounds coming from your mouth.”

Harry breathed a chuckle, nose nudging against hers softly. When he asked for permission, Y/N couldn’t deny him of another kiss.

And if it could’ve gotten any better than their first kiss, then it definitely had. There was a newfound sense of freedom and security with this kiss, unspoken thoughts reduced to small details rather than what had been when they’d spent time together last.

When they parted, nothing needed to be said. They already knew it all.

—

A month later.

“Y/N, will you hand me another bowl for the soup, please?”

As Y/N fulfilled Harry’s plea, she couldn’t help but let her giddiness dictate her movements. Things were fresh, things were good— but they were also scary. He was scary. Anxious butterflies spread in her lower tummy at the mention of his name and infested it with the low sound of his voice.

She waited by his side as he tidied up, ready to be of assistance. It was pathetic, really, how awfully smitten she’d become for him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She hummed in reply, scared that if she were to speak all that would come out was a squeak. Harry chuckled, smirk molding into his cheekbones as he grasped Y/N by the waist and pushed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. His hand slid lower, giving her a squeeze.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be great, I promise. And whatever he says, we’ll work it out.”

“Okay,” a surge of confidence rode her to sunny dry shores, shoulders sacking in comfort, “yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You ready then?”

“Yes.”

Things proceeded as they always had; Y/N and Jamie shared funny anecdotes of their day as Harry mostly listened, admiring the two of them with love filling his eyes. It wasn’t until desert had come that the setting changed, unbeknownst to Jamie, and Harry took the lead.

“Jamie, we want to talk to you about something.”

Jamie stared between the two of them, waiting.

“Do you remember when you came home from school and told me about Katie and Josh? That they’re boyfriend girlfriend?”

“Yes, they still are.”

Harry chuckled, “and do you remember what I said when you asked if I had a girlfriend?”

“You said that you don’t.”

“I did. And while that may have been true for that moment, things have changed.”

Her heart melted and sank all the same when his little green eyes lit up, “do you have a girlfriend now?”

“I do,” Harry laughed, “you know her.”

“Who?”

Harry smirked, motioning to Y/N with a nod of his head to draw Jamie’s attention away. Jamie’s gaze landed on Y/N and in the matter of a second it filled with excitement. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Are you okay with that?” She asked, timid at first but becoming more confident when a genuine smile imprinted small dimples in his cheeks, a feature he’d been lucky enough to receive from his father.

He nodded, full of movement, and hummed in confirmation.

When Y/N and Harry had put Jamie into bed later that night, and had vacated to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of wine together, things finally fell into place. The thought of happiness within a relationship was no longer a distant one— no, it had become a reality. Harry had kept up with his promise, he had shown her easy, he’d shown her effortless, and while there was no doubt in her mind that hard times were still to come, she was confident that no matter the circumstance, her gratitude for his open portrayal of love could never be put into question.

“I love you,” she shared, eyes glassy, head tilted. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just want you to know. I think I’ve loved you for quite some time, I just didn’t want to realize it.”

The silence was short lived.

He placed his glass back down on the table and smiled, though to her it almost looked awkward. “Wow.”

“I know, you don’t have to… cause I know it’s a big deal, so you don’t have to say anything.”

“I do too,” he then offered, hand traveling to rest on her knee. “I love you.”

“Really?”

“I do.”

This stumped her.

And now it was her turn: “wow.”

Harry’s laughter spread everywhere on Y/N’s skin, engraving itself into her soul and staying there to be kept and remembered forever.

“Good. Now that that’s cleared…”

She couldn’t deny him of a passionate make-out session, hands on thighs and lips everywhere they fit, everywhere they felt right. A moan slipped from her mouth, his smirk molded into her hot skin.

“Move in with me,” he muttered, dirty against her mouth, “we’re finding a new nanny for Jamie and you don’t have a new job planned yet. Just focus on university, move in with me, with us. Let me take care of you.“

“Harry—“ his mouth collided against her neck, her eyes closed shut, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“We’ve only been together—“

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve fought for a long time to have you. I believe in us, I trust this.”

“I…“ Y/N felt torn— on one hand, she really wanted to move in with him. On the other, was that really wise? To move in with a man after a month of dating him? Albeit this was Harry, and she trusted him too. Fully. It was herself she didn’t trust. “Are you sure?”

And when she looked into his eyes, there was no not one ounce of doubt in them. They welcomed her.

“Jamie would love it just as much as me.”

“Would he?”

“Are you kidding me? He loves you so much.”

“I love him too,” she played with a strand of his hair.

“Then move in with us.”

A smile began to pull at her lips. “But I pay for groceries.”

“No,” he mumbled, “you’re too broke for me to let you do that.”

“Harry!”

“It’s true!” He laughed, massaging her thigh. “Baby, I don’t expect you to pay for anything living here. I’m more than capable—“

“I know you’re capable, but I just… I was taught not to burden other people.”

