#cupboard resurfacing

[alyssamonah]

How to Find the Local Pros for Kitchen Cabinet Refacing Near Me?

Kitchen cabinet refacing can breathe new life into your kitchen space without the need for a full renovation. It's a cost-effective and eco-friendly way to give your kitchen a fresh and updated look. However, to ensure a successful cabinet refacing project, you'll need the expertise of local professionals who can do the job right. In this guide, we'll walk you through the steps to find the best local pros for kitchen cabinet refacing near you.

Start with a Local Search

Begin your search by using popular search engines or business directories. Type in keywords like "kitchen cabinet refacing near me" or "local cabinet refacing professionals." It will generate a list of businesses in your area that specialize in cabinet refacing.

Check Online Reviews

Online reviews can provide valuable insights into the quality of service provided by local professionals. Look for reviews on websites like Yelp, Google My Business, and Angie's List. Pay attention to both positive and negative feedback to get a balanced view.

Pro Tip: When reading reviews, focus on factors that matter most to you, such as the quality of work, punctuality, professionalism, and communication.

Ask for Recommendations

Don't underestimate the power of word-of-mouth recommendations. Ask friends, family members, neighbours, and coworkers if they've had their cabinets refaced recently and if they can recommend a local professional.

Visit Home Improvement Stores

Local home improvement stores often have bulletin boards or information about local contractors and professionals. Swing by these stores and see if there are any flyers or business cards from cabinet refacing experts.

Explore Social Media

Social media platforms like Facebook and Instagram can be useful for finding local professionals. Join local community groups or home improvement forums and ask for recommendations from fellow members.

Check Licensing and Insurance

Once you've identified a few potential pros, it's essential to verify their credentials. Check if they are licensed and insured. It ensures they have the necessary qualifications and coverage in case of accidents.

Request References

Don't hesitate to ask potential professionals for references from past clients. Contact these references to inquire about their experiences with the cabinet refacing expert. Ask about the quality of work, adherence to schedules, and overall satisfaction.

Compare Multiple Quotes

Contact at least three different professionals to get quotes for your cabinet refacing project. Be clear about your requirements and expectations. Comparing quotes will help you determine a reasonable price range for the service.

Discuss Materials and Design Options

Engage in detailed discussions with each professional about the materials they use and the design options available. Ask about the pros and cons of different materials and inquire if they can provide custom solutions to match your kitchen's aesthetics.

Inquire About the Timeline

Ask about the expected timeline for the project. Professionals should be able to provide you with a clear estimate of how long the cabinet refacing process will take, from start to finish.

Get a Written Contract

Before starting the project, ensure you have a written contract that outlines all the details, including the scope of work, materials to be used, project timeline, and costs. Read the contract carefully and ask for clarification if needed.

Check for Warranties

Reputable professionals often offer warranties on their work and materials. Make sure to understand the terms of the warranty and keep all related documentation in case you need it in the future.

Communicate Your Expectations

Effective communication is crucial to a successful cabinet refacing project. Clearly communicate your expectations, and don't hesitate to ask questions or seek updates throughout the project.

Monitor the Work

While the professionals work on your cabinet resurfacing project, periodically check the progress to ensure it aligns with your expectations and the agreed-upon plan.

Pay Attention to Clean-Up

After the project is complete, make sure the professionals clean up the work area thoroughly. You shouldn't be left with a mess to clean up.

Leave a Review

Once the project is successfully completed, consider leaving a review to help others in your community find reliable local pros for cabinet refacing.

Conclusion

Finding the right local professionals for your kitchen cabinet refacing project near you requires a bit of research and due diligence. Following the steps outlined in this guide can increase your chances of selecting a skilled and trustworthy expert to transform your kitchen and enhance its beauty and functionality. Remember that investing time in finding the right professionals can lead to a satisfying and rewarding cabinet-refacing experience.

[aussieresurfacing]

Revitalize your kitchen with our Cupboard Resurfacing Services in King Cross! Transform worn-out cabinets into stunning focal points. At Aussie Resurfacing, we bring new life to your space with our expert craftsmanship and top-quality materials.  https://aussieresurfacing.com.au/cupboard-resurfacing/

[johnsonella99]

Sydney kitchens are renowned for their elegance, but occasionally that appeal means sacrificing valuable storage space. Kitchens might appear small and disorganised, particularly in older homes or apartments. But fear not, residents of Sydney! Resurfacing your cupboards is a fashionable and affordable kitchen update, but it doesn't have to come at the expense of utility.

[cherryjuiceblues]

𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟑

➯ Y/N STARTS TO LEARN HOW HARRY LIKES TO PLAY AND THINGS TAKE A TURN WHEN SHE VISITS HIM AT WORK. ✰ dom!harry brief unwanted male attention. sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. spanking as a lighthearted punishment. inspection kink if you squint. slight daddy kink. tummy bulge. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 15k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Y/N wakes up whilst the rest of the world is still asleep.

Granted, much later than she usually does, but she wakes up nonetheless. With a somewhat surprising lack of body heat pressing against her. She doesn’t register it at first because, well, Y/N is very much used to waking up on her own—without the weight, or heat, or comfort of another person—but then the memory of Harry asking her if she likes to cuddle resurfaces. Followed by the one in which he holds her tightly to his front and sends her to sleep quicker than she can ever remember doing so before.

So she doesn’t need to be any sort of sneaky as she makes her way down the lavish staircase and into Harry’s kitchen—the tiles cold on her bare feet. Somewhere deep down, Y/N registers that it’s probably a little weird and inappropriate to treat Harry’s kitchen as her own when they’re not really an item, but that hesitancy is quickly replaced by the idea of presenting him with breakfast as he wakes up. To treat him with the same care he has shown her. It erases all residual sleep from Y/N’s head.

She doesn’t even ponder as to why Harry was not next to her when she awoke—brushing past the questions in favour of searching his cupboards. Jars of sauce, tins of all sorts of healthy beans and soups Y/N wouldn’t dream of eating—stocked full and regularly consumed. His fridge is glorious; if not because of its contents then because it has a built-in ice dispenser. (Serious luxury that Y/N is confounded by.) And she immediately hones in on the punnet of blueberries that are practically beckoning her to pick them up—glowing and chanting her name—it would be rude to ignore such a demanding presence.

Immediately, Y/N knows what she wants to make, and starts going through unexplored drawers and cupboards with pointed scouring. “Come on, come on,” she whispers to herself, waiting for the long, thin box to jump out at her. It’s all she needs—everything else Harry is bound to have, but this? It’s the key.

Back in the fridge, is where Y/N finds it. Completely missed in her haste to search elsewhere; Y/N will admit it bypassed her that it needed to be stored in there at all (and maybe deny that she just wanted to snoop). Ready made puff pastry. Perfect for a blueberry pie.

Y/N is giddy at the thought—cheeks squishing with an excited smile as her top teeth dig into her bottom lip—of waking Harry up with the fresh smell of home baking and watching him as he swallows each bite. It’s exhilarating to her. Pleasurable, some may say. (Well, Y/N wouldn’t dare, but it certainly gets her heart racing.)

She’ll come to realise that doing something so elating, in the midst of night when she cannot sleep, is not the correct way of tiring herself out. Her cheeks practically ache from the smile she’s wearing as she tosses blueberries in a bowl with sugar, cornstarch and generous sprinklings of cinnamon and allspice. When she starts working on creating the lattice for the top of the pie, the concentration needed does admittedly cease some of her excitement. But it is only replaced by the stress of trying to make it look perfect. Which, additionally, only awakens her further. Everything but the idea of sleep is floating around in Y/N’s head.

But it’s going well! And Y/N stares down at her creation with a proud grin, ready to refrigerate in order to sneak back down in a few hours and cook it. She’s starting to clean up as quietly as she can when her lack of presence in bed is discovered.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Y/N spins around from where she’s washing up in the sink, heart lurching and utensils clattering against the porcelain, a shriek forcing its way out of her mouth. She relaxes when she sees Harry. And then panics again at his stern expression and the way his eyes drop to the hem of his shirt that brushes her thighs and the slight peek of his boxers that he’d graciously offered. “Um…”

“Ummm?” he parrots. “You’re just um-ing in my kitchen, are you?”

