#If I’m asked to dump out and clean containers of writing utensils I am going to sort them by type and color

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Anyone else have near-perfect executive function at work; but at home, have literally no energy or motivation to do anything except lie in a dark room, with something in or on your ears for several hours?

[tllthesundies]

Anonymous said:

hi! i love the entertainment fic :) can you please write the part when they are celebrating louis’ birthday together, from harry’s pov?

–––––––

Harry hears the front door open, then close.

He remains indifferent as he stirs the small pot with pesto sauce in it to keep it from burning. He, also, keeps his eye on the boiling noodles in the bigger pot. But he’s listening to Louis’s footsteps and the jingling of keys in his pocket.

“Okay, rockstar,” he hears Louis’s voice, becoming louder the closer he approaches. “I know I take care of everything, and I recognise that you live in the middle of no man’s land, but I didn't actually think I'd have to include a lesson plan on keeping your doors locked. Things happen, even out here.” He pauses, and although Harry keeps his vision on the food, he sees Louis in his peripheral lean against the counter beside him. He’s wearing his jean jacket, some grey band t-shirt on underneath, and pairing it with boyfriend jeans. “I mean, it's California.” Harry can’t help sparing him a brief look, anyhow, quirking an eyebrow as he stirs the pesto. He doesn't respond to Louis. Louis watches for a moment before pushing himself away from the counter to instead lean his hip against it. He sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” quietly and casually replies Harry. He turns the heat for the spaghetti off. “I thought we could eat while we plan. Are you hungry?”

Louis nods.

“Haven't had anything since lunch.”

Harry glances back at a cabinet somewhere behind Louis and points to it. “Do you mind grabbing plates for us and setting the table? They're in that cabinet.”

“Yeah, sure.” When Louis disappears, Harry takes the pot to drain the noodles. “Do you want a specific colour?” he decides to ask Harry.

“Um,” hums Harry over the sound of pouring hot water and wet noodles being dumped into a strainer. “Honestly? I'm feeling teal.”

As Harry finishes draining the noodles, pours pesto sauce on them and mixes them, and finishes the vegetables, he glances repeatedly, briefly, at Louis. He sees him with teal and olive green plates and sets them up on Harry’s table. He, also, tries offering help, but Harry shuts him down immediately, each time, and sends him to just sit at the table. His hands shake just a little bit when he puts each food back into their respective pots–the ends of his nerves are on burning ice and he can’t make himself look at Louis for very long, if at all. He’s just on edge for the truth he hasn’t told him, but he takes a silent breath to clear his head.

“Most of everything,” Harry says, after he’s set everything on the table and gently plops into the seat beside Louis.

Louis blinks up at him.

“What?”

Spooning noodles onto his plate carefully, Harry repeats, “Most. You take care of most things.” He offers the spoon to Louis with a small smirk ghosting his lips.

Louis breathes out a soft chuckle, taking the utensil from Harry.

He shakes his head in reply.

He waits until everything is on their plates to take off his jean jacket. Harry watches him remove paper from inside a pocket, then hangs it on the back of his chair. Louis unfolds it, glancing up at him. “I don't know what you've got planned,” he begins, “or anything, but I made a list, anyway, to help jumpstart ideas. You know Calista, so, I kind of presume you know what she likes. But—just in case.”

Tentatively, Harry takes the list Louis gives him. He swallows as invisible as possible, and his eyes roam over all of the ideas Louis’s written down: Frozen themed - extremely popular concept still; Pink strawberry theme; Typical animal zoo theme; the birthday party concepts keep going on and on, and the longer Harry continues reading the list, the more those icy ends of his nerves burn more. It becomes overwhelming for his chest, and–he has to tell the truth. There’s too much devotion and dedication in this list to keep his façade going. Leaning back into his chair, he finally gathers the courage to look at Louis, and says, “This list isn’t going to be useful. Don't be mad at me.” Eyebrows narrowing, a puzzled look comes across Louis’s face. “I lied to you.”

The fork in Louis’ hand halts.

He blinks slowly at Harry.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Why am I here, then?”

For a split second, Harry’s confidence wavers. There’s a hesitancy he can’t help having, and one he’s not used to controlling – and as observant as Louis is, he probably sees the moment he wavers. And the controlling side of Harry hates that possibility. But he looks Louis directly in the eye, runs a hand through his hair, and speaks in a quiet voice. “It’s your birthday in just a few days. I—I wanted to . . . give you some kind of celebration to show my”–the words continue getting stuck in his throat; he has to spit them out, to warm them up–“. . . appreciation for everything you’ve done.” He pauses, to gauge Louis’s reaction. He looks–unsure; wondering; still confused, albeit a little more understanding. “Look, I’m not the best at, uh—expressing my feelings for people. Not that I have feelings. But”—he rubs an eye with his knuckle, becoming frustrated with himself—“you know what I mean.”

He took Rachel’s advice, but maybe he went too far this time. He lied to get Louis to agree to this. He lied because he didn’t know any other way to go about this. He doesn’t know how to just–outright ask someone such a simple thing like hey, I want to celebrate your birthday, would you like to come over? And it’s far more awkward because he purposely hasn’t been the most pleasant to the exact person he wants to celebrate.

He’s trying.

Probably in his own twisted way, but he’s trying.

And the silence from Louis stretches for far too long – to the point Harry gets uncomfortable. But he doesn’t show it.

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis says, after some time, words just above a whisper.

“Say nothing,” Harry chooses for him. “Consider this a . . . I recognise your hard work, Louis. You’re always on time, prepared, and organised. I’ve never had to tell you how to do your job, and that takes a lot of pressure off of me. So, thank you.” That last part stings his throat when it comes out. But not in the wrong way. “Again, consider this a congratulatory party for two. Nothing more.”

Louis stares at him.

“How did you know?”

“Résumé,” Harry simply answers.

A small beat of silence.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “I never put my age or date of birth on any résumé.”

“Résumé,” Harry repeats, intentionally curt.

Harry’s not going to tell him from which source he acquired the information from. He wouldn’t blow Niall’s cover like that. Niall had questioned him plenty enough when he had called him. Why do you want to know? Niall asked, even though he had already given the information to Harry. I just want to be nice, is all Harry answered with.

He wasn’t lying.

“Fine,” Louis replies cooly. “Creep.”

Harry puts on an unimpressed look, staring directly into Louis’s eyes as he chews his food. After swallowing, he says, “That’s a big accusation coming from someone I could fire.”

Louis smiles, smug.

“See, that’s the beautiful thing . . . you can’t fire me,” he retorts.

Harry shakes his head, and he fights the muscles in his face that are around his mouth that desperately are trying to lift his lips at Louis’s reply. He can’t let that happen. His mind races with other topics to bring; with other distractions.

“Listen,” Harry says, “I have a cake for you.”

“Where?”

Harry shakes his head again.

“We have to make it,” he tells him.

Louis looks cautious. “What flavour?”

“Chocolate.”

A pleasantly surprised look crosses his features. “That’s my favourite,” he says. “Lucky guess?”

“You could say that.”

Dinner continues quietly. The ends of Harry’s nerves have started to warm up, evaporating the icy burn and replacing it with a normal temperature. His heart stops beating inconsistently and begins functioning like a normal human being. However, the same icy feeling starts to show itself in Harry’s mouth; words flow uncontrollably out of his mouth. Harry’s not a talker. He knows how to talk. He knows how to respond to people, and how to maintain conversation, but he doesn’t generally start the conversations unless he has no choice. Louis looks a little amused by him, but he does his best to ignore it. He, also, tries to get Louis to talk about himself, so, that he has some semblance of control over his mouth, but it doesn’t work.