“You’re not burdening me,” he insisted, finger sliding under her chin, “it’s okay to let other people do things for you. It’s okay for others to show their love.”

“I know that.”

“So please don’t worry about it. Focus on your studies and make me proud in that way.”

“I need to make money somehow.”

“No you don’t. I’ll support you.”

“No,” she breathed right away, “I won’t depend on you for money. You’re not my… my sugar daddy.”

“Why not?” He grinned, “you call me daddy either way—“

Y/N’s eyes rolled, “shut up.”

“Told you not to roll your eyes at me.”

“Sorry.”

Harry hummed, “try it for a month. If you want to move in after, you can. If you don’t, I’ll help you find a new place. Or I’ll pay your rent while you’re here so you don’t lose out on money.”

Comfortable silence dictated the next few seconds as Y/N thought about her boyfriend’s offer, and then: “fine. We’ll try it for a month.”

Harry’s smile widened, “yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t regret it."

He'd been right.

The end! Would love to hear your feedback :) but also like… don’t be too harsh cause I can’t handle it

tags:

@tpwk-mia @gem1712 @behindmygreyeyes, @sinarainbows @infixinfinity @adkmermaid2399 @daphnesutton @imaginexxharry @bry211 @haliastyles @watarmelon212 @impossibleme @cali-888 @dreamybabbyy @evie-119 @cumuluscranium @c-a-b3002 @buckybarnessimpp @freckles-things @harryedwardstylesluva24 @ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen @angelbunny222 @ivegotthecinema @harryscowgirl @vikiii07

I hope I didn’t forget anyone!

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles materlist #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x nanny #harry styles ceo #harry styles fanfic rec

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dragengyrr · 23 hours

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Dealbreaker

I found a fic "The Last Bus Stop in Hell, Now Boarding" by @prince-liest and… well, some scenes just stuck around in my head (read: tormented my artistic brain) long enough to get me down to sketching them out. Then a few hours, a few brushes and a few different colouring experiments later, it was no longer barely a sketch, at the expense of actual lunch... Oh well.

For those who haven’t read it (spoiler free), Angel and Alastor got their bodies swapped involuntarily, and the horrendous expression on Angel’s face belongs respectfully to Alastor.

Now, bear with me, because I’ve been overthinking this scene the whole time I was drawing it – Angel made a promise to Alastor, but one that is much more of a gesture of reassurance and what-happened-will-always-remain-in-this-room kind than anything resembling actual deal. And then, mere moments later, Angel realises that helping Al AND keeping the promise is impossible, so he dismisses the fact that he even said anything, and just jumps right onto the helping part, because he knows that that’s best thing to do for a friend. But Alastor doesn’t share that view – maybe it’s a mix of trauma, shame and the loss of control over almost anything, but he doesn’t think clearly at this point – normally, he’d sooner or later agree with Angel. But not there, not then – he’d rather expect the impossible to happen, and rage when it doesn’t.

And there’s the interesting choice of words – he could’ve called Angel anything at this point, we know how rich Alastor’s vocabulary is – but the word he chose was dealbreaker. Maybe, just maybe, from a perspective of hellish overlord, a sinner that twists and turns in an attempt to get rid of their contract is nothing less than pathetic, but what if the deal was only verbal, no signing, no contract, just "trust"… There are probably no other beings in Hell that, ironically, have less trust in somebody’s WORDS than the overlords, knowing what extremes the sinners are willing to go to just to squeeze their way out of a sticky situation. Also, one can only become a dealbreaker exactly in that scenario, when nothing was set in stone.

For Alastor, dealbreaker is a knife in the back. The worst kind of liar. The very being that reminds him so painfully that trust doesn’t exist without force applied to it by a binding contract, which, if you think about it, is a paradox. Dealbreakers are the reason he distances himself from everyone.

And here’s the sugar on the cream (pun intended): Angel is only trying to HELP. What a beautiful tragedy.

To end this little overthinking session: it’s been a long while since I’ve read anything that would make me genuinely terrified, and it’s even more amazing that it began as something quite hilarious. Do mind though that the topic is HEAVY, to say the least.

I can’t say I’ve read a lot of Hazbin fics, but so far Princeliest writes Alastor probably the closest to his original character, which I love. Please, keep up the good work!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #radio demon #hazbin angel dust #hazbin angel #fanfic #princeliest #the writing is too good #i forgot: describing alastor’s bodily reactions from angel’s perspective is amazing #the deer ears living their own life #cw blood #cw trauma

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weirdmarioenemies · 3 days

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Name: Zomboni

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies

Plants vs. Zombies is such a silly game. Silly is baked into its very code. And I love that! You know me! I live under rotting wood, eating silly and breaking it down into nutrient-rich soil! But I think Zomboni has the honor of being the silliest thing in this already-silly game!