“No,” Y/N huffs, but she’s aware this is not her house, or her kitchen, or her food. “No, I’m… I was baking you something. I’m sorry.”

Harry nods, biting back the urge to ridicule with a ‘I can see that’. Instead, he asks, “What did I say not even twelve hours ago, love?”

“Uh…” her lack of articulation puts a smirk on Harry’s already smug face.

“Can’t remember? Were you not listening to me?”

Y/N flusters, scurrying around the counter to get closer to Harry’s leaning figure. “I was! But then you…” she trails off, looking towards the floor at his socked feet.

“I…” Harry coaxes. “I what?”

She looks up slowly, taking in the soft of his sweats and the tempting bareness of his chest. “You… y’know. It was hard to concentrate.”

“And why’s that, darling?”

“Harry,” Y/N whines, eyes rounding out at his expression—one of a winner—one of a person with the upperhand.

He becomes serious. “I told you I expected you to go to bed when I said.”

“I did!” she tries, “You didn’t say I couldn’t get up.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“You weren’t there when I woke up.”

Harry removes his weight from the doorframe. “I know.”

“Where did you go?”

“The garden.” The massive garden. “You see, I find some fresh air does wonders to tucker me out. Instead of spending hours baking a cake—”

“—It’s a pie.”

He laughs. “A pie. Forgive me. It couldn’t wait ‘til the morning? Hm?”

“I jus’ wanted to surprise you,” Y/N frowns. “Wanted to wake you up with it as a thank you.”

“A thank you? A thank you for what?”

She hesitates, “For this,” gesturing with her arms.

“You have nothing to thank me for, darlin’. I don’t want you to keep believing that.” He steps forward. “You’re very sweet. Incredibly sweet… I don’t need a pie, lovely. Especially not at three a.m.”

“But—”

Harry lifts the knuckle of his index finger to brush across her cheek, shaking his head softly.

“Finish cleaning in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I wanted to—”

“Y/N. Listen to me.” He moves closer. Y/N has to crane her neck to look at him. “Come to bed with me. I’ll get you back to sleep in no time. And in the morning, I will let you feed me pie until I bloody turn into one, okay?”

She hesitates—just for a second. Her eyes do feel heavy, and she really is tired. Harry’s eyes dance over her face so delicately, it feels as though they’re casting some sort of spell. And the longer she looks at him, the sleepier she becomes. So she nods her head. “Okay.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s bedroom is much like the rest of his house. White. And vast.

His bed—super king size, of course—lies temptingly in the middle of the room, sheets tastefully dishevelled, and the soft green of leaves printed on cotton contrasts against the drab lacking of the walls.

Harry trails Y/N back to his bed, soothing in the way his palm ghosts across her back as he coaxes her under the covers. He lies down next to her, lifting an arm to allow her to rest on his chest. She’s shy, feather light in the way she puts her head upon him, but they both relax the moment they’re weighed down by one another.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth f’me… nice and slow.” 

She listens, encouraged by the dance of his fingers across her skin. Swooping curls and waves along the soft lines of her shoulder, down her arm and back up again. Brushing tendrils away from sensitive extremities and smoothing them in a nurturing caress against her head. It’s cathartic—the silence that overtakes Y/N’s mind. Or hushed whisperings as opposed to the usual blaring exclamations; as though Harry has crossed the threshold of a library with Y/N’s hand in his and hidden her away from the domination of her thoughts.

So it takes very little for sleep to crowd her senses, unconsciousness barrelling towards her when Harry starts painting whispering images behind her eyelids—the deep, vibrating timbre of his voice soaking into her skin and carrying her away.

“You’ll love the garden…”

“...enough flowers to bathe you in…”

“It needs a little care but I think you’ll breathe life into the soil just by standing on it.”

“...plant thousands of yellow tulips just for you…”

And Y/N can only just hear the way his tongue moulds around the syllables to form words, as the tender hands of sleep pull her deeper into the fog, and if she were more alert her heart would soar… but her lips pull upwards and her nose presses into the soft of Harry’s throat as he waxes lyrical about his garden. 

She falls asleep with a mirage of colours forming kaleidoscopes in her mind—petals, and leaves, and tendrils of grass harbouring a certain figure bathing in the glistening sunlight.

ㅤㅤ

Wet. 

Sensitive.

Those are the only two feelings Y/N can process as she’s torn from the comforting embrace of slumber.

Harry’s hair is soft and smells far too familiar for a man she has known for a handful of weeks. But it smells good, and Y/N nearly pushes her nose into it before she realises the culprit of her waking emotions. 

His tongue flat against her neck… followed by the blunt nipping of his teeth around her delicate skin. It’s not something Y/N is well equipped to react to—especially not as she is waking and the world is still blurry around the edges. A shaky breath is what alerts Harry to her consciousness and Y/N feels him smile into her throat, ministrations doubling as he rumbles a rogue growl and opens his mouth wide in the pretence of a chomp around her jugular.

She squeals, hands coming up to the solidness of his chest of their own accord, palms flattening against him. The weight of his body against the side of hers bears no struggle against her pathetic attempt—he only leans in further, licking and nibbling to his heart’s desire. His encompassing hand swallows one of her own on his body, pulling it away and pushing it into the pillow as he stimulates every nerve on her neck—coaxing the blood to the surface of her skin and leaving behind the aching reminder of his presence.

“I surrender…” Y/N whispers into the air, words trailing off into a sigh.

Harry hums, “Too bad.”

She could fall asleep again so easily. Believe this is all a dream and let Harry gently abuse her flesh until her breathing evens out. But then his hand settles on her stomach, large, and warm, and weighted—only soothing her further—until it starts to trail lower. Under the covers, under the boxers he’d let her wear, and over her pubic bone.

Y/N’s eyes shoot open then, and her back darts up from the mattress in surprise. Harry peels away from her neck, lips succulent and begging to be chewed upon the way he demonstrated against her throat. His eyes are still slightly puffy from sleep and the mess of his hair makes him look charmingly youthful. But he’s far too smug for a regular person’s liking—really embodying that of his teenage self, Y/N is sure—however the assurance he displays on his face only has the warmth of his hand searing her further as they look at one another.

“Good morning.” His vocal cords rub together like gravel and his fingers dip down with fluid contrast.

Y/N gasps, letting her back press into the mattress once more as Harry strokes along her lips almost playfully, like they are his own to toy with. His eyes smile teasingly at the girl and her little breathy inhales. She opens her mouth to speak but words fail to form when Harry touches her clit with a circle so light it may not have ever been there.

“Sleep well?” A finger ghosts around her entrance, arousal coating his digit as he brings it back up and presses with intention.

A shaky inhale. “Y-yes…” she pauses, clings onto coherence, “Sir.”

Harry smiles. “Oh? Maybe you were listening t’me… that’s a shame. I still have to demonstrate my utmost disappointment in you, pretty girl.”

“You don’t ha-have to,” Y/N gasps, eyes catching the movement of Harry’s hand to the top of her head—gentle caressing never suggesting he could be doing anything else under the sheets.

“Oh, but I do, darling. But just to make sure we’re on the same page…” he pushes his middle finger inside her to the hilt. Y/N’s back arches. “Why am I disappointed in you?”

The question stirs something murky inside of her. Completely different to the feeling of his finger curling upwards and pulling a moan from her mouth. 

Why am I disappointed in you? 

It feels so… wrong, so ugly parting from his lips. Y/N never intended to disappoint him—it’s not part of her nature to upset anyone on purpose. Her brows furrow slightly, self consciousness brewing in her heart. Was she always doing things wrong? Frustrating people? Letting them down? 

“I— um…” she swallows, “I got up after you told me to go to bed.”

Harry continues to display apathy. “Mhm… and you—”

Y/N covers her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her breathing is shallow, mind screaming at her for messing this all up so soon. She thought she was being nice, she thought Harry would be pleased, she thought—

“Hey,” Harry pulls her hands away. “You know you’re such a good girl, don’t you? It’s all words, lovely, I would communicate with you if I was really affected by something you had done.”

She exhales some—relief flooding her eyes. “Oh…” palms pushing into her sockets to soak up the tears. She grimaces. “I feel silly.”