Harry notices Dolly sauntering into the kitchen in his peripheral as he loads the dishwasher. She has her mustard yellow turtleneck on still that Harry had put on her this morning, her collar matching impeccably. She comes right over to Harry and peers into the dishwasher, but Harry scratches behind her ear as a warning before gently swatting her away.

She mews loudly at him, offended, she wanders over Louis.

Harry rolls his eyes at her.

“Look what you've done,” Louis speaks up.

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he messes with the controls on the top of the dishwasher.

Snorting, Harry opens a drawer and slings a clean dish cloth over his shoulder before making his way over to Louis. “She's just mad I wanted to keep her from hurting herself,” he tells Louis. “She'll come around in ten minutes and act like it never happened.” He lifts a hand and gently caresses Dolly’s neck. But Dolly tries to hide from him by burying her face into Louis's armpit.

Louis laughs, surprised.

“Oh, no.”

Harry just puckers his lips and gives her an air kiss, and chuckles, smiling. “She always comes back.”

Louis bends his head and drops his gaze to Dolly. Harry watches the gentle way he rubs the top of her head and the rest of her body. He’s so much more familiar with her than when he had first met Dolly. He had been jumpy, a little scared. Now, they’re friends. Harry turns his head away and walks to the pantry.

“So, I've got,” Harry begins, and stops. He grabs the chocolate cake box he sees hiding on the top shelf, and stretches his arm up to get it. The matching frosting container is nearby, and he grabs it, too. He reads the back of it before continuing speaking. “Chocolate frosting. And”—he draws out the word until Louis rolls his eyes, telling him to get on with it; Harry's composure breaks, a grin breaking across his face as he stammers out his words because of his breathy laugh—“could you get the eggs out, please?”

Louis probably thinks he’s annoying.

It’s all on purpose.

Louis squats down to release Dolly from his arms. She jumps out of his grip, but remains by his feet. He washes his hands, first, then puts the eggs he retrieved from the fridge on the island.

Harry comes up beside Louis who’s reading the instructions on the back very carefully, and just dumps the oil, cake mix box, and frosting next to the eggs

Harry finds his measuring cup, and gives it to Louis to use for the oil and water. Louis asks him senseless questions; if he wants to do the eggs, et cetera. Louis has him sniff the inside of the cake mix bake to see if it smells good. It’s very chocolatey. And while he lets Louis do whatever he wants with the cake, he searches through his playlist to find music to fill the silence, so, he doesn’t have to talk too much. He finds Louis a bowl, a pan to fit the mixture into, and preheats the oven.

Harry sticks his finger in the bowl last minute, making a pop sound upon releasing his finger from between his lips.

“That’s really tasty,” he says.

Louis’s unimpressed.

“Tell me that when you get salmonella.”

“Can't wait.”

Louis shakes his head.

As they wait for the cake to fully bake, they work together cleaning all of the dirty utensils and bowls. They clean the island. Dolly stays silently crowding their feet. Harry can feel Dolly rubbing her head against his ankles, then attempts to climb onto his feet to lay down on them. Harry internally sighs.

“Look,” murmurs Louis.

Harry hears a smile reflecting in his voice.

He doesn't remove his gaze from the whisk he's washing.

“I know she's there. I'm ignoring her.”

Then it happens very fast:

Harry feels a small puddle gather on his feet and the bottom of his pants that cling to his skin. He hears Louis’s shocked laughter, but he doesn’t look at him as he breathes in a sharp breath to calm himself. Every fucking time.

“She—”

Harry's eyes close in pain. “I know. I wish I could say this hasn't happened before.”

While Louis’s still giggling and picks Dolly up from his feet, Harry excuses himself to go change his pants, then reemerges to find Louis feeding Dolly from the palm of his hand.

Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, a single eyebrow raised.

“Better?” he asks.

“No,” Harry answers immediately. He pulls out the chair beside Louis, turns it around to sit backwards in it. He crosses his arms on the back of it, and gives Dolly an annoyed look that she ignores entirely in favour of the food she nibbles on in Louis's outstretched hand.

Still highly amused, Louis smiles, looking at Harry. “She's fine. Why'd she do that?”

“She does it when I'm absent too much” Harry explains. “In her cat mind, she thinks if she vomits on me, I'll be forced to clean up after her and take care of her. I don't know. Cats are—they have strange minds. I just think it’s only my cat because she has anxiety problems.”

Closing his parted lips, Louis shifts his gaze over to Dolly. She's trying to bite down on a hard piece she got. Harry watches them both. “Did you want to, like, watch something?” Louis asks, glancing briefly at Harry. “While the cake bakes?”

Harry nods.

“What do you have in mind?”

Shrugging, once, feebly, Louis says, “I don't know. Maybe a movie? Comedies are nice.”

Harry stands from his chair, and pushes it back in normally. “It’s your birthday; you get all the privileges of picking and holding the remote.” He walks past behind Louis and into the front room, and sits down in the left corner of his settee.

After letting Dolly tackle the last couple of pieces of her cat food into her mouth, Louis picks her up and takes her with. He tucks his left leg underneath his right one when he sits down on the settee. There's a space between their bodies that isn’t too enclosed to make Harry uncomfortable; and he averts his gaze to the television, so, that he won’t continuously stare at Louis in his peripheral vision. He can’t keep doing that. He can’t keep–looking at him more than he needs to.

It’s dangerous.

Harry places the remote in Louis's outstretched palm.

Louis shifts through channels for too long; and when he enters Netflix, he spends too much time reading each and every description.

“By this rate,” says Harry, breaking their long held silence, “the cake will be ready before you settle on something.”

Louis turns his head, tilting his head in a look. “Well, I'm not much of a TV person, to be honest,” Louis admits. “What do you recommend?”

“I told you,” says Harry, staring straight at the television still, “your birthday, your choice. . . . But . . . if you really want a recommendation . . . There's Something About Mary is a very good romantic comedy.”

Louis blinks. “What's it about?”

“This guy Ted — Ben Stiller plays him — wants to reconnect with his old prom date back from high school he had a massive crush on, so, he hires somebody to track her down and . . . it's, like, really messy, but what rom-com isn’t? It's a hundred times better than it sounds,” Harry promises him.

Louis seems to consider it.

Then he nods.

“Sure. Let's watch that.”

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he stands from the settee. “You sure?” he asks.

Harry kneels in front of his small but wide bookcase full of DVDs. He quickly looks over every case until he finds the one he’s looking for. Turning the player on and popping in the disc, he returns to his spot on the sofa. Harry’s seen this romcom a thousand times, so, though he keeps his eye on the television, he doesn’t try to catch up with everything that plays out. Instead, he listens to Louis’s laughter, and distracts himself by dragging his forefinger across his lips for something to do. When the stove timer goes off, he jumps up to get it, and Dolly follows behind him.

“It's done,” Harry calls out. After he puts the cake on the counter on top of a dish cloth, he tests the idle with a toothpick. When he looks up to see where Louis is, he finds him by Harry’s walls of picture frames, cradling Dolly in his arms as his gaze roams. Harry decides to act indifferent and let a hard feeling pass through his stomach, and raids through his pantry to find the frosting. “Louis. Where's the frosting?” Harry feels Louis come up beside him a moment later. “I gave it to you. Where could it have disappeared to?”