There is no way Zomboni would exist if it weren't for the wordplay. So thank goodness for the wordplay! A zombie, on a Zamboni. Though, we are informed that it is actually "more closely related to a space ogre than a Zombie". What impeccable word choice! So it's not even actually a space ogre. Just some weird guy creature. Awesome

Zomboni drives an ice resurfacing machine, and I have no idea what the general public's knowledge level of these things is. Does the average person know the exist? I knew, but I played and hated playing hockey as a child so I got to watch the ice being resurfaced, which was the best part. Some guy who may or may not be tangentially related to space ogres will drive this machine around the ice rink, cutting down the surface and laying down fresh ice to make a nice and smooth surface, I think. Now, I may be using the generic term for this product, but commonly, there is one brand name that is used commonly, like Band-Aid or Q-Tip or Velcro, and for that we can thank...

Name: Frank J. Zamboni

Debut: Utah

Frank J. Zamboni! Hooray! What do you have to say, Frank?

Wow. So true, Frank. I'm sure this message is reaching its intended audience in this post. Anyway, ol' Ice Tank Frank made such an iconic machine that it is THE ice resurfacing machine in the public consciousness, and there is even a trademark for its iconic shape! That seems unnecessary but ok. Now, when the ghost of the Zamberino was scrying the mortal realm for references to his work in media, he came across parody in a funny video game, and OBVIOUSLY something had to be done about that!

And from then on, Zomboni's description was updated to reflect that it is NOT to be confused with a Zamboni® brand ice resurfacing machine, you silly billy, why would you think that? And they also plugged the Zamboni website in-game, so that the audience of, I must emphasize, a silly video game, would be more likely to buy an entire ice resurfacing machine, or at least its related merchandise. I really would think this would all be fine under parody law, but maybe it has to do with the shape trademark. Whatever. To the Zamboni company's credit, they have some incredible merchandise.

What a powerful item. With this, the course of a baby's life can be changed forever...

Zomboni with an O, I mean with two Os, approaches while creating a trail of freshly laid ice that cannot be planted on. The brand-ambiguous ice resurfacing machine is quite tough, but instant-kill plants are effective, as are Spikeweeds and Spikerocks, which will instantly pop its tires!

Zomboni is a considerable threat, instantly flattening any plant it reaches before its destruction, though the player should be pretty well-equipped to combat it, and the ice is laid on the right side of the screen, rather than the precious left side. Pretty manageable! But Zomboni is only the beginning, and as much delight and intrigue as I have gleaned from Zomboni's existence, it's what FOLLOWS Zomboni that is, in fact, my favorite zombie(s) in the game.

If Zomboni is allowed to create an ice trail, it will be used by Zombie Bobsled Team! Yeah, Frank got a whole "name/debut" section and these guys just get a bolded name in a sentence. You never know what I'm gonna do next! Hee hee!

Zombie Bobsled Team is exactly what it sounds like! A team of zombies, in a bobsled! So that's four zombies, with a defensive vehicle that has to be destroyed before they can be harmed! Zomboni was already over-the-top silly, and then Zombie Bobsled Team goes even higher over that top. And it's a Big Top, where they keep all the clowns. There is not much else I can say about Zombie Bobsled Team, but it really speaks for itself!

For some reason there exists official art of "Mullet Zombie", the Zomboni driver without his vehicle and hat. And for an even somer reason, they put it on the box art for the DS version! PvZ1 is simply very strange when it comes to official key art. Messed up.

#zomboni #zombie bobsled team #zamboni #frank j zamboni #utah #plants vs zombies #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako #long post

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sailor-aviator · 2 days

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Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

#psa #public service announcement #this has been a psa #liz speaks #liz rambles #long post

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halsteadlover · 2 days

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𝐀 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐧

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female!Reader.

• Requested by anon: Could you please write a derek Morgan x reader smut where the reader and derek and the team obvi are on a case and while interviewing neighbors in the apartments the reader makes a stupid bet like "I bet whoever lives here is a hot single bachelor in his 20s" and then it's the opposite and when they are back in the car derek makes the reader pay up but with her panties and when she goes to get them back at the end of the day it leads to smut.

• Warnings: a really brief mention of a murder case (it’s just a sentence), dirty talk, cuss words, making out, semi-public foreplay (f. receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up you guyssss!!)

• Word count: 5.5K

• A/N: my first Derek fic 😭 I hope you like it guys, please let me know what do you think about it and also comment, like and reblog, it’d mean the world. Sending lots of love to everyone ❤️

What part of your brain thought it was a good idea to make a bet with Derek Morgan?

You didn’t even know why you did it, it must’ve been the pleasure of losing because there was no way on earth you would’ve won.