“Don’t.” He presses a small kiss to Y/N’s cheek, right under her eyelashes. “You understand the idea of punishment? That I am to reprimand you if you misbehave?”

Y/N nods. It was exciting… she knows that… once the fog has been cleared. Just a fun, little game.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I— I want you to… to tell me off… I deserve it, Sir.”

“Because you got up, didn’t you? And what else?”

“I… I used your food without permission…”

“What else?” he whispers.

“I don’t… know,” her voice quietens to match his.

“Three a.m., Y/N. There is no need to zombify yourself because you think it will make me happy. It won’t. I’d much prefer a pie baked whilst the sun is still shining.”

Harry moves his finger inside of her, stroking before pulling it out and smearing it over her clit. He brings the wetness to her mouth, rubbing it along her bottom lip and smiling when her jaw unlatches ever so slightly.

“But I recognise the sweetness,” Y/N’s tongue darts out to entice his finger. “You wanted to feed me, wake me up with a hot breakfast—so quick to become my good, little housewife, aren’t you?” His words send shivers through her chest, down her stomach, and between her legs. That’s… God, she doesn’t know but she likes it. “And so… I’ll be nice. Flip over.”

Y/N’s not totally daft… but the question falls out anyway. “Why?”

Harry’s eyes harden, fingers squeezing her cheeks together. “Do it, darling. Now.”

She does. With haste, face pressing into the pillow as she turns it to the side. Harry lifts a leg over the back of her thighs, weight holding her down as his large hands smooth up her back to push her shirt away. “Let me see that pretty, little arse,” he sighs to himself before tugging her borrowed boxers down just enough to expose the soft flesh. Y/N doesn’t expect the kneading that his palms start to soothe her with. His perfect fingers massaging in pushes and pulls. It’s a little humiliating, knowing that he’s observing her—the most vulnerable of states—but with it comes the most trusting freedom and she breathes a deep sigh as her limbs relax into his mattress.

But it’s supposed to be a punishment, isn’t it? And Y/N realises too late, once Harry’s hand has already retracted and sliced through the air to deliver a well-connecting smack to the round of her ass. She gasps, hips twitching—and her leg even threatens to bend up in the air—as heated pinpricks tingle around the shape of Harry’s handprint. It’s admittedly quite nice. Nice enough to probably not be considered a punishment but Y/N would never complain. And she supposes Harry had promised her his niceness.

“Is that okay?” he asks quickly, relieved when Y/N nods just as fast and pushes her bum back into his hand.

The heat spreads, sending electrical currents through Y/N’s veins and making her already wet cunt contract around nothing. “You are a divine little thing,” she hears him through her rushing blood. Another slap to the other cheek, followed by her quivering breaths and muffled whimpers as she turns her head into the pillow. “Even more heavenly with a hot bottom,” Harry hums, stroking the backs of his knuckles over her fiery skin.

Y/N’s already lightheaded, after two measly spanks. She suspects somewhere in the depths of her brain that Harry could knock her about if he so desired and that she really must take efforts to improve her stamina but… when she feels his lips press soft kisses to her bum—everything melts away. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is even and she’s sinking into a fluffy cloud miles and miles above the ground. 

And she’s silly. Very silly.

Because Harry spanks her again, and she should’ve expected that two would hardly count as her retribution but they felt so good and her brain was so easily consoled by him. 

These ones are harder. And in rapid succession. These ones have Y/N’s head rising from the pillow in a gasp that sounds less dreamy and more like the predecessor to a very loud—

“Shit!”

Which earns her two more smacks to either cheek. “Language, Y/N.”

“Sorry, Sir. Hurts—” The initial heat she was bathed in is now closer to that of a scalding shower than warm sunshine. It’s pulsing, radiating, steaming heat that may as well be smoking off her body in profuse clouds of vapour. Harry’s rough in the treatment of her skin now, kneading to watch the malleable flesh bend at his will instead of caressing to lull Y/N into a peaceful state.

He hums. “I know, bum’s on fire, love. You’re doing very well. Let’s do two more, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Y/N nods face down. Until Harry leans over her back momentarily and positions her head to the side once more, smearing his lips to the corner of her mouth in a possessive reward of a kiss.

“Such a good girl. Just two more f’me.” His voice is soft but his hands stay bruising as they come down twice more. Y/N sighs as soon as the last one resounds around Harry’s room, and the vibrations die down into their residual tingles. It hurts—but in a calming way. Y/N’s body feels not her own; she needn’t move her own limbs or think thoughts with her own brain. There’s no need—she has nothing to contemplate anyway.

On another day, she might have cried at this realisation—at the complete and utter profuse emptiness that allows for the first serenity she has ever known. No anxieties, no needs or responsibilities. Just Harry and his bed. And her hot skin. But right now, as Harry leans over her again, gracing her with the sight of his handsome face… Y/N can only smile.

“I think someone enjoyed that a little too much,” Harry murmurs, bracing himself above her, hair curling over his forehead whilst he tugs her boxers back up.

“Sorry, Sir,” Y/N whispers, tongue heavy. “I’m good? I won’t get up in the night, I promise.”

“You’re good. Took your first spanking so well…” He pauses to stroke down the bridge of her nose and relish in the fluttering of her lashes as her eyes fall shut. “Shall we fill up on some pie now, yeah?”

Y/N snaps out of it a little then, and is suddenly hit by the waves of her throbbing pussy, as she pushes up slightly on her elbows. “B-but…”

Harry leans back, confusion passing over his features. He was sure she’d be more excited. “What’s wrong, love?”

She whispers it, like it’s some sort of secret. “You… I’m still…” her eyes clench shut in embarrassment.

He clocks the cause of her whinging immediately. “Mm, I know you are. Probably made a mess of my boxers, haven’t you? Should we check?” Y/N squeals and rolls out of Harry’s reach… or she tries to but fails to make any sort of meaningful distance. “You wanna come? Is that it? Your greedy cunt wants to come.” Harry watches as she nods her head pitifully, eyes wide and lip protruding like she has no idea what she’s doing. Minx. “What have you done to deserve that?” His hands clasp her hips deliciously as he takes his place above her, securing her in his prison of arms. “Not much of a punishment if I give you an orgasm, is it, darlin’?”

She doesn’t speak. Only looks up at him like he built the very house they lie in. Harry leans down to kiss her awaiting mouth. A sweet smack as they part and the widening of Y/N’s already melted eyes... and then he’s taking her by force, manoeuvring her back onto her stomach and hitting right in the centre of her bum, before pushing up from the mattress to look down at her with a mischievous grin and an offering hand. In a dizzyingly fast sequence of actions.

Y/N squawks, unexpecting of his cruel attack. “Ow!” She cries, kneeling up to protect her sensitive skin from his barrage. (Not that Harry couldn’t put her in any position he liked.)

“Come on, up y’get. S’breakfast time. Colazione!”

And Y/N is left to watch Harry’s broad, bare back disappear from view as she kneels on his mattress with a scorching ass and sodden underwear.

ㅤㅤ

She doesn’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s a lack of filter combined with a slight grumpiness which is understandable after the way Harry left her.

So it’s with instant regret that Y/N enters the kitchen, slides onto a stool and asks, “What’s this?” in reference to the bowl placed before her.

Harry scoffs in amusement. “It’s fruit, darlin’, you eat it all the time.” And fruit it was. An eclectic pile of all sorts of yummy stuff—strawberries, bananas, mangos, kiwis to name a few—no blueberries because Y/N had used them, of course. 

She can’t help herself. “But not for breakfast!”

“What’s wrong? Not good enough for you?”

And she realises then, how unthankful she had sounded. “No! I didn’t—” she clamps shut her open mouth, eyes widening and then narrowing when Harry’s lips start to curl. 

He sits himself on the stool next to Y/N, knees turned to the side so he can look at her. “Tell me,” he pokes her thigh with his index finger, just as she places a chunk of mango into her mouth.

She reaches over to poke him in return. “Tell you what?”

“What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Oh… no,” she shakes her head, mango sitting in her cheek for a second as she speaks.