Taking a step back, Louis stretches an arm out to open the freezer door. He reaches in, and then he closes it to hold the small container of frosting towards Harry, in the air. “Right here,” he says, wiggling it when Harry looks at him, gaze falling on the container. “I put it in the freezer.”

Harry pauses, lips parting. “Why did you put it in the freezer?”

Louis raises both brows at him in a way that the answer should be obvious. “Because room temperature frosting is disgusting? It's only good when it's cold.”

Gently, he tosses it on the island.

Harry's eyebrows pull together as he steps back and pulls the pantry door closed. “Uh—I hate to inform you, but frosting is good no matter what temperature it is,” he says in a vaguely defensive voice.

“Now you're just being gross,” comments Louis, looking briefly at Harry when he situates himself in front the cake, his lightheartedness subtle. Harry chooses to just busy himself with removing the cake from the pan, turning his back to Louis. “Oh, no.”

Harry turns around.

“What?” Harry asks.

He sets the plate full of cake beside Louis on the island and peeks at what Louis has in his hand.

Louis turns his body in an angle, towards Harry, and demonstrates the issue. Holding a knife in his hand to scope some of the chocolate frosting out, he goes at it — but he's stopped, and it's impossible to get any, because the knife is met with nothing but brick. “It's frozen,” Louis says.

Harry blinks a few times.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” he retorts. He glances around before walking over to a cabinet to retrieve a bowl. “Couldn't we use a microwave? Unless you're willing to wait an hour for it to thaw. I know I rather not.” Setting the bowl down, next to the frosting, Louis takes it in his hands and attempts to shake it out into the bowl first. Harry just watches him – and he pauses for a second, because he notices a small freckle on the upper part of the side of his neck. He’s lost count, now, how many freckles Louis has.

“I thought you hated warm frosting.”

“I do, but if we put it in for just a few seconds it won't matter,” Louis reasons.

Harry watches him shake it and realise that method doesn’t work. He proceeds to lay it upside down on the lid and hits it hard. Then he tries squeezing it before attempting to pry the container from the edges of the frosting.

The corners of his mouth tilt downwards in a frown.

“It's going to take more than a few seconds,” Harry comments, and takes the frosting from Louis. He bangs it against the edge of the island, the sound visibly startling Louis. The solid block of frosting falls right into the bowl Louis had gotten. Harry gives him a smile as he walks past Louis to the microwave that sits on the counter to the left of the refrigerator and slides it in. Harry doesn't take it out until it looks like it's thawed entirely, then pulls it out with a hot pad. Coming up beside Louis, he pokes his index finger in the frosting and sucks it into his mouth. “Not that warm.”

He pokes another finger in it.

Louis waves his fingers away from the frosting, and he uses the knife from before to taste it. The temperature appears to be okay with him, judging by the pleased look on his face.

“It's really good,” he confesses quietly to Harry. He puts his knife in the dishwasher full of other dirty utensils and grabs clean knives and forks to use and separate plates for Harry and him. “I don't want to put any frosting on it, by the way,” he adds.

Harry pauses.

“What? Why?” He pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, and looks at Louis instead of the cake. What kind of person doesn’t want frosting on their cake?

“I prefer to have it on the side and dip the cake in the frosting,” Louis explains. “It tastes better to me that way.”

For a few moments, Harry stares at him, and Louis stares back, a little challenge in his face. His assistant is weird. But he can work around it. So, he nods, saying, “We can do that, no problem.” Then he remembers: “Wait.” He walks over to a drawer a few feet from them and rummages through it until he pulls out two things: a large pack of single candle sticks, and candle numbers 2 and 7. “Can't forget these.” Harry sticks the numbers right in the centre, then surrounds it with twenty-seven of the fifty count of blue candles. It's a very crowded cake, and crumbly and has new cracks added into the old ones because of the force of all the candles. It’s ugly, in Harry’s opinion; the cake, the stereotypical candles, how bare and destroyed it all is – but when he lifts his head to look at Louis, into his blue eyes that have specks of green and grey, his chest eases. Stops. Momentarily. This . . . isn’t so ugly.

Quickly, he lights all of the candles. “Okay,” he says upon lighting the last one, and sets down the lighter. “Make a wish.”

Louis ends up staring at his face instead of blowing out the candles right away. He searches Harry’s face. And Harry doesn’t know what to do besides stare right back. Finally, Louis tears his eyes away and leans down, blowing out the candles. They leave a trail of smoke in the air and a very distinct candle stench that Harry hates. But Harry pretends, and chooses to clap him for and whistle. Louis laughs at him, something soft and something high that pulls at Harry’s chest. He starts picking the candles out of the cake, and Harry notices a soft tinge of pink colouring the apples of his cheeks.

Harry doesn’t know why, so, he ignores it.

Louis cuts the cake and gives the first slice to Harry, then gives one to himself. Harry suffocates his slice in frosting very carelessly. Dolly retreats back to them and tries to rub her face in the bowl of chocolate and what's on their plates, but Harry grabs her with both of his hands and tucks her underneath his arm. She struggles to free herself the entire time; Harry ignores it. Even when they sit back down on the sofa to continue watching their movie. Harry doesn’t see it coming when Dolly whips her paw around and slashes at his skin, causing a long and bright red scratch down his forearm. He lets her go immediately, pissed off.

He sees Dolly strut right into Louis's lap, and walks in circles before settling down to rest on his thighs. Her relaxed exterior pisses him off more.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, concerned, eyes full of concern.

Harry’s jaw tenses. “It burns,” he answers truthfully, “but I’m fine. She's just in a mood today.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a frown on Louis’s face when he glances down at Dolly, but he doesn’t say anything further. Harry chooses to suck it up and finish eating his cake while ignoring Dolly. The scratch thankfully never bleeds, as they finish the rest of their movie, eating the entire cake by themselves. Louis doesn’t finish the next slice he eats, but Harry has no problem eating the rest of it for the both of them.

Harry's licking the icing off his fork when he looks at Louis. The half piece of pure cake is still there on Louis’s plate. “What did you think?”

Louis's eyes flicker up at him, meeting his gaze. Breathing in a soft breath, he nods his head.

“It was good; I liked it. I love Cameron Diaz.”

“Me, too,” Harry admits. “She's very nice.”

“Have you met her?”

Humming, Harry nods once. “Met her on the red carpet at some award show. I think I have a picture.” Louis huffs out a chuckle. “Do you want to watch another movie?”

Louis stays silent for a moment, then shrugs and rests a hand on Dolly, whom lays sleeping in his lap. “Sure. But you pick this time.”

“It's still your choice,” Harry reminds him.

Breathing out a purposely heavy annoyed sigh, he says, “I choose you to pick the next thing we watch.”

“That's not how it works.”

“Sure, it is. It's my birthday.”

Harry stares at Louis, pressing his lips together. It becomes a staring contest between them. It goes on for several moments until Harry blinks and looks away. “I can't argue that,” he says, finally.

“Exactly,” quips Louis, as he gently drops the remote in Harry's outstretched hand, palm turned up.

They watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then when Harry turns on Meet the Parents, he notices Louis’s eyes start closing. He repetitively glances out of the corner of his eyes at Louis, watching him nod off until he’s sound asleep. Harry’s chest grows soft as he stares at Louis’s tired, pale face. His thin lips are slightly parted, like he should be snoring. Him and Dolly both sound asleep on each other is a rather humourous sight. He decides to leave Louis be and turns his attention to the television to watch the movie. There’s something . . . oddly comforting about the silence; Louis sleeping beside him, the hum of the telly, the filling sensation that encompasses the silence. It’s not so lonely–not so what Harry’s used to. By the end of the movie, he grabs his own plate and stands up, then does his best to grab Louis’s without disturbing him. But Louis’s eyes flutter open at the accidental brush of contact that Harry internally curses himself for. Louis straightens out his very tilted sleeping position, and looks up at him through squinted eyes.

Harry gives Louis a genuine apologetic look, and quietly says, “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

Louis delicately rubs his eye with the back of his right hand, and stretches his legs, breathing out a tired sigh. He blinks his eyes a few times to adjust. “It's fine,” he rasps. “Sorry I'm falling asleep.”

“Don't apologise,” Harry gently tells him.

He continues off to the kitchen. After scraping off pieces into the rubbish and rinsing off their plates, he lays them on the counter, then hesitates. The image of the gift bag still in the other room floats to the forefront of his mind. He looks over his shoulder at Louis, and finds him distracted by Dolly, and makes a quick decision. Harry speed walks to the other room on silent heels and grabs Louis’ gift bag, then makes his way back into the front room. Louis looks up the exact moment Harry approaches him, and the movements of his hand combing Dolly’s fur stop when his eyes fall down and spot a white bag in Harry's left hand.

“What ‘ave you got there?” His tone is careful.

Harry sets the shopping bag right in his spot, close enough for Louis to reach into. Harry sits on the edge of the settee on the other side of Louis, at an angle facing Louis, and he looks him directly in the eyes. “I thought I'd give this to you, before you completely black out on me,” he says. “It's not really a celebration without gifts, too.”

Louis pushes himself up to sit straighter. “Harry . . .” He looks at a loss for words – lips parted on nothing; uncertainty scaling his face and eyes; touching the bag’s thin, black handles like it’ll burn him. “You didn't have to get me anything. Dinner, movies, the cake, I'm perfectly content just with that.”

Harry presses his lips together lightly and nods. “I know,” he says, forcing his gaze to not leave Louis's. “But I want to do this for you. Don’t make me repeat myself; I’m not good with complimenting people. Just accept it.”

“Harry—”

“Fucking accept it,” he says.

Glancing between Harry's face and the bag, Louis touches it again.

He leans forward and peeks inside. It’s covered by black, decorative tissue paper, and Harry watches him use both hands to remove all the tissue paper.

He knows the second Louis sees it. He pauses, gaze unblinking and widening just enough for Harry to catch. He sees the backpack from Givenchy Harry had gotten him. That was . . . another thing he managed to get out of Niall. Louis’s allegedly been so back and forth about buying it for himself that Harry decided to choose for him. It was extremely easy to find, and even easier to buy. It was probably the easiest gift Harry’s ever had to shop for. But–he didn’t think it was enough; he had bought a bag of Reese’s, as well as wrote a check out for Louis and put that in the backpack for him. Maybe it would make up for everything, Harry’s hoping–maybe it’ll . . . Harry shouldn’t be hoping for anything, really. But after Rachel had a talk with him and made him feel like a shitty person, he’s hoping this’ll convey Harry’s guilt. Or apology. Louis might not recognise it as that, but that’s okay.

“Open it,” Harry instructs softly.

Louis quits just staring at the bag and unzips it. Suddenly, he looks up at Harry and smiles at him, face glowing in happiness. Harry can’t help the smile he gives him in return. Louis backs down and–a little laugh is pulled out of him. Harry’s eyebrow furrow, a little, in wonder.

“What's so funny?” Harry asks.

Louis pulls the bag of candy out to show Harry, without speaking.

Harry's gaze shifts from Louis to the treat, a confused but amused smile splitting across his lips. He . . . doesn’t understand. It’s candy. Harry shrugs like what about it? and Louis shakes his head in response and mumbles never mind. Setting the candy down beside Dolly, he grabs the check.

Louis scoffs, shaking his head as he begins to read it, and asks, “How much is this?”

But he abruptly stops, face falling.

“Five thousand dollars,” Harry casually answers, despite his heart picking up pace again. Louis lifts his head to look at him, but he doesn't say anything. Is it too much? Is it too forward? Did Harry cross a line? Maybe he was wrong for buying Louis his dream backpack and a check. But if he just stuck with the candy, then Harry would look like he put in the least amount of effort in. And this is the line he struggles with: either going too far, or not doing enough. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis answers immediately. Then he releases a breath, knowing he’s full of it.  “This is too much, Harry.”

Harry blinks, then stamps on his racing heart and pulls out his detached face. “Louis,” he begins, stern, “don’t even start. That?”—he points to the check—“That is pocket change to me. We’ve gone over this. I have more money than I’ll ever know what to do with. I don’t see better use for it than for charity and for using it to buy whatever you want. Don’t feel bad about me using my own money. Eat the rich, or whatever they say.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Louis asks.

Harry pauses.

“Yes and no. But that’s a different conversation for another day.”

Louis blinks, breaking his gaze from Harry. Harry watches him closely, and waits for something. Louis’s face is concentrated; furrowed eyebrows, a far away look in his crystal clear eyes. He’s thinking something, and as much as Harry would love to get inside that pretty little head of his, he merely settles for waiting. Dolly comes poking through, however, weaving herself effortlessly and expertly through Louis's arms. She throws her arms up to cling to the opened backpack, and stands on her hind legs to peer inside. She stuffs her entire head in it, and it breaks Louis out of whatever it was, making him chuckle.

Harry just shakes his head.

Louis wraps his fingers around her legs to pull her back out of his backpack, but she clings hard. Harry  finds himself laughing softly at the image before him, and he intervenes quickly. He softly scratches behind Dolly's head, then transitions into wrapping his hands around her bottom. He picks her up upside down, successfully having Dolly let go.

Harry pulls her to his chest.

Louis's small chuckle turns into a giggle, and he shakes his head. He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, and Harry watches his face change to realisation.

“I have to go,” he announces.

Dolly falls out of Harry’s grip and runs away.

He looks at Harry.

Harry puts on an unreadable face. “You have to go?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Louis responds as he stands up. “I have a flight in the morning. Remember? I have to get up really early, and triple check all my belongings. It’s a long flight, so, I’ll need some proper rest.”

“All right,” Harry agrees. He walks first to the door, with Louis following suit, after placing his backpack back into the bag, along with the check. “When's your flight?”

“Hm,” Louis hums. “I think 7.45 in the morning.”

“Harsh,” Harry comments lightly. He lifts his hand to rub at his neck a moment. “I hope it's good. Tell your mum I said hello.”

Louis nods. “I will. And I hope it is, too.” There's a slightly awkward pause, on Louis's end. But it doesn’t last. “Listen . . . I want to thank you for—”

Harry interrupts him.

“No problem.”

“You didn't have to,” Louis points out. He's clearly not going to let Harry wave it off. “You didn't have to do anything at all, but you did. I just want you to know that it's one of the nicest things someone's ever done for me, and that I really, really appreciate it.”

Louis looks at with the most serene face, conviction in his tone. It causes Harry to be temporarily weak.

“You're welcome,” he says in response, hands clasped behind his back for something to hold on to.