You and Morgan were about to go interview a witness for a case you were working on: a serial killer who was killing his victims by setting fires. You were walking next to each other while you thought of some way to make what was going to be a long and boring afternoon, interesting.

You and Derek had a, well… Particular relationship, to say the least.

Months prior you and him had started to have sex. It started out as a purely physical thing as you had always been very attracted to each other, but as time went on you found yourselves spending time together and enjoying each other’s company even outside of a sexual sphere.

Your relationship, both from a working and private point of view, had always been characterized by a playful banter, mischievous jokes, by the constant flirting so it wasn’t strange you both often found yourselves making bets aimed to make lose the other’s mind.

In fact, it was at that moment that you came up with an idea for a bet, however forgetting he took them so seriously it seemed like his life depended on it, especially since most of the time he won, and the penances were of a sexual nature. Of course you didn’t mind losing one bit.

“I bet whoever lives here is a hot single bachelor in his twenties,” you said, pointing to the apartment where you were heading, ready to question the witness. He grinned and glanced at you, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Oh baby girl, you still don’t understand it’s a losing battle?”

“What’s the matter Agent Morgan, you afraid of losing?” You challenged him with the deliberate pleasure of teasing him and in fact he immediately gave in to your provocation.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly in amusement. You arrived in front of the apartment door that had the number ‘23’ on its sign. You were standing facing each other while he thought about the penance, he would’ve make you do if you – most likely – lost.

Another evil, mocking grin appeared on his lips, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “You’ll give me your panties when you lose.”

“If I lose.”

“When. But you can still back out.”

“Never.”

He held out a hand towards you but you didn’t miss the way his eyes roamed over your body from head to toe, checking you out without shame. Over time you had learned to understand what he was thinking, what was hidden behind his look and you almost caught fire because you immediately recognized that look, it was the one he gave you when he was imagining you naked in every possible and imaginable position.

And in fact, you weren’t wrong.

Just the thought of having your panties in his pocket, walking around and smelling you, was enough to make his dick stir in his pants.

You knew the odds of you winning the bet were slim, but your competitive nature made you shake Morgan’s hand, and he gave you another one of his panty-ripping smiles.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, don’t take the victory for granted.”

He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. “I would never dare but be realistic darling. Do you know how low the odds are?”.

“What if I win?”.

“You won’t.”

“What if I win?” You repeated, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shrugged, very sure he’d win. “You’ll choose the penance.”

You thought about it for a moment and a mischievous smile appeared on your lips this time. “I’ll do a strip tease and a lap dance.”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “How is that a penance? Baby I’d drop on my knees right now to make this happen...”

“…But you’ll be handcuffed, you won’t be able to touch me and I won’t make you come.”

He opened his mouth wide, feeling his dick twitch just at the thought. He had to force himself to think of something else since he didn’t want to question a witness with a raging hard on but it was awfully difficult when all he could do was imagine you strip teasing and grinding on his lap. “Fuck I don’t know if I should win or lose.”

“If you want to end up with blue balls then you have to hope to lose.”

You knocked on the apartment door, still maintaining eye contact with Derek and trying to hold back your laughter since you knew exactly what he was thinking. You took your eyes away from him only to let them travel down his body and to the crotch of his pants which was clearly prominent at that moment. You bit your lip as you looked back at his face and he glared at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, feeling the situation getting even worse. Damn it, he felt like a damn horny teenager.

Before you could respond to his comment the door opened, revealing a person who couldn’t be more different from the object of your bet. He in fact was a she, a lady who couldn’t have been less than sixty years old.

Your smile dropped as the one on Derek’s face grew even more and, as you had already said, you wondered what part of your brain had thought it was a good idea to make that bet.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” she looked skeptically at both of you.

“Oh yes ma’am, you just made my day so much better,” he replied softly but glancing at you. “We’re FBI agents, may we ask you few questions?”

Over the next hour and a half you interviewed other witnesses near the fire scene and on your way to the car, Derek wouldn’t stop trying to get close to you and touch you.

“Derek stop it! We’re in public! God you’re so unprofessional,” you slapped one of his hands away that had been squeezing your ass for the last couple of minutes, trying not to laugh.

“There’s nothing professional about what we do, baby girl,” he replied with mock annoyance, “Plus I can’t help it, I can’t wait to rip your panties off.”

“Nuh uh mister, the deal was that I have to give you my panties not you taking them off me.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes as you approached the car but before you could get in he grabbed your hand and turned you towards him. He placed his hands on your face and as he pushed your back against the car door he crushed his lips on yours.

He didn’t care about passers-by in any way, in people’s eyes you might have looked like a couple who was passionately making out.

After the first few seconds of surprise, you immediately kissed him back, parting your lips and letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. You knew it was totally unprofessional to kiss your colleague in broad daylight while you were doing your job but all it took was for him to get close for you to lose your mind, no longer able to think clearly.