“No? It’s bad then… Let me guess…” He hums, fingers tapping his chin in faux contemplation. And somehow, in true Harry fashion, he gets it right first try. A horrified look overtakes his features. “Don’t tell me… you eat those chocolate filled pillow things, do you?”

Y/N tries to school her shock to no avail, but she says nothing, eyes darting between his in rapid motions. She shoves a strawberry in her mouth.

“Oh, the terror! How could you?” Harry gasps, helping himself to a slice of toast from the rack on the middle of the island counter. He starts to spread raspberry conserve on it, head shaking the entire time—fighting the urge to start spewing fabricated statistics in order to frighten her. “Who am I kidding? Of course you eat that filth… I don’t know if I can have relations with someone who starts their day with a bowlful of pure sugar.”

Y/N giggles, fruit bulging in her cheeks as she covers her mouth with her hand. “Have—” she swallows, “—relations with? Were you born in 1954?”

Harry smiles, “That’s very specific, love.”

“Well I like to specify, so…” she supplies midchew, face looking ever so matter of fact.

He watches her as they eat, eyes trained to her fingers as they pick up lumps of fruit and bring them to her wet lips, her tongue as it pokes out to catch whatever she offers, her throat as it contracts around a swallow. It’s peaceful, and quiet as the two share the silence with one another. And when Y/N has finished her last mouthful and Harry has long since eaten his toast, he makes his way to the oven to retrieve the most beautiful blueberry pie he has ever seen. Golden lattice, bubbling purple spilling, and the divine smell of home baked confection.

Y/N’s eyes light up as though it’s Christmas morning, hands clapping under her chin and eyes crinkling in the most beautiful sight. “Oh! It looks good, Harry!” She sounds surprised, relievingly so—like it had been weighing on her unnecessarily.

“It looks delicious, Y/N, thank you. Want some?” She nods eagerly. Harry can’t help but smile, gaze directed to the floor as he shakes his head and represses the urge to coo. She’s so cute. “See, since you made it for me, I should really make you beg for even a taste.”

“Wh—” Y/N huffs, “what? That’s not fair,” she pouts.

Harry sits back down with a steaming slice on a plate. Fork in hand, he cuts a sizable segment and purses his lips to blow cool air before presenting it to Y/N. “Be careful, s’hot.” She pretends not to notice his stare concentrating on the appearance of her tongue as she opens her mouth for him to guide the pie into. It is hot. But Y/N is a master of deception… or so she tries to be. Decides the twitch of her eye and the sharp inhale of breath is unnoticeable to Harry. “You burned your tongue?”

Never mind. 

Through a mouthful, Y/N goes, “No…” and chews the result of her hard work until she can swallow. “It’s nice,” she hums.

“Mm,” he agrees around his own bite. “Sweet little baker, you are.” Y/N buzzes from his praise. “Let me see.”

“Hm?”

“Your tongue, let me see.”

Y/N nearly laughs, but the look in his eyes stops her. A smugness that she’s used to by now. So she displays it for him, wet against her bottom lip. Harry inhales, a dismayed whistle sounding from his mouth. His thumb swipes along the side. “Very red. Told you t’be careful.”

She wants to grumble at him, complain about the unfairness of his statement. You fed it to me! It’s on the tip of her tongue. Her very red tongue, apparently. But she bites it back—because quite frankly, the middle of her thighs are still sending turbulent waves through her body and Harry’s patronising inspection of the inside of her mouth has pulled her back to the edge she’s tried so hard to scramble away from. The edge in which Harry only needs to look at her funny for her to topple over it.

“Poor thing,” he frowns. “I’ll have to kiss it better later.”

Y/N stares at him as he eats, opening her mouth obediently whenever he offers her another bite. His words, however teasing or condescending that they may be, float around in her skull like a DVD logo as she makes every effort not to slip into the palm of his hand.

ㅤㅤ

When Harry announces he’s off to shower and beckons Y/N to follow, she knows it can’t be good—whatever he is about to subject her to. He plays it off like it’s nothing, like it’s casual to leave the bathroom door open whilst he steps under the hot spray, completely naked. And maybe it is… to people that aren’t Y/N, but she knows Harry is trying to embed his way under her skin. That’s why he tells her to wait for him on his bed.

She doesn’t snoop, although she wants to, but it would be a violation of his privacy and who was Y/N if she wasn’t good? She doesn’t look into the bathroom either, despite not being able to see a thing through the gap (closer to a chasm) he’d left open. Was he trying to tempt her? To corrupt the last shred of virtue in her body? Did he want her to go in there… strip down and join him? Or was he looking for an excuse to play rough with her skin again? Waiting for her to walk in so he could look down at her with conniving eyes and shake his head in disappointment. You filthy girl. Are you a pervert, Y/N? Who gave you permission to come in here and sneak a glance? You’re so naughty, darlin’.

Clammy fingers press into her cheeks, trying to will away the shame. She felt perverted just thinking those things. Which perhaps is a little silly of her, seeing as they’ve been as connected as two people can be on two separate occasions now but… maybe there’s an inkling of something there that Y/N doesn’t want to accept. That the coalescence of the humiliation and arousal means for an intense curling in her abdomen. That the longer she pictures Harry belittling her for being so dirty to peek at him at his most vulnerable, that the hotter her face gets and the further her thoughts stray from sanity.

Maybe she’s just wound up from this morning… or maybe Y/N likes it best when she’s treated like she’s just a stupid little girl. Her thighs squeeze. Stupid for hypothetically walking into the bathroom, stupid for baking a pie at three a.m., stupid for burning her tongue after Harry told her to be careful. She’s stupid—and she needs Harry to do everything for her. Maybe that’s it.

The water turns off. And Y/N can hear the swishing of a towel as Harry pulls it off the rack, the way it rubs over the droplets running rivulets down his shining skin, and then nothing. She hears nothing… but it hardly matters for very long because when Harry steps into his bedroom undeniably naked, Y/N is far from thinking about identifying sounds.

Her first urge is to look away—to provide some sort of privacy for the man in his own bedroom. But she forces herself to look into his eyes. This is the man who cherished her first time, who cared to speak in soft caresses and made the effort to take her on dates and cook her food. She didn’t need to look away, she was allowed to stare by this point. But it was still… heartstopping. Nudity was still novel to Y/N—she was, even now, fairly uncomfortable by her own, let alone someone else's, but God if Harry wasn’t the best example to study.

“Pervert,” Harry murmurs. Y/N blanches; she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. And now her eyes are fixed on his—any attempts at subtly trailing them down his body are strictly thwarted—and Harry is loving it. His perfectly square teeth digging into his pink bottom lip whilst he strolls his way over to his wardrobe. Y/N looks down for the moment she thinks he cannot see, only to realise there are mirrors inside of the doors and he can watch every movement of her eyeline. He turns. “You’re a little peeping Tom,” walking towards where Y/N sits at the end of the bed.

She has to look up at him (avoiding the sight of his cock that she is sure must be the only pretty one in existence) and he stares down at her. She hardly recognises the irony—that he’s the one parading around in the nude and it was hardly fair to call her out for simply observing that. Because then he’s moving forward again, and Y/N is shuffling backwards on the bed—inadvertently giving Harry enough room to climb on and pin her down. He glides his eyes over her still clothed body as though she’s as exposed as he is, and yet Y/N still doesn’t let her gaze drop. No matter how hard it is.

It isn’t hard. Yet. But she gasps at the feeling of Harry against her thigh—soft, and lingering, and most of all… promising.

“How would you like it if I scrutinised you?” His hands tease her waist. “You’d be squirming all over the place. Perhaps you’d enjoy that.” His fingers dig into her flesh and Y/N lets out somewhat of a scream. The unexpected prodding has her body twisting under his, desperate to escape his digits and proving his point in the process. Her hands push against his chest and her thighs wiggle between his; she’s surely not imagining the hardening of his dick against her. The arousal he’s receiving from watching her struggle… it makes her move even more. And maybe it’s simply an accident when her hand slips down his body and wraps around his half-hard cock. And maybe it’s just reflexive when Y/N giggles, a happy, surprised noise, at the stuttering of Harry’s tickling and the little rut of his hips. But then her arms are pinned down beside her head and his breath is ghosting across her mouth. “Who told you it was okay to touch? I thought you were an obedient little thing… not a brat.”