Harry doesn’t see it coming – Louis steps forward with confidence, coming into Harry’s personal space, and raises himself onto his toes to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Those icy nerves return alight and burn him. He’s paralysed for several moments; all he registers is the faint scent of floral notes reaching into his nostrils and brushing against his nose hairs. It’s not overwhelming; it’s the perfect aroma of flowers and fruitiness. Based on his own colognes he’s sampled and bought before, this one could be YSL – or maybe it’s ones he’s seen, such as Lancome. They carry a lot of floral perfumes. Either way, it’s very pleasing. And before he can think, he sneaks his arms around Louis’s small waist–it’s much smaller and slimmer than it looks–and spreads his fingers across the bottom of his spine and the middle of his back.

It’s only a moment later Louis pulls back.

Even though Louis doesn’t look at him, he can’t stop staring at Louis, completely dumbfounded.

“I'll see you in a couple weeks,” says Louis, smiling, when he looks up at Harry. “I'm a text and phone call away if you need anything, okay?” Louis raises a pointed eyebrow at him, giving Harry a look. “Don't hesitate, okay? I won't mind.”

Harry nods.

He’s not going to, but he’ll pretend for Louis.

“Got it,” he says, pressing his lips together.

The pointed look remains on Louis's face.

“I mean it,” he presses, to ensure his message is across.

Harry rolls his eyes and straightens out his posture. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ve survived nearly a decade without you, so, I don't think anything I can't handle is going to happen in the time you'll be gone.”

Louis throws his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, I didn't say you couldn't handle any one thing. I implied quite the opposite, actually,” he corrects.

Harry plays along.

“No need to rub my already swollen ego.”

Louis smiles, huffing out a small laugh. It’s the softest expression he’s ever seen on a face. It’s so caring. Harry doesn’t–understand how he can be so gentle. “Never happy with anything, are you?” he teases.

Harry smiles. “Nope,” he says. “Comes with being a perfectionist. And just being me, in general.”

“I see.” There's silence that falls over them like a blanket. Harry’s hoping Louis will take the cue and leave, but he stays. “What do you plan to do for Christmas?”

Harry blinks.

“I don't know,” he answers. “I don't do much for Christmas, really. I don't celebrate it.”

Louis raises an inquiring brow. “Because of religious reasons, or . . . ?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t talk about it with anyone. He’s certainly not going to discuss it with Louis. “Nah. Just don't celebrate it, that's all,” he answers, giving Louis a small smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Not even with your parents?” Harry shakes his head, choosing not to say anything more. With that, Louis drops the subject. “Don't forget to—”

“I'm kicking you out,” Harry says, tone flat, and a finger pointed to the door behind Louis.

He walks around him and opens it.

“You're kicking me out?” Louis repeats,, smiling and now standing so close to the door frame, as he keeps his gaze on Harry, whom now leans against the side of the red door, arms crossed and one foot hooked around the other.

Harry nods vigorously, eyebrows risen.

“Get out. Right now.”

“Fine, I'll leave,” says Louis, raising his hands as he walks out onto the stone walkway, “but not because you're threatening me; but because I want to.” He keeps on walking down the small set of stone steps and across the path leading to the driveway.

“Louis,” Harry calls out without thinking, just going on the feeling of restricted air in his chest. Louis looks over his shoulder, as his hand pulls his car keys out of his pants pocket, and his strides slow. He stares at Harry with patience, and it’s the last thing Harry wants to see in his face, because he won’t be seeing him for a while. “Merry Christmas. Happy birthday. Have a safe flight.”

Louis’s mouth curves up in a gentle, genuine smile.

“Thank you. Happy New Year,” he calls back.

Harry closes the door two-thirds of the way, not willing to let go of the sight of Louis quite yet. He needs to see him get safely in his car and drive away – he can’t let that feeling go. The restriction in his chest worsens when he watches Louis open his car door, but it eases slowly when Louis looks back. In fear of coming off creepy, he closes the door. But he stays behind it to listen to the engine start – to see the red lights reflect against the windows and the distant sound of his car fade until Harry can’t hear anything anymore. Then he turns around, inhaling a deep breath when his vision lands on Dolly sitting on her bum patiently by the stairs, watching him.

“Dolly,” he says – she tilts her head – “Am I too much?”

Dolly mews and walks off.

He’s always changing himself, changing his style, his image. He’s either always too much or not enough; there’s no healthy balance. Maybe he’ll try working on it in Louis’s absence, so, he doesn’t have to fret over it every time he says or does something he’s not familiar with. He doesn’t want to scare Louis off.

[mypunkpansexualtwin]

For the hurt/comfort prompts could you do 17/22? If it's not to much of a bother of course.

Absolutely! I was watching Sojiro’s social link again and getting emotional about it again. Apparently I’m just having a Time to Hurt Futaba Week. Sorry in advance? Under a cut cause I have no idea how long this is gonna be, and also trigger warning for references to her past neglect.

17 - “Hey, listen to me. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.” 22 - “They won’t take you away from me ever again.”

Send me a hurt/comfort prompt and I’ll (hopefully) write you a thing!

It had been three days since Youji Isshiki’s most recent unannounced visit. Three days since he’d threatened to report Akira to the police for having the gall to not let the man deck him. Three days since Isshiki swore he’d sue the clothes off of Sojiro’s back and the cafe into the ground. Three stressful days of waiting and stocking up on medicine in preparation for Joker’s first solo trip into Mementos in the many months since he’d become a Phantom Thief.

Sojiro didn’t know that last part. All he knew was he’d found himself awake in the middle of the night, probably somewhere closer to morning than midnight but not close enough to sunrise to warrant actually waking up. The house was quiet, he was perfectly comfortable, not to mention still tired enough to be sleeping, which meant why he’d even woken up was a mystery. And then something clattered loudly in the kitchen downstairs, followed by a sharp yelp. Futaba. Sojiro didn’t actually think she was hurt, not really. She was perfectly capable of fixing herself a snack and tended to be up at all hours of the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. Really, there wasn’t any reason for him to be concerned, but... it was better to go down and check just to be sure.

He’d expected to find Futaba raiding the fridge, maybe dusting off and muttering curses at an eating utensil that had jumped out of her hand while she was cooking. Instead, she was curled up on the floor, hands pressed to the headphones over her ears and holding on with a white-knuckled grip, tears streaming down her face as she watched the broth from an overturned instant yakisoba spread across the kitchen floor. His daughter shrunk further into herself when she noticed him standing nearby and her shallow, hiccuping breaths were quickly approaching out-and-out hyperventilation. It had been a long while since Futaba had had any issues with food, not like she did when she’d first arrived from her uncle’s care, if one could even call it that. With his surprise reappearance, it wasn’t much of a surprise that she’d relapsed.

In the early days when Sojiro had just taken her in, the only indication she’d eaten anything was the occasional package of instant noodles or container of leftover curry gone missing, “stolen” from their usual spots. A few weeks of reassurances and a well placed sticky note in the lid of a particularly good batch of curry finally got through to her. Sojiro had never once failed in that promise to feed her whenever she asked, no matter what or when, and frequently even made a point of pushing her to eat after she’d started locking herself in her room. Even if she’d healed considerably since then, there were still days the old fear of going hungry or being screamed at for needing to eat lingered and while those scars on her heart may have faded, they never really went away.

It was just one more thing Sojiro hated not knowing how to fix for her. At least he had plenty of practice talking her through it. He stepped over the cooling puddle of broth and settled on the floor next to her, then slowly raised a hand to put on her shoulder. Futaba flinched away at first, but then pressed into the touch. She made no effort to move from where she was hunched on the floor, though, so Sojiro settled for running his hand over her hair.