Your hands moved down his chest to encircle his waist, trying to pull him closer to you than his body already was. Your mouths moved in sync while he seemed to want to suck his soul out of you and although you were now used to kissing him, every time it was as if it was the first.

You almost moaned into the kiss, your body already on fire, wanting more. You wanted him so badly, you wanted his hands, his fingers, his mouth and his tongue all over you.

“Derek please…” you sighed when you broke away, his face still dangerously close to yours.

“Get in the car princess,” he ordered and his voice was so low and seductive that if he had asked you to give him a blowjob right there on the sidewalk you would’ve dropped on your knees without the slightest hesitation.

He opened the door for you and you giggled like a teenager before getting in, thanking him as you watched him walk around the car before getting in too.

“I would’ve fucked you in the car here and now if we weren’t in public. You’re so fucking hot baby,” he whispered against your lips after moving closer to you and taking your chin between his fingers. “But I’ll settle taking your panties off for now.”

He placed a hand on your breast and groped it before sliding it across your stomach to your jeans-covered pussy. You moaned as he began to touch you, making you squirm under his expert fingers.

“I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you honey?” He continued to tease you.

“Fuck Derek… They’ll see us…”

“You’re right,” he replied, stopping touching you, causing you to moan and grunt at the same time. “No one should look at what is mine.”

God Derek Morgan and the things he made you feel. You were starting to really hate him.

“You’re having so much fun aren’t you?”

He started the car but not before throwing you one last mocking and sexy as hell grin. “You have no idea how much.”

You squeezed your legs together in anticipation feeling the urge and desire grow more and more. You continued to look at him as he drove, observing every feature of his perfect profile with your hungry eyes.

How could someone be so perfect?

And it didn’t help he had one hand resting on your inner thigh as his thumb was stroking dangerously close to your intimate area. You didn’t know whether to hate him, to beg him to go higher or both but certainly the smug expression on his face made you want to punch him.

Derek drove to a hidden, dead end road, not caring the rest of the team was probably waiting to hear from both you and him.

He kissed you breathless again, threading a hand into your hair. But he didn’t stay there for long as he moved down your chest again, wasting no time in groping your breasts again, until he reached your pussy again.

“God Derek you’re driving me crazy,” you hissed as you struggled to keep control. He kissed you again and unbuttoned your pants and you lifted your hips before your brain could even process the movement, allowing him to slide them down your thighs. You took off your shoes, slipping your pants off.

He slipped his hands into your underwear and a loud moan escaped your lips that Derek felt right in his dick. “As I imagined… So fucking wet.”

“Fuck yes just like that,” you sighed as his fingers drew circles on your clit. You gripped the sides of the seat as if searching for a leverage, pleasure flowing through your veins.

He knew where to touch you, he knew HOW to touch you, what to do to make you lose your mind and control.

“I'm dying to taste this pussy, look at you soaking up my fingers,” he whispered in your ear, pressing his lips to your neck and sucking on your skin but being careful not to leave any marks. The team already didn’t give you any respite suspecting there was something between you, he certainly didn’t want to give them clear proof.

Two of his fingers slipped easily inside your wet pussy, curling inside you and touching that spongy spot that made you moan and thinking you were about to ascend to heaven.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes,” you kissed him, spreading your legs even more to give him more access.

“You like that don’t you? My pretty girl loves being so dirty, letting me finger this pussy in public.”

You dipped your head back in pleasure, feeling the orgasm already building inside you.

He pulled his fingers out and you grunted at the loss and took off your panties, bringing them to his nose and deeply inhaling the scent that drove him so crazy: you and sex. “Now I really don’t know how I’m going to go through the whole day without being hard knowing I have your panties here,” he spoke up as he stuffed them into his pocket. “We should go back.”

What?

“Derek you can’t leave me like this!”.

“Oh I can’t and I will, we shouldn’t let the others think we might be doing something shouldn’t we?”

“You fucking piece of shit.”

He burst out laughing and you nearly punched him in his handsome face.

You were furious. Irritated.

You were furious, irritated but above all horny.

After that little stunt he had done in the car Derek had really left you like that, without an orgasm and with a mad desire to fuck.

The rest of the day was torture, especially having to work with other people while pretending you didn’t feel like you were on the edge the whole time. You didn’t spare Morgan some dirty looks after which he had to force himself not to laugh but he didn’t spare you those languid looks full of lust either.

It wasn’t easy for you but it wasn’t easy for him either since, unlike you, couldn’t hide his excitement so easily. Knowing he had your panties in his pocket and the memory of your wet pussy were giving him no respite.

In reality, you both loved that little game, teasing and torturing each other until the other lost his mind, even if… To be honest, wearing jeans without underwear was complete torture.

At the end of the day, when you were finally all in your own room, you took the opportunity to take a shower and put on a dress and the sexy lingerie you had put in your bag before leaving for the new case.