And Y/N nearly feels offended. A brat? Never. “Sorry,” she whispers, eyes shimmering with light.

“Are you?” Harry hums, dropping enough to draw his nose across the line of her jaw.

“Yes,” her eyes flutter closed. She needs to be touched, more than ever before. She can feel the increasing weight of Harry growing against her stomach, and the heat of his breath kissing her neck, and the wet tendrils of his hair dripping down her temple. “Not a brat.” He’s won already, if the breathiness of her voice is anything to go by.

He sits up, leaving cold air in his absence. Y/N blinks with confusion. Why’d he stop?

“Okay, little miss ‘Not a Brat’, up y’get.” She sits, frown on her pretty lips. “Your turn, off y’go.” Harry points to the bathroom. “There’s a clean towel in there for you,” Y/N could cry, “and I’ll lay your clothes out when you’re done.”

She doesn’t argue. She wants to, but her eyes only round out, silent begging getting her nowhere as Harry smiles and leans down to kiss her brow. So saccharine and gentle after being so cruel. It drives her round the bend. But as she makes her way over to the door and makes sure to shut and lock it—her own little victory—Y/N starts looking forward to lathering herself in Harry’s smell… and maybe memorising which shower gel he uses so she can buy some herself…

It’s with false confidence that Y/N exits the bathroom, towel gripped tightly around her but not tight enough to suggest shyness. Even though Harry can see right through her. He’d said he’d lay her clothes out but all she sees is a dress hanging up on the door of his wardrobe, and Harry sitting back against his pillows—dressed in his corduroy shorts and a blue t-shirt with a big yellow smiley face in the centre—nursing a cup of tea.

“Uh— is that…” she starts, eyes struggling to look away from the delicate fabric.

“Mhm,” Harry hums.

“How did you… how did you know my size?”

“I’m observant, sweetheart.”

“I… Thank you, Harry. It’s so pretty.” And it is. Dark green with an intricate décolletage and no back, thin straps and two lines of fabric hanging down behind ready to be tied into a bow that rests just under the ribs. It looks as though it’ll hang mid thigh and swish against her skin airily. It’s exactly something Y/N would have picked out herself.

He’s looking at her when he hums once more in agreement. “Isn’t it just…” He takes a long gulp. “Pop it on then, love.” Y/N reaches out to grab the hanger, eyes roaming along the lines of the dress and then floating up to smile at Harry. Hesitant, worried she doesn’t deserve it and elated at the same time. “G’na drop your towel?” He grins.

And sure, maybe Y/N was more than happy to admire a naked Harry but that doesn’t mean he’d be lucky enough to see her in the same position. Shameless eyes roving across her curves and searing her skin in the process. So she shakes her head with flaming cheeks and quickly bolts back into the bathroom to the sound of Harry’s disbelieving chuckle.

It’s snug to her body, and something about knowing that Harry had browsed through clothes with her in mind, had seen this very one and decided it was perfect, makes it all the prettier on Y/N’s body. She giggles to herself, admiring the dress against her skin, and angling her body in the mirror to get a better look.

She was pretty and she believed it. It felt nice.

Save for the glaringly obvious breeze in between her thighs.

“Harry…” she calls as she opens the door. “Can you tie me up?”

He smiles, choosing to ignore the versatility of her question in favour of drinking in the sight before him. A Goddess, he’s sure. “You’re just lovely, aren’t you?” Y/N’s face blossoms, shy smile fighting to stay and claim its place. Her eyes crinkle and her irises brighten and the laugh that echoes around the room makes Harry’s chest hurt. “Turn around.”

He wishes bows were notoriously difficult to tie—so that he would be able to spend much longer brushing his fingers against the exposed skin of her back and tracing his gaze over the hair that rises on her arms from his touch alone. His hands close around her hips once he’s finished, as he bends down to press a kiss to her shoulder, stubble scratching her in a way that’s all too familiar.

She exhales, “You ripped my underwear,” and feels him smile into her skin.

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” Warm palms squeeze, bunching the material around his fingers. “At any moment… a breeze could just…” he flips the hem of her dress up and over her ass, “expose...” Y/N squeals, trying to step forward but Harry’s heavy grip has her thumping into his front with a loud exhalation of breath and smaller hands falling on top of his. The material of his shorts is rough against her flesh, but she wants to grind back against it despite the fact. Harry’s hard chest pressing into her back and his deep breaths fluttering over her shoulder has any attempts at escaping evaporating into the air before them. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He whispers, face turning into her cheek as he pushes into her behind gently.

“N-no,” Y/N shakes her head as it lolls back slightly to rest against him.

“Well… let’s hope the wind doesn’t pick up,” and he’s stepping away from her, grinning at her little stumble when the sturdiness of him is gone.

“What?”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? I was thinking we’d go for a little walk.” Y/N turns, fingers coming down to pull her dress tight against her thighs. Harry looks at her with no remorse—like her flustered expression and the clear want in her eyes means nothing to him. His tongue darts out to lick his lips; weapons as far as Y/N is concerned. “Grab your shoes,” he nods and Y/N follows his gaze to the top of the wardrobe… conveniently out of her reach. And not where she had left them the day before.

“You—” she narrows her eyes. He’s the pervert. “I can’t!”

“Try.” A cunning smile.

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest—which only serves to push her adorned breasts up—so she drops them with a huff and stomps over to make a fool out of herself, she’s sure. She stands on her toes, ignoring the cool air on the tops of her thighs. Whether Harry may or may not be watching the hem tease the underside of her bum is none of her concern, quite frankly. That sounds like a him problem. Her fingers stretch out as far as they can go and she’s a fraction of a hair’s length away. Maybe she could reach them if she jumped but there’s no way her modesty would stay hidden and Y/N refuses to let him win.

“Can’t reach,” she pouts, somewhat satisfied that Harry didn’t get the full eyeful he was clearly looking for. But it seems that Harry finds a way to win even when he’s losing, because he steps up to her, smooths a big palm over the top of her head and says as though it's the most casual thing in the world…

“That’s okay, let Daddy get it,” as he plucks her shoes down without the slightest hint of a stretch.

Y/N’s mouth falls open and her brain goes silent for a split second. Let Daddy get it. Surely she didn’t like that… did she? But he doesn’t even let her question it, because he’s telling her to put her shoes on and meet him downstairs, before walking out of his room and leaving an astounded Y/N on her own.

ㅤㅤ

Flowers are fucking pointless, right? What purpose do they serve, other than looking pretty? Y/N thinks she might just pick the next petals she sees right off their stems.

Sure. Maybe they're crucial to the welfare of bees, and maybe they’re very important in the cheering up of a person after a long, hard day—or even just as a silent way of apologising to your nan for your lack of visits… but Y/N doesn’t care. She does not care. Fuck walks, fuck flowers, and fuck Harry’s fingers twining with hers. Even though they feel really, really nice. Y/N can’t take it anymore.

The wind, thankfully, stays at a very enjoyable speed. Light and breezy; nothing that may cause frantic hands to fly to her dress to hold it down after a shocking gust. And whilst Harry may have alluded to the fact that her indecent exposure was some source of amusement for him, he too is relieved that he’s not had to do any emergency fixes.

Quite surprisingly, actually, Harry has turned off all allure. Literally. As though he has a switch on the back of his head that flicks from sultry to sweet. The moment the pair had reached a road, he’d been alert—insistent on Y/N switching with him to be furthest away from the onslaught of cars. It was… thoughtful. Unexpected, somewhat, when the whole Daddy thing was still going round… and round… and round inside of her head. She hadn’t really been paying much attention to his soft murmurs, asking her to change sides with him as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Perhaps she was further gone than she realised, when all she could do was nod with a sort of lag, and only meet his eyes for a second before she caught the look of an incoming pram—weighed down by the peaceful sight of a sleeping baby.

If Harry notices then he doesn’t say anything—perhaps his hand tightens around hers and he walks a little closer than necessary—but he doesn’t mention her mood or his.