“ ‘m sorry,” she hiccuped, “I wasted--”

“Futaba.” His voice was gentle, but firm when he cut her off. “Just breathe. You could have dumped out a whole week’s worth of curry for the cafe and I wouldn’t care. Are you alright? Did you burn yourself?” She shook her head. “Can you tell me what happened?” She nodded. “Alright. Deep breaths. Take as much time as you need.” Futaba gulped down a few breaths and inched a little closer to Sojiro as he kept petting her head.

“I had a... had a nightmare. I was at U-uncle’s again because he won... he won custody. He wasn’t letting me eat,” she explained shakily. “Ak-kira was in jail because of me and-and-and you were on the street b-because he took the cafe and... and he was right, I really am cursed--” she sobbed and buried her face in her hands.

“You are not.” Sojiro pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight while she cried. “That deadbeat wouldn’t know a good thing if it punched him in the nose, and you, Futaba Sakura, are the greatest blessing in this old man’s life.” He squeezed her once for emphasis, and she hugged him right back. They sat like that for a few minutes while she got her breathing back under control.

She let out a trembling sigh that shook her whole body. “I just wanted to make myself some food, remind myself that I’m okay. That’s all. Didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.” Futaba mumbled against his undoubtedly tears-and-snot soaked nightshirt. She took another shuddering breath and tensed in his arms again. “He’s gonna try and take everything from you because of me, because we haven’t been able to--” His arms tightened protectively around her.

“Hey, listen to me. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you. He won’t take you from me ever again. Nobody will.” Sojiro assured her adamantly. “I will do everything in my power to protect our family, understand?” She nodded, arms still locked tight around him.

“Way to go, super dad,” Futaba chuckled weakly, still muffled against his chest.

Sojiro patted her head again with a chuckle of his own. “Nothing super about doing what I should’ve from the beginning.” And then her panicked babbling finally registered in his head. “Wait, what did you mean ‘we haven’t been able to’? Haven’t been able to what?” He asked flatly, pulling back just far enough out of the hug to see the sheepish look on her face. Sojiro fixed her with his best Stern Dad Look in return, then shook his head. “Y’know what, forget I asked. Help your old man up, will you?”

If a bright red calling card turned up with Youji Isshiki’s name on it, Sojiro didn’t need to know anything about it. It wasn’t as though he could be mad, not when he just said he’d do anything to protect the family. Expecting anything else of the two Phantom Thieves under his roof would just make him an old hypocrite.

Futaba disentangled herself and offered him a hand. He pulled himself up to his feet with a grunt and set to cleaning up the sad, cold mess that had been his daughter’s intended comfort food.

“I’ll replace this in the morning.” He said as he dumped the soggy mess into the trash. “So, you have your heart set on instant yakisoba, or can I heat us up some curry before we go back to bed?”

The way her face lit up was answer enough.

[katattacktime]

Self Care (Asmo x GN!Reader)

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NSFW, V Soft, making love

4,400 ish words

I haven’t written in like 8 years and this was written all at once until like 4 in the morning because Asmo Simping Hours

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It had been a long, long week at RAD. You arrived back at the House of Lamentation and trudged through the entrance hall to your room. Every step weighed heavier as the exhaustion set into your bones. You took your bag and unceremoniously dumped it on the table in your room, a heavy thunk from overstuffed tomes and clinking of writing utensils rolling against each other. You let out a deep sigh, shuffled over to your bed, and flopped face down, letting out a groan as your shoulders relaxed at the promise of the weekend to look forward to.

You pulled your DDD out of your pocket and scrolled through your notifications. Group chats with new messages, a missed text from Satan asking if you’d seen the book he’d started last night followed by a “Never mind. Found it.” less than a minute after. A few notifications from the popular Devildom social media sites. Devilgram in particular seemed to be booming tonight; demons ramping up for a Friday night of parties and drinking to celebrate the well-earned break.

A soft knock sounded at your door. You sat up and jerked your head away from your phone toward the intruder.

Asmodeus leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed, eyes raking up and down taking in your appearance.

“You,” he said pointedly, “look like you could use a self-care night.”

You could feel your cheeks get warm at his assessment. “Is it really that bad?”

Asmo chuckled good-naturedly.

“No, dear. I promise. I would never let you walk around like that without telling you, no, but, I did see you walk in here like a zombie and heard you toss everything related to school as far away from you as possible.” He grinned.

You groaned. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t starting from nothing with magic and knowledge of the three realms in general,” you pouted.

“Well, what do you say you and I go relax in my room? It takes work to stay this pretty for my admirers and I’ve got a new bath bomb I’ve been dying to try out. Company as pretty as me will make it that much more enjoyable,” he flirted.

“Hmmmm. I dunno—“ you drawled. You flashed a smile at him and coyly pretended to consider your options. “In all seriousness though, how would we do that without being disturbed? I love you and your brothers dearly, but you all have a habit of causing problems for each other at the worst moments.” You grimaced at the thoughts of all the quiet moments you’d had with each of them that had been suddenly ruined by an ill-timed appearance of someone else.

Asmo smiled, “I have good news for you then. It’s just you and me home tonight.”

“What? Really? Where did everyone else go?”

“Lucifer got called to some meeting at the castle. Apparently they forgot something while at the council meeting earlier,” he counted on his fingers for each brother he named, “One of Mammon’s witches called him for something last minute. Satan is holing himself up at the library with Solomon until really late tonight. Supposedly, they found something or other in a manuscript that could ‘change the concept of curses as we know it.” He rolled his eyes and continued. “The twins are at Hell’s Kitchen with Levi. Levi lost a bet with Belphie, and now he’s paying the price, literally.” He grinned and held up six fingers to you. “So that just leaves you and me! And I was in charge of dinner tonight anyways, so this works out in my favor too that no one is here,” he stated.

You chuckled. “I am always impressed with how up-to-date with everything you seem to be,” you complimented. “I would love to have a self-care night with you tonight, Asmo.”

Asmo smiled broadly and you could swear a blush dusted his face before he turned to lead you into the kitchen situated next to your room.

“I figure we might as well order in tonight, my treat, since it’s just us two. No point in messing up the kitchen, and we can get started that much sooner.” He grabbed a few menus from under a magnet on the side of the fridge and spread them out on the butcher block island in the center.

“What are you hungry for? I was thinking we get something from that little restaurant across the street from Madame Scream’s and follow up with some dessert from Madame Scream’s too. Maybe some bufo egg tea to sip on while we’re at it?”

You looked down at the menus spread out before you and considered for a moment. “Sounds good to me!”

Asmo pulled out his phone and called both places to make your orders while you gathered up the menus and set them back under the magnet on the side of the fridge. You piped in here and there as needed, but soon enough, your food was ordered, on its way, and at the front door ready for you. You helped Asmo bring it in, while he made small talk with the delivery guys and shut the door.

He grabbed some of the bags from you and gestured for you to lead the way.

“After you,” he said politely.

You smiled at him and you two sauntered into the dining room to eat together. Asmo, being ever attentive, made sure to ask about your week and if there was anything he could help with, complained about the work load at RAD, and gossiped about who was throwing parties and who wasn’t.

When you asked why he wasn’t out and about, he waved his hand in dismissal stating that even he needed a night off every now and then. He grabbed a cupcake out of the box of sweets you’d ordered from Madame Scream’s.

“If I went out and partied every night, my skin would never forgive me. That and sometimes I get tired of being in big crowds too. I have my parties that I host a couple of nights a month anyways, so I can’t let everyone be oversaturated by my presence. Then I become boring, and that just wouldn’t be fair to my admirers,” he explained.