You giggled just thinking about Derek’s reaction.

You went to his room, knocking twice before he opened the door making your jaw drop and almost fall to the floor when you realized he was naked and only had a towel around his waist.

His body was still wet, sign he had just gotten out of the shower, the drops running down his sculpted chest that you wanted to lick off one by one.

“Oh man…” He sighed. “You’re breathtaking baby,” he began, shamelessly scanning your body from head to toe, a smirk on his lips. “I was wondering when you were coming.”

“You always opening the door like this, Agent Morgan?” You asked ironically before entering his room without even waiting for him to invite you.

“Woah woah woah, where do you think you’re going baby girl? Where is my kiss?” He scolded you, almost truly offended after closing the door behind him.

You giggled, but unable to take your eyes off his body and stop them from wandering hungrily over his figure.

“No, dry yourself first and then I’ll kiss you,” you replied before going to sit on the edge of the bed, placing your hands behind you on the mattress and tilting your head slightly as you looked at him.

He didn’t answer but came closer to you and placed two fingers on your chin, forcing you to lift your head and pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss that took the air out of your lungs.

“Jealous Agent Y/Ln?” He whispered an inch from your lips, referring to your initial question after making you get up from the bed.

“Not even a little bit, it was just an innocent question agent Morgan.”

Absolutely. You were 100% jealous.

But you knew from the way the corner of his mouth lifted in a twisted, mischievous smile he didn’t believe it one bit. “You know, being a profiler I thought you were better at hiding emotions. Lies don’t look good on you pretty girl.”

“That would be true if I had told a lie but that’s not the case, I’m not jealous at all,” you said with a confident tone as your gaze alternated between his eyes and his lips. He was so close and so tempting you felt like you were already losing patience.

“To answer the question, no, I don’t answer to anyone. Just you.”

“You? Derek Morgan?”.

He chuckled. “Strange right? But it seems like you’ve done some weird witchcraft on me because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You already got in my pants, no need to be cheesy,” you retorted, biting your lip to keep from smiling.

He sighed, slightly shaking his head. “Always so cynical. What should I do with you?”

“Give me back my panties?”.

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten what the word ‘lose’ means?”.

“If I had known you liked them so much I would’ve bought you a new pair to wear you know.”

“You think you’re so funny don’t you?”. He grabbed your face with one hand, his mouth dangerously close to yours but never touching it.

You nodded with a smirk as you watched as his eyes were fixed on your lips. “Maybe you might like what I have now better.”

You took a step back and the look of pure confusion on his face was replaced by astonishment when he saw your hands lower the thick straps of your dress down your arms, then lowering the side zip and letting the dress fall around your feet.

The look of shock on his face was something you’d never forget.

Derek widened his mouth and eyes, letting his hungry gaze travel along your body wrapped in lace lingerie, studying every curve and inch of your skin. A warm feeling spread in your lower abdomen and it was amazing how just the way he looked at you was enough to turn you on.

“Holy shit…” he breathed out, “You… Are… You… Holy fuck…” he continued stuttering, unable to form a single meaningful sentence.

“Wow did I really manage to surprise Agent Morgan?” You giggled, your cheeks flushed and stomach filled with fluttering butterflies, knowing you had such an effect on him. Derek Morgan – the man who with a single smile and a look could’ve make rows and rows of women fall at his feet – was drooling over you, looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

“I’ll answer you when some blood returns to my brain.”

Your gaze trailed down his body and your insides clenched at the sight of his prominent erection beneath the towel around his waist. Your mouth watered just thinking about what was underneath that single fabric, imagining his dick in your mouth, in every hole in your body as he filled you completely.

“You look spectacular Y/n, my god” he murmured, his chocolate brown eyes still on your body and never on your face. You could see him struggling in not knowing what to pay more attention to, your breasts which were perfectly highlighted by the lace that gave that see-through effect while it showed the shadow of your nipples, if the hold-ups that surrounded your thighs that Derek wanted nothing more than to mark and bite or your pussy also covered in matching lace in which he wanted to dive and feed on it until he drown himself to death.

Derek moved closer to you, closing the small distance between the two of you. “Turn around. Show me this beautiful ass that torments me in my sleep.”

The tone of his voice alone made you almost beg him to do anything he wanted. You didn’t have to be told twice and you turned around, your skin on fire as you felt his penetrating gaze on you as he observed and studied every millimeter of your body.

You heard Derek exhale a deep breath behind you. “A fucking goddess. You’re absolutely mesmerizing.”

A rush of shivers gave you goosebumps as he placed his rough hands on your arms, stroking them slowly before moving up and moving your hair from your shoulders and letting it fall along your shoulder blades, leaving your neck exposed. His lips began to plant kisses on your skin and the mere contact made you sigh and tilt your head to the side, giving him more access.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you drive me?” he whispered in your ear and you clenched your hands into fists, pressing your nails into your palms in an attempt to release the frustration you felt. Every second that passed while he didn’t touch you as you wanted there was a shred of your sanity that was shattered.