He buys her ice cream and walks them to a public park in which he prompts her to sit on the verdant grass and props his sunglasses on her nose. He pulls her calves across his lap and watches goosebumps follow in the wake of his soft fingertips and the bumps of his knuckles as he caresses her skin. He kisses her chin where a melty drop paints her, licking his lips with a smile that scrunches his eyes. He behaves appropriately and yet… Y/N suddenly wants to have very public sex. He calls her a messy girl in the most innocent of lilts but the insinuation, the different sort of mess that she starts picturing—the very same colour of the frozen treat she is licking.

Y/N’s eyes are absent, the pair are hardly talking to one another, and her legs buzz with every touch of Harry’s hands against them. Her answers are reduced to halfhearted hums and gradual nods all while he watches her with a fond regard.

She can’t be blamed—when the closing of his front door prompts the last of her composure to disintegrate; to fall apart at the seams and land in a frail mess on the floor. Y/N wants to join it more than anything. “Please…” a whisper falls from her bitten lips, too quiet to make out the word but the noise is carried. Harry’s hand meets the small of her back and then brushes up to smooth over her shoulder as he lifts her chin up with his index finger.

“What is it?” His brows pull together. Y/N can’t speak. Her focus dances from left to right—rapid movements—unspoken urgency. “You need to tell me… with your words, no matter how pretty your eyes look.” Smaller, nervous palms push into his stomach. Knees bend and meet hard floor. Harry’s fingers tangle into her hair, gripping but not tugging—holding her head at an angle. “This isn’t talking, darling. What are you trying to do down there?”

Y/N cups the backs of his knees, hardly registering the sarcasm that drips from his tongue. “Harry…”

“Is it?” A little yank against her scalp.

“Sir,” she tries again around a swallow. “Please can I…” her hand flattens to the front of his thigh, fingertips brushing the locked teeth of his zipper. “Can I?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to,” he hums, warm voice forcing her deeper into the plunge pool filled with honeyed tones and twining brunette tendrils. “I thought you liked to specify.”

She shuffles closer on her knees, hardly possible to do without nosing his shorts. “Can I suck your cock, Sir?”

Harry breaks out into a smile—his teeth appear in straight, pearly lines—stuttering Y/N’s train of thought; her exhale hitting his skin. And then the hand in her hair tightens, and his jaw clenches as his words harden. “May I.”

Y/N gasps at the sensation, blink overcoming her as her head is jolted from the weight of his hand. “May I?” She urges. “May I suck your cock, Sir?”

“Hm, better,” his grip loosens, other hand lifting to thumb over her brow. “Not perfect. What are you missing?”

“Please?” When Harry nods, Y/N’s hand digs into his thigh. “Please may I suck your cock, sir?”

“That’s nice,” he smiles. “How much do you want it, hm?”

Y/N’s brows twitch, lips forming a sad curve. She wants it so much. Too much to be able to coherently express it. So she leans forward, nose finally meeting his thigh—pressing up on her knees to reach where a slight bump is forming and letting her face push into his covered skin. His thickening bulge.

Harry sighs; his lungs forcibly deflating as Y/N’s warm air saturates through the corduroy. Her nose nudges around as she nestles into his crotch, delicate hands scratching the backs of his thighs. A muffled please reaches his ears, quiet but desperate. He’s a patient man—he really is—but his tolerance is being tested.

The fingers in her hair untangle, moving to hold the back of her head and push her further into him. His hips move of their own accord, suffocating Y/N with his hardening cock. She deserves it; she deserves everything. He knows that—but it had been too fun to tease… to watch her silently struggle all afternoon. To know that the spanking he’d delivered earlier this morning had stayed with her all day. He already knew they could hardly count as a punishment… not when she mollified into his mattress after the first smack. But he’d been cruel today. And now Y/N was desperate.

“Go ahead ‘n’ unzip me, love.” The eyes that greet him make Harry want to get down on his knees himself. Wide, glistening, one step away from filling with tears. Her face relaxes with an almost-smile as she tugs his zipper down, looking back up to him with a hopeful expression. “Oh, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He slides his hand into the hair behind her ear, firm grip grounding Y/N, and takes himself out for her.

Y/N unfolds her tongue for Harry like it’s a red carpet—like it’s been awaiting his cock all day. His fingers wrap around himself in firm strokes, eyes stuck to hers. They’re slow motions, hips jutting forward to smear across her tongue and then pulling back to rub her spit into his head. Groans settle in his chest but all that comes out are quiet breaths. Too quiet, if you were to ask Y/N. But the harder he gets, the louder too, and those breaths become pants when Harry slaps his cock on her open mouth.

“Look at that, you’re so sweet—so eager to please.” He can tell she wants to close her mouth around him. She gets another thud against her tongue instead. And then a smear as Harry guides the tip of his cock along the plush of her lips. “So please me, baby.”

Y/N lags a little, like she’s just become shy again, and then she slips forward just enough to take the head. Her slick lips wrap around him like a dream, pulling back just to run her tongue around the mushroom tip. Her blueberry-pie-burnt-tongue. Slender fingers massage the side of her scalp, thumb stretching to stroke her cheekbone. 

Harry grips himself, “Hands behind your back, f’me, there you go.” She suckles the tip, anticipating eyes saying more than words could even try to articulate. Y/N’s posture slouches some, arms pressing into her back serving to be much too heavy in her state. “Sit up straight.” Because it’s not ladylike to slouch but it is to suck cock. She listens, taking Harry deeper into her mouth in the process. But he pulls back to push into the side of her cheek. “Pretty,” he swipes his thumb back and forth over the bump.

Y/N’s face twists into a frown, pulling against the resistance of his big hand and off his cock. “I thought…” she breathes in a deep breath, “Please let me. Let me…”

“Why do you want to suck my cock so bad, huh?” 

He has an idea. He’s not dim—he knows there are probably floods of thoughts swimming against the tide in her little head. That’s just the way Y/N exists; constantly battling her own mind. And Harry had somewhat decided, earlier that day, that he would go searching for all her buttons. That he would learn her tells as soon as possible in order to keep things smooth sailing. 

Of course, learning where someone’s buttons are also means they must be pressed… all at once… and not switched off. Harry isn’t punishing her, per say—he regards it as more of a necessary evil. A process that cannot be ignored.

Y/N certainly isn’t ignoring it. Or she isn’t now. He was impressed with her, in ways. Those sweet attempts at concealing all feeling; at pretending she wasn’t pulsating between the centre of her thighs. Perhaps in order to keep him happy, or to win the silent war they were waging—he’s unsure as of yet. But he’ll find out.

However (and this is precisely why Harry felt the need to do all this) he’s somewhat perturbed by Y/N’s lack of vocalisation of her emotions. Communication, Harry feels, is the most important thing in any sort of relationship. He’s urged her, although perhaps not enough, to tell him how she feels—no matter if he is the one causing those feelings. In fact, that means for even more of a reason to let him know. So that he can make it better. There’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that if Y/N had asked at breakfast to make the ache go away, he would’ve sunk to his knees. And then rewarded her even further just for telling him.

But now they’re here. And Y/N is crumbling, and desperate, and beautiful. Harry squeezes himself, once, twice, around the base of his cock before jutting his hips out just enough to rest the length of him atop of her cheek—and then some. He’s long, and thick, and the pretty girl on the floor for him barely competes for size.

“Hm?” He nudges.

“I wanna make you feel good,” she insists—and Harry doesn’t think she’s lying on purpose… But by omission, maybe. “Sir.” She tacks it on in haste, like the two seconds in which she hadn’t uttered the honourific would result in cruel and unusual punishment.

“Y’want to make me feel good? I see. Even after all my teasing today? You still want to put those pretty lips around me.” The contrast between his cock on her face and the light, scratching strokes he’s giving her head is mind boggling. When she nods, his tip threatens to poke her in the eye. “I’m going to give you… one chance to tell me what you’re actually thinking. Or else I’ll put m’self away and carry on ignoring you.” He doesn’t know if he hallucinates the increasing warmth of her face underneath him.

“Thought if I made you happy… you’d… you’d be pleased with me,” her eyes struggle to maintain contact with his. “And… and make me… y’know...”

“Hm, make you a nice dinner? Make you laugh all bright and bubbly? Make you—”

“Make me come!”