You hummed in acknowledgment and swallowed the last bite of the sweet you’d ordered. “Well, I’m glad you’re here with me. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been suddenly alone.”

Asmo smiled at you and the both of you stood up to clear the table.

You thought about what your night might have turned out to be had he gone out instead of staying in. You’d completed your homework earlier before you got home. You could have watched a movie, scrolled on your DDD endlessly, maybe dressed yourself up just because you could. Your face heated when you realized that if no one had been home you could have spent hours unwinding in another, more carnal way with yourself without worrying if someone would interrupt. It had been a while.

If Asmo noticed the blush on your cheeks, he didn’t say anything, instead opting to usher you by your room for pajamas and through his room to the bathroom for your joint pampering session. He snapped his fingers and lit the candles in the room to create a dim, calming atmosphere.

“So,” he began, “I’m going to gather everything together in one place and pick some things out for you. It’ll take me a bit because I want to make sure everything I pick will suit your skin well, and I have to fill the bath and figure out where I put that bath bomb. We’re not going to do anything tonight that you don’t want to do, so if you really just can’t stand the texture or smell of something let me know, we can skip it or I can find a substitute.” He pointed a look over to a countertop filled with organized bottles and containers. “I have plenty to choose from.”

He turned and walked to the glass-paned french doors that lead into his closet, opening them and disappearing inside the mood lit room for a moment. He returned with two soft, silky, cream robes and matching slippers.

“I need you to hop your lovely self into the shower and get clean. I need a clean canvas to work with so that everything will soak in better.”

He shot a flirtatious look at you. “I would join you but I’m afraid we wouldn’t get anywhere with our pampering night unless you wanted me to pamper you another way.”

“Maybe once my muscles don’t feel like knots,” you acquiesced and blushed at the innuendo.

Asmo grinned and exchanged the pajamas from your arms for a robe and slippers and pointed you over to the walk-in shower behind him. A half wall with a glass partition and glass door separated it from the rest of the bathroom.

“Everything you need should be in there. There’s even a fresh razor should you want to shave anything and I just changed out the washcloths last night, so everything is new. There’s a sugar scrub on the shelf in the wall and a bunch of other things you can feel free to test.”

The shower itself was easily as spacious as his bath. Smooth, unbroken, white marble formed the walls with a tiled ceiling. Plenty of room for several people to enjoy the steamy water and relax. A tiled bench stood prominently in the center of the shower room (as you were now calling it) for resting under the stream of the rainfall shower positioned above it. Towels sat rolled neatly on a shelf by the entrance.

You placed the robe and slippers onto the shelf and stripped down. You neatly folded your uniform and placed it aside, unsure what to do with it otherwise.

You turned and made your way deeper into the room to the knobs on the wall, fiddling with them to figure out what turned on where when you messed with them. You found a hot, soothing temperature you could bear and stood under the stream, melting away the knots in your shoulders and back.

Curiosity overtook you and you took your time to explore his products as you relaxed. A couple you even decided to pamper yourself with since he so graciously offered. You cleaned yourself as you normally did when you weren’t rushed for time and shut off the valves when you finished, toweling dry.

You peered through the glass partition over the half wall into the rest of the bathroom. Asmo, dressed in his cream robe and slippers, had poised on the rim of his tub while you showered. He watched the water fill the bath and swirl the bath bombs and flower petals he had dropped in. You shrugged on the robe, tying it loosely in front of you, and placed your feet in the slippers before opening the glass door leading out.

Asmo glanced up at you and raked his gaze across your frame. Soft music played from a speaker he’d set up.

“As beautiful as ever,” he commented appreciatively. He shut off the water and removed himself from the side of the bath. He grabbed a tray of items he’d gathered.

“Feel free to go through these and remove anything you don’t like. The bath is ready, and I’ll join you as soon as I’m done showering.” He strutted toward the shower, but you grabbed his arm before he passed.

“Thank you, Asmo. Really.” You leaned toward him and pressed a chaste kiss on the cheek of the Avatar of Lust. “This all really means a lot to me.”

Asmo looked down at you in surprise, a deep, coral blush painted across his face. He lifted his hand to where you’d kissed his cheek and looked away.

“Y-you’re welcome. Of course I’d do something as simple as this,” he gestured to the room around him, “People as beautiful as us have to make sure we stay that way, right?”

“Of course,” you smiled at him softly and walked away from him toward the tray to go through the items he selected.

Asmo stood there for a second longer than he intended, watching you languidly make your way through his bathroom, completely relaxed around him. His heart swelled as he watched you take an interest in the things he’d spent so much time curating with you in mind. He turned toward the shower before he couldn’t bear to be away from your side any longer, determined to continue with the night on your terms when you were ready.

You untied the robe and gently set it on the side of the tub, sitting beside the silky, folded fabric and kicking off the slippers next to the tub. You swung your legs over the edge and lowered yourself into the warm, cloudy light pink water. Specks of gold glitter rolled around your legs as you disturbed the bath, yellow petals swirling gently on top. The scent of chamomile, honey, and almond milk wafted up as you sunk in.

You settled yourself onto the bench encircling the bath and stretched your arms high above your head, before resting them on the edge behind you, enjoying the contrast between the warm bath and cool, smooth tile. You closed your eyes and laid your head back against a pillar and dozed.

Asmo emerged from the shower, his robe draped over his shoulders and towel wrapped around his hips. He walked to the bath across from where you’d situated. Your eyes opened slightly to acknowledge him, and you smiled sweetly at him before patting the top of the water to invite him in with you.

He peeled off the robe, dropped the towel to the floor, and stepped over the side of the tub, humming contentedly as the water rose above his hips up to his waist and chest. The water swirled around him as he waded to the tray of items he’d collected and picked one up: a small blue glass container filled with some sort of face mask.

“I wanted to start us out easy with something simple. This is a mask good for exfoliating and brightening your skin. It’s had a ton of rave reviews and I’ve used it for a while,” he explained.

Asmo scooped some product out with his fingers and warmed it in his palms. He gently smoothed a layer onto your face and settled next to you as you sat up to do the same for him.

You rubbed the mask between your fingertips and swiped long, tender touches over his forehead, nose, and warm cheeks. Asmo leaned into your touch; a soft sigh escaped his lips. He gazed into your eyes as you studied his face, fingers memorizing every plane.

Your fingers dipped back below the water’s surface to find his hand and hold it between yours, rubbing loving circles over his knuckles. You brought his hand to your lips and kissed it softly before resting your head on his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss into your hair and grabbed your hand back, intertwining your fingers together. You enjoyed each other’s presence and touch. Asmo quietly hummed to whatever song played on his speaker into your hair.

You washed the masks off your faces and continued going through the tray of serums and essences Asmo selected for the both of you, giggling together when you pinched each other’s cheeks or booped his nose. Playfulness came easy with him. All the stress from the week had sloughed off your shoulders thanks to his caring and attentiveness.

When you were done, the water had cooled. Asmo stood and pulled the plug from the drain and stepped out. He grabbed your robe and extended his hand back to you to help you out, throwing your robe over your nakedness as soon as you were safely out.

“What we do from here is up to you,” he stated. He rested his hand on the back of his neck and tried not to stare too much as you adjusted your robe, watching your reaction as he put on his own robe and deftly tried to cover his growing problem. “We can get in pajamas and watch something together or, if you want to do something else, we could do that instead.”