You shook your head, realizing you hadn’t answered yet.

His hands went down your arms again, then moving up your hips until they reached your ass. You let out a gasp when his fingers tightened around the flesh of your ass, squeezing it, groping it with the sole purpose of torturing you and leaving you eager for more.

“God the things I want do to you baby, you can’t even imagine.”

“Do it Derek, do whatever you want to me… I need you.”

“I love feeling you so desperate for me.”

An empty feeling came over you as his fingers let go of your ass, moving to your hips. However, you moaned when he pushed his body against yours, pressing his erection against the curves of your ass and grinding against you without shame or restraint.

“Fuck Derek,” you murmured, now on the verge of losing your mind.

One of his hands ended up around your throat, forcing you to bend your head and rest it on his shoulder while the other cupped one of your breasts, palpating it over the top of your bra. You sighed, rubbing your ass against his hard dick as you couldn’t wait for it to stretch your pussy.

“That’s what you do to me, you make me so hard I can’t even think straight anymore.” He pinched your hard nipple from above the fabric. “You have no idea how much I want to rip this off of you but I know you’d kill me,” he chuckled in your ear.

“I don’t give a shit.” You blurted out, not evens embarrassed about how fast you said it.

“What do you want baby? Talk to me.”

God it was so damn hard talking when you were so horny you couldn’t even remember your name, the denied orgasm making things worse.

“You. Fuck me, please. I need you so badly Derek.”

He tightened his hand lightly around your neck, cupping your chin then turning your head towards him and before you knew it he slammed his lips onto yours, sucking the breath from your body as his tongue explored your mouth in a sloppy, deep kiss.

He slowly slid the fingers of his other hand – that until a few seconds before were on your breast – along your chest, your lower abdomen, touching your needy and drenched pussy with his fingertips. You whined during the kiss, spontaneously lifting your hips to try and meet his fingers.

God you were hating him at that moment.

“I can smell your wetness from here, is my baby horny for me?” he whispered on your lips swollen and red from the impetuous kiss.

“I’ll fucking kill you right now Morgan I swear to god.”

He laughed and your stomach clenched in on itself. “Don’t worry baby, I’m here. I’m going to fuck your brains out, so good you won’t even be able to get up when I’m done with you.” This time it was your pussy that clenched when you squeezed your legs together for some friction. Derek let go of your throat and began to play with your panties. Your breath hitched as he slowly began to lower them, trailing them down your legs.

“I think I’ll keep these too,” he whispered even as his voice came loud and clear to your ears. You turned your head to the side so you could look at him and let out a ragged sigh when you saw him kneeling behind you. His eyes shone under the light of the hotel room as they looked at you with so much intensity that they alone would’ve been enough to set you on fire.

He left a kiss on your ass, making you gasp to the point of embarrassment as he bit your skin and groped your now bare ass. “One day I’ll fuck this pretty little ass too and you’ll love every second of it.”

“You can start by fucking my pussy now.”

He chuckled again as he stood up. He placed a hand on your heated back, inviting you to lean on the bed in front of you and you obeyed, resting your hands on the bed and giving him a perfect view of your ass.

“I can see from here how wet you are baby girl,” he moved closer to you, his bare thighs touching yours and then you realized he had removed the towel from his waist.

God have mercy on me.

“I’ll eat this beautiful pussy later but now all I can think about is fucking her so good,” he said as his fingers brushed against you and this little contact, combined with his dirty words, made you squirm with anticipation. “After all, you deserve it after being such a good girl all day.”

You felt him place his tip near your entrance and you both moaned as he slid his dick against your folds, wetting it with your fluids. He provoked you, tortured you with every motion, it was what he was best at, he knew which points to touch to drive you crazy and leave you painfully longing.

“Derek please, I want you so much,” you whined in a pathetic tone full of lust and desire as he continued to penetrate you with just the tip and then pull out. You hated him and wanted him at the same time, so much it hurt.

“What do you want, princess?” His hands gripped your hips and he leaned over you, pressing his lips to your skin before leaving damp, wet kisses all over your back.

“Fuck me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth before lining his dick up with your entrance and finally filling you.

“Oh God yes, you feel so god Derek.” You panted vigorously, your heart beating so hard it almost stopped as you felt his soft and especially bare skin touching every corner of you.

He remained still for a few moments, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to maintain control of his body. You were so wet and it felt so good being inside you, Derek feared that with just one push he would’ve come on the spot.

“Baby please… Move…”

Baby.

Fuck.

That simple little word had no business making his insides twist like he had. You were used to calling each other nicknames, it wasn’t new, but there was something in that ‘baby’ you said: perhaps it was the vulnerability with which you pronounced it, breathless and as if he was the only one who could save you, the way your voice was so full of desire.