“Ohhh,” he smiles, “how silly of me.” He’s incorrigible. “Well let’s see then, shall we? If you can be a good girl and make me happy.”

She moves her head, mouth open and awaiting. Harry doesn’t tease her anymore—he gathers her hair in both hands, pulls it all away from her face whilst maintaining a controlling grip, and lets her do as she pleases. It’s perfectly imperfect, the way she delicately kisses up his shaft like it’s just been cruelly treated. Her hands stay unusable behind her back and her sultry mouth struggles to know what to do first. He can see the way she wishes she could do everything at once. Kiss him, tongue him, suck him. Harry thinks she could simply breathe on him and he’d feel good.

Y/N falls into a rhythm, soft eyelids closing in contentment as her mouth works around him. Head moving back and forth, slowly but attentively. She rubs her tongue on the underneath of his cock as she takes him, each retreat of her lips sucking tantalisingly. And when she manages to look up at him for just a second, Harry can’t help the quirk of his lips and the twitch of his dick as he mutters praise through quickly thickening fog. She buzzes with it, pushing herself further onto him until she stills in an attempt to adapt to the constricting weight nudging at her throat. When her breaths start to hit Harry harshly, he curls his fingers in her hair and urges her off of him.

“I’m plenty happy enough, my darlin’,” he shakes his head, “don’t choke yourself. We’ll do that another time.” And his words are breathy, sure evidence that he is happy, but Y/N doesn’t feel satisfied. She wants to see his tummy quivering underneath his t-shirt, wants to hear him pant, and groan, and lose all semblance of himself. She moans around him, at the promise of him filling her throat, at the sight of his glowing face and dishevelled hair. And then she speeds up. She feels the saliva collecting in her mouth and she lets it cover him—she moves her head in urgent bobs and digs her nails into her palm when Harry grunts.

“Oh, fuck,” he looks down at the shine she’s leaving behind around him. “Sweet little thing’s got a filthy mouth.” Spit drips down her chin and he thumbs it away, wiping it on his shorts. It makes her go even faster. “Good girl—shit. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Y/N whines around him, eyebrows dipping in delight from his words alone. Her core is numbing, sure she must’ve dripped onto the floor and yet she doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. Not when all she can think about is making Harry come.

But he’s mean. He says, “You’ll get up then, won’t you?” voice lilting.

What? “Mm-mm,” she shakes her head, disgruntled that he’d even suggest it, and pushing further down his cock in retaliation.

“No? But I thought you were a good girl. Good girls listen. So listen to me… and get up.” He drags her off by the hands in her hair, feeling smug when she gasps down multitudes of air. She’s annoyed—swollen, slick lips pouting—no aversions to showing how she truly feels now. “Don’t look so sad,” he mimics her pout, fingers squeezing her cheeks together as she stands on wobbly legs. Then he kisses her rumpled lips, tastes himself and her saliva and rubs his tongue on hers. Bless her heart, she keeps her arms behind her, melting into Harry’s grasp and forgetting all about her own limbs. His grip finds her waist, tugging her up his body and coaxing her thighs to wrap around him. He hums against her lips, content to feel her pressing into him… then her dress rides up and… oh—

“You poor thing,” Harry gasps, when his prick nudges very soft, very wet skin. “Just dripping and you didn’t say a word. Is that very sweet or very selfish?” Y/N can only whimper as their flesh meets. “You’re not selfish, are you, baby?”

“No.” She shakes her head vehemently, hands finally moving of their own accord and sitting on Harry’s shoulders.

He exhales a humoured breath through his nose. “Ah well, you see, I consider myself to be rather selfish. I want things. Do you… want things, Y/N?”

“Yes,” fingers sliding into curls, “want you. Please, Sir, want you.”

He can feel the heat of her pussy. All he’d need to do is nudge his hips forward… “Why didn’t you ask me earlier, hm? See how easy that was? S’all you needed to do was ask.” Y/N nods, apology on the tip of her tongue, but Harry kisses her again before she can talk. And then he’s moving—taking her somewhere—she’s unsure where. It doesn’t matter. She hears the rubber soles of his shoes against the floor, a door sliding open, the chirps of a bird from nearby. And then she feels the soft cushion of a chair as she is placed down upon it.

Y/N opens her eyes, reluctantly, as she hears Harry zipping himself back up. She curves her lips downwards as she leans back, expecting to feel a support, but she falls. Not far. The chair seems to be of the reclining sort, and Y/N’s back moulds into the soft fabric. Harry smiles… and then he’s digging his fingers into the supple flesh of her thighs, pulling her down towards him, and flipping her over. Y/N squeals, palms pressing down to push herself up.

“Hips up,” he swats her thigh, “back arched, good girl. Relax your arms, put ‘em out in front of you.” She focuses on the sight of a pool out of the peripheral of her vision, crystal clear water, pretty bushes, a coffee table under an awning—trying to keep her heart steady as Harry flips her dress up. There’s no hiding now. She’s completely bare and he can see everything. Y/N hides her face in her arms at the feeling of the breeze against her. That breeze becomes warmer, and more pointed, and suddenly it meets her directly—the swipe of a tongue through strings of slick. She jolts forward but Harry tugs her right back, kneeling at the end of the recliner with his face mere centimetres away from her swollen sex. “Don’t move. Don’t try and run away from me unless you want to play like this morning.” Y/N makes a little noise—it’s forced from her lungs, really, at the reminder of the heat his hands left behind. So she tries something, just a little something… she moves. She twitches her hips forward so slightly, he shouldn’t have noticed. But it’s Harry. And he knows that she wants to play like this morning very much.

So he smacks her. Hard. Right in the middle of her left cheek. Something akin to a choked squawk leaves her mouth and she jumps forward once again. So he hits her other cheek, “Stop,” again, “moving,” and again.

“Harry!” Y/N gasps—half moan, half cry. It burns deliciously.

“Keep still for me. I want to eat this pretty cunt,” he breaths over her, taking her in. “You remember your Yellow and Red, yes?” He looks up the expanse of her back.

“Yes—Sir,” Y/N forces out, lungs going at a rapid rate. Every word is a struggle.

“Good girl.”

And then he devours her.

Y/N is grateful he put something soft beneath her, because she struggles not to flatten out immediately. Despite the possessive grip Harry displays over her waist and on her thigh. She’s at the halfway point—of still feeling scrutinised and losing all inhibitions. Embarrassment being a turn on surely makes that line a little silly to place herself upon. But she forgets her thought process entirely with Harry’s tongue flicking between her legs. He’d gone straight in, initially, mouth meeting her centre with no motive other than to taste and to feel her on his lips. He kisses her—as much as one can there—open mouthed and impassioned, trailing from left to right over her thighs… then up to her ass that to Y/N’s curious horror he spreads, coming close but never right where she wanted him. 

Did she though? Want him there? The thought has never crossed her mind before but the closer he gets the more her hips shift. But Harry only kisses the skin of her round flesh, moving back down to spread her lips and take a good look at her. The moment of waiting feels like years to Y/N. Years of being pulled apart and stared at like she is tied to a pedestal. Then he hums, deep from within his chest, and sucks her clit into his mouth. She lets out a long, pitiful moan, face dropping to the cushion with a thud. Her body must be moving—shaking or twitching—but she can’t tell. Not when Harry is holding her thighs with his thumbs still spreading her open, and switching between pulling her into his mouth and smoothing his tongue over her. In languid motions that start to unravel Y/N incredibly quickly.

He stays slow—which is something she envies, really—the ability to heighten an orgasm by dragging it out. Y/N always finds, and she’s not the best at masturbating anyway, that in the midst of the pleasure she speeds up her hands with the incoming sense of her climax. And it never feels completely satiating. But Harry… of course he knows what he’s doing better than her. But God, does he prove it. It builds so steadily; the pleasure elongated and intensified as Y/N grapples with her hands to find any sort of grounding. She pushes up, and then falls back down. She stretches her arms out, and then pulls them back to her chest. It’s a restless kind of pleasure—it’s disabling and wonderful and shattering and—

Harry pulls away. The sensation is so jarring that Y/N forgets all semblance of the concept of composure. She cries out and turns herself over. Her brows furrow so hard she’ll surely induce a headache and her wet mouth is open in the most betrayed of gapes.