You thought for a moment. The bath ended almost too soon for your liking. You still wanted to be held and enjoy his company, not to mention the warmth that had pooled in your belly from being so innocently intimate and affectionate with him. You looked up at his expectant face, waiting for a response.

“I think I’d like to touch you some more and actually show you how much fun tonight has been for me and how much I appreciate all this.” you answered. “Lotion would be a good place to start.” You blushed and looked away from him. His gaze quickly heated at your suggestion.

“I don’t know if I can keep my hands off of you if you do that,” he warned.

“Good, because I don’t want you to keep your hands off me.”

Asmo leveled his gaze with you and nodded his head. He turned to the countertop to grab a bottle, taking a second to compose himself. As much as he wanted to ravish you this very second and have you moaning his name under him, he wanted even more for you to relax and feel cherished and important.

He pulled away from the counter, bottle acquired, and placed his hand on your lower back, steering you out to his room. You nestled into his shoulder almost self-consciously and grabbed the lotion from him before you could consider otherwise.

“On the bed,” you instructed.

Asmo grinned at you as he followed your command punctuated by a flirtatious comment. “Only if you join me.”

You smiled back, joining him and kneeling on the bed in front of him. The dusty pink sheets of his bed were soft and cool. You could picture yourself spending hours in them.

You looked down at your robes, the only thing interrupting your progress. “We should probably get rid of these for what I have planned,” you commented.

Asmo chuckled and undid the ties holding the fabric closed on both of you, while you popped the cap open on the lotion bottle. You dispensed some into your hand after he’d discarded your robe and held the bottle out to him, waiting for him to hold out his palm for you to give him some as well. Rubbing your hands together awakened the fragrance and warmed the cold substance. It smelled bright and pleasant and soothing, just what you needed.

Starting at each other’s chests, you smoothed the lotion into tense muscle and along collarbones and shoulders. You traveled down arms and sides, being careful of ticklish spots and sore spots alike. You looked down between you at Asmo’s growing member, watching it engorge as you skimmed your fingers over sensitive areas. You moved closer to him, legs spreading to either side of his knees, and wrapped your arms around his neck, trailing light kisses up his chest as you massaged your hands into the top of his shoulders and back.

Asmo pulled you closer to him, hand trailing up your back, watching you in awe as you shivered at his affection and showered him with love. He captured your lips as you pulled away from one of the many kisses you’d peppered against his chest. He cupped the back of your head and angled you so he could kiss you deeper, harder, unsure of how to describe the fluttering and warmth in his chest but determined to show you.

You moaned into his lips and pressed yourself as close as you could, rocking against him, making him hiss in pleasure and ball his fist in your hair. The action sent more electricity to your core. He cupped your ass and helped you grind against him.

He laid you back against the pillows, hands resting on either side of your face and dipped in for another kiss which you enthusiastically returned. He leaned over to his nightstand and opened the drawer, grabbing some items and setting them on the sheets before returning to hover over you.

He pressed his forehead against yours and kissed you deeply once more. Rose gold eyes met with your own and searched for any sign of hesitation. “Should I continue?”

“Yes, more, please,” you breathed.

He kissed you once more on your lips. His hands trailed down your body, appreciating every inch you had allowed him to see. Deft fingers pinched and rolled your nipples as he began kissing a path down your jaw and neck, nipping and kissing particularly at the sensitive spot under your ear. You could feel the light trace of teeth as he sucked marks into your collarbone, soothing them with a press of his tongue. You mewled at every kiss and bite and touch he gave you.

He moved further down and trailed kisses over your tummy until his face hovered above your heat. You felt his breath ghost over you, teasing, causing you to clench and twitch beneath him, watching him carefully in anticipation. His eyes flicked up to you and he grinned at your rapt attention before cheekily sucking you into his mouth in one smooth motion. He held your hips down and watched your face contort in pleasure with every lick, kiss, and hollowing of his cheeks. You threaded your hand through his strawberry blond curls and tensed against him.

“Hah, A-Asmo,” you panted. He hummed against you and you curled your toes. “Asmo please, I’m so close.”

He placed a kiss against you and pulled away.

“Asmo please!” you begged, not caring for how needy you may have just sounded.

“Shhhh shhh,” he hushed you gently, “I promise I’ll take care of you. Be good for me and let me make sure you’re prepared. Yeah?”

He reached up to one of the items he’d grabbed from his nightstand and showed it to you. A small bottle with a clear liquid inside. Lube you guessed. You groaned but nodded nonetheless, anticipation building in your throat in the form of a whine. You wanted to make him feel good too.

Asmo opened the cap and dribbled lube on his fingers, pressing them to your entrance and spreading the slick over you.

He pressed one finger in and then two, slowly opening you up and making sure you were ready to take him. He felt himself dripping precum onto the sheets as he grinned himself into the mattress to relieve some of the ache. You had no idea what your moans alone did to him.

You begged once more. “Asmo, please, I’m definitely ready! I just really need you inside me now. Please! I want to feel you.” You covered your face with your hands, sure you were redder than you had ever been before.

Asmo cursed under his breath. He couldn’t deny you anymore. Not when you said things like that and begged so pretty for him. He grabbed the condom he’d retrieved from his nightstand earlier and rolled it on. He positioned himself back above you, his cock pressing against you as he slowly pressed in. He threw his head back and groaned as your heat enveloped him and clenched around him.

You felt him press inch by inch into you until he bottomed out, fully sheathed inside you, hips pressed up against you. You panted at the feeling of being fully filled by him, letting out a breathy low moan when he experimentally rolled his hips. You felt his hands tug your wrists and palms away from your face.

“Let me see you.”

He laced your fingers together and rested on his elbows above you, kissing you deeply before beginning to thrust with long, slow, deep drags inside you, gazing into your eyes like you were his whole world.

He kissed you tenderly, taking his time, studying your lips with his. He wanted to remember this forever. Your voice, your smell, the way your face contorted in pleasure with every roll of his hips. He couldn’t hold on for long. Not with the way you had openly admitted to wanting to touch him earlier or the way you’d begged just now. It was part of the reason he’d gotten you so close to the edge. He wanted to feel you come undone around him.

Asmo kissed you once more and sat up on his knees, one hand letting go of one of yours in favor of reaching down between you and rubbing you closer to completion. The coil in your belly tightened impossibly further as he pressed faster into you, the sound of skin against skin and him pumping inside you echoing with his and your moans. His thrusts started faltering, his timing off ever so slightly you could tell he was close too. He squeezed your hand once more and looked into your eyes.

“I love you.”

And you came undone.

Your orgasm took over and caused you to arch your back up, hips pressed down against him, legs curling around his torso. He cursed and followed you over, thrusting a few more times before settling deep inside you to ride out his own orgasm, moaning your name like a mantra. He caught himself as he buckled over you, letting the last of it wash over him.

You cupped his face and pulled him down for another kiss. When you separated, you stroked his face and replied, “I love you too.” You kissed his nose once and twice more on his lips for good measure.

He slowly pulled out from you, both groaning at the loss, but you were both tired and sated. He could see sleep slowly starting to haze your eyes as you struggled to stay awake. He smiled gently at you. You gently smiled back.

He slid off the bed into the bathroom to discard the condom and grab a warm cloth to clean the both of you up. When he returned, you were barely conscious.

Asmo wiped a warm cloth over the mess you had created together on your skin and tucked you into bed beside him. He gently kissed your forehead and wrapped you in his arms, following you into a restful sleep.