Derek pulled out before thrusting into you again with a strong thrust so deep if it hadn’t been for his hands firmly gripping your hips you would’ve probably fallen forward.

“You have no idea what you do to me, fucking hell you drive me crazy,” he breathed out, head tilted back and eyes closed as his dick pounded into you like he was angry.

You tried to formulate a meaningful sentence but as you opened your lips only gasps and moans came out. He was fucking you so deeply that with each thrust you felt a piece of your brain coming out of your head and your soul out of your body.

Exactly like he promised.

All the hidden frustration made its way and exploded like a time bomb, not much time passing until even the orgasm began to build inside you.

Your face was pressed into the sheets of the bed, your breathing heavy and quickening as your hands clenched the fabric into a fist. “Derek…” you whimpered in pleasure as you pushed your pelvis towards him with each thrust. It didn’t seem to be enough though, you wanted more and more.

One of his hands continued to hold your hips firmly while he slid the other along your back, until he reached your hair which he tightened in a fist forcing you to lift your head. His moans and groans sounded like music to your ears and you couldn’t contain the joy of knowing it was you who made him feel this way, it was you who made him lose control.

“Fuck I could stay inside you forever, you take me so well. This pussy was made for me,” he groaned as the tip of his dick hit your G-spot, making you see stars. You wanted to answer but when you opened your mouth all that came out were moans and sighs. “Just for me… You understand?”

“Just you baby, only you,” you babbled while loudly moaning, not caring one bit if someone could hear you having sex.

His lips kissed your shoulder, his tongue traced every inch of skin he could reach. “That’s right pretty girl…” he groaned in your ear, his sentence interrupted by another moan. “Fuck yeah you’re mine.”

“Holy shit baby… I’m about to come…” You managed to say and the orgasm that hit you full on like a truck gave you no mercy, didn’t let you escape as it sucked away your ability to breath. If it wasn’t for Derek’s hand still in your hair you would’ve collapsed on the mattress.

His thrusts became unhinged, even more out of control than they were before and it didn’t take long for him to reach his climax too. How could he resist? There was no chance, not when your pussy was tightening around his dick in the throes of orgasmic spasms, leaving him no escape.

Derek exploded inside you, emptying himself into you until the last drop of his seed filled your pussy, then leaking from your entrance and sliding down your thighs as he pulled out.

“Shit,” he breathed as you felt the weight of the mattress dip as he collapsed next to you. “You destroy me baby, how do you manage to do this every single time?”

You mumbled something nonsensical in response, eyes closed and too tired to say anything. He chuckled and stroked your hair, brushing it away from your face so he could get a good look at you.

You were so beautiful, ethereal, so mesmerizing it hurt and seeing that happy and pleased look on your face almost sent him to his knees, internally promising himself he’d fight every single person on earth just to always see you so relaxed and happy.

“How many women do you tell this?” you managed to say, opening one eye and keeping the other closed and a flock of butterflies exploded in your stomach when you saw the breathtaking smile he was looking at you with.

“If you think there is someone capable of making me feel what you feel, you’re very wrong. Like I already said, I don’t know what strange witchcraft you did to me but you really hooked me baby.” He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned towards you, pressing small kisses across your face, neck, shoulders and all the way up to your lips. “There is no one else since you came in in my life, I’m so obsessed with you it’s not even funny.”

You opened your second eye too, suddenly not so tired anymore. “Really?”

“Why, isn’t the same for you?” he asked, his stomach clenched with jealousy at the thought of a man laying a finger on you. “Please tell me no or someone help me I will kill every man who even looked at you, I’m an FBI agent and I know how to hide dead bodies in such a way that not even the families will ever find them.”

You burst out laughing, and rolled onto your back before throwing your arms around his neck so you could bring him closer to you and press your lips to his. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

“Y/n. Don’t fucking test me.”

“I’m just kidding,” your lips brushed against his before planting another small kiss on them. “There couldn’t be another man even if they forced me, you’ve really messed up my life Agent Morgan and I’m pretty much obsessed with you too.”

“That better be. We’re exclusive since the day I kissed you in that elevator,” he grumbled. “God I love when you call me baby,” he then sighed happily and the way his mood shifted so quickly made. Your fingers caressed his soft, perfect skin and he mumbled with contentment. You noticed how his pupils were so dilated the chocolate surrounding them had almost disappeared. “Mine, only mine.”

“And you’re mine darling, I’m an FBI agent too and I know a thousand ways to make deaths look like accidents.” He pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you so deeply your heart almost stopped in your chest.

Derek Morgan would be the death of you, you were certain of that.

“Just give me five more minutes and I’ll show you how much we belong to each other princess, how much I look, think and breathe for you only.”

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