“Please,” she reaches forward. For Harry who stays kneeling. He cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Were you about to come?”

Y/N could roll her eyes. “Yes! Please, please make me come.” Her hand falls down against the cushion fruitlessly.

Harry pushes up higher on his knees, caressing palms smoothing up her calves until they reach her thighs and sling them over each of his shoulders. Y/N’s head falls back with relief. But he reaches up and grabs her face, angling her head upright so that he can slide two fingers into her mouth. She whimpers in surprise, heat rushing all around her body. His index and little finger rest on either side of her face as he strokes her tongue in depraved motions, sliding over the expanse of the wet muscle.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Pleathe,” Y/N begs… except she doesn’t really because the word comes out garbled and unintelligible. But Harry smiles.

“Hm?”

“Pleathe!”

Then he slaps her thigh and Y/N yelps around his fingers. “Please what?”

“Thir.” Her eyes clear a little as she tries to inhale. “Pleathe make me come, thir.”

No matter that it’s near impossible to identify her words, Harry is pleased. He pulls his hand away to let her take a few deep breaths, and then he’s coaxing them back in with a little grin. Y/N seems eager for them, tongue laying down for his fingers. “That’s better.” And then she bites them. Not hard, but her teeth press into the skin enough to indent as Harry’s mouth meets her slick centre once again. He keeps his eyes focused on hers and his tongue on her clit—flattening out to collect her arousal from her messy entrance before smearing it over her sensitive button and building her back up agonisingly slowly. She climbs higher and he pulls back, teeth sinking into the inside of her thigh and lips trailing her wetness everywhere, stubble scratching her in a lusciously painful way. His palm stays flattened to her hip, holding her firmly to his face. Until he leans back just enough to purse his lips and drip saliva down onto her shiny pussy. Y/N gasps around his fingers and Harry smirks into her skin as he presses his face back into her, eyes never wavering from hers. 

It builds up much quicker now, regardless of the excruciating pace that Harry sets. She tightens up, body desperate as her pelvis lifts up into his mouth. “Pleathe!” Y/N’s eyes clench shut. “Pleathe let me come, thir.” Harry smiles at her incoherent speech and doesn’t stop. He hums instead, long and deep, vibrations tingling through his face and her cunt. Y/N’s harsh breaths hit his knuckles, shallow from her nose. Her hands find his wrist, clinging on as Harry nods into her—not pulling away for a second. 

“Ah!—ah—ah,” tiny noises are all she can muster as her eyes beg Harry not to stop and her orgasm dangles her over the edge. Just a bit more… a bit more… don’t stop. Her thighs tighten around his head and Harry moans, grateful to be crushed by such beauty. And if Y/N could speak she’d be more than grateful—she’d be at his feet, she’d pledge to make him happy forever. As long as she came.

And all it takes is one more long hum, fizzling through her clit. Her nails dig into his wrist and her hips surely lift up enough to suffocate him as her orgasm rips through her. It’s blinding…and stilling; Y/N can neither see nor move for five paralysing seconds. Then the sounds seep past Harry’s fingers and her pelvis starts to shake, and the lack of satiating inhalation proves to make her lightheaded. She tugs at his hand to pull it out of her mouth, drowning her lungs in oxygen when Harry complies. But she’s high, head throwing back against the cushion and eyes falling shut as her chest heaves and her body tingles. Y/N misses the way Harry moves his spit-slicked hand down to her puffy core, lips pulled away to give some semblance of respite… until he pushes his two middle fingers into her and curls.

“Oh!” She jolts upright. “No, Harry, I—” her words fall away. The pressure is consuming as his digits press into her, forcing this unprecedented, extended pleasure out of her. And it’s good but… Y/N’s certain she’ll pass out if he takes anymore from her, “—need—a moment,” her back arches and her hands finally search for him. To push away or pull him closer, she is unsure.

Harry retracts his fingers, leaving a kiss to Y/N’s stomach as he gently places her feet flat on the lounger. “Yeah? That’s okay.” The skirt of her dress sits under her ribs and Harry traces the line of skin underneath with the pad of his thumb. “Was that a lot?”

“Mhm,” she nods, struggling to peel her eyelids open for long enough to look down at him. Who slowly stands and lifts her calves to rest across his lap as he seats himself at the foot of the recliner.

“G’na let me fuck you or do you want to stop?” He asks it so casually, as though they’re in the line at the supermarket and he’s offering to let her go before him. The centre of her legs is buzzing—she’s messy and can feel sweat gathering underneath her arms—but she wants more. She wants his pleasure now.

Y/N nods. “Your turn.”

He smiles, “My turn to be eaten out? I wouldn’t say no.” She giggles but it’s to mask a gasp as her eyes widen and her stomach fills with heat. “Let me go grab a condom,” his delicate touches form goosebumps along her arms whilst she nods dumbly. 

The urge to cover her face with her hands and laugh is strong. She doesn’t. She presses her lips together instead, hard enough to feel her teeth indenting from the inside, as she watches the wind create ripples in the swimming pool before her. Y/N pulls her dress over her thighs; to tease Harry or herself, she’s not certain but it feels mischievous to do either way. To force him to rediscover the treasure between her legs. To make herself desirable once more. 

Not that she doesn’t feel desirable. In the afterglow of her orgasm, Y/N’s sure she’s never felt as pretty—practically glowing and all pliant on Harry’s sun lounger. But if hiding the place Harry wants to see most, makes him lose a little composure? She smiles harder at the thought. 

ㅤㅤ

His shirt is missing when he comes back, revealing the hard plains of skin and muscle that Y/N would spend hours tracing if she could. The broad of his shoulders, dusted in delicate freckles—contrasted by the full of his pecs and the stone ridges of his abs that soften into plush hips that beg to withhold the indentations of fingertips. It’s all radiant to Y/N. The sunlight paints the shadows of leaves onto his front as he makes his way back to her. His shorts are considerably tight, tenting obviously. She struggles not to stare. Especially because she knows what's underneath… and wants nothing more than to consume him again.

He looks cheeky, hands behind his back (Y/N truly hasn’t noticed because his arms bulge with the strain and any observation skills she may have possessed become completely redundant at the sight of his thick biceps) whilst he smiles at her reclining body. He stops to the side of her. “I’ve got something for you.”

Y/N looks up at him, eyes curious. “Oh. What is it?”

Harry drops a velvet baggy into her lap, watching with an attentive gaze as she loosens the drawstrings hesitantly. “It’s small and unassuming, yeah?”

A bullet vibrator. “I’ve never used one before,” she admits, cheeks hot and heartbeat racing.

“That’s not on, is it, love? You g’na hold this right here f’me?” He takes it from her and sneaks under her dress, tapping once where it's sensitive. She jolts. “Right over your pretty clit whilst I fuck you?”

She nods, mewl lodged in her throat. “Thank—thank you… Sir.”

A deep hum and a kiss to her head before he says, “Go on then, show me,” kneeling onto the end of the recliner, palms smoothing up her thighs to push the encroaching fabric out of the way. Y/N lets him put the vibrator in her hand, his eyes kind despite the excitement coursing through his veins. She thinks for a second—difficult under normal circumstances but even harder now—and brings the small cylinder to her mouth, pushing the rounded tip past her lips and forcing her stare not to wander from Harry’s. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, all gentle smiles and easy eyes dripping into molten liquid. His pupils blossom and his fingers stop their trailing across her skin as Y/N slicks the vibrator up with her tongue.

It’s overwhelming; the tremors that hit her oversensitive bundle of nerves. She pulls it away as soon as she turns it on, a loud gasp sounding out around them. “Can’t,” Y/N shakes her head.

“Yes, you can, baby. For me.” It’s likely she would do anything as long as Harry asked she do it for him. He unzips his shorts, pushing them down his thighs along with his briefs, thick hardness begging for attention. He’s a harsh blushing colour, and veins stand out against the taut skin, pearls of precome shining from the slit and coating the head deliciously. Y/N feels herself clench around nothing, the weight of the calm vibrator suddenly a very welcome sensation. Harry pulls a condom out of the pocket of his shorts and rolls it on. “Turn it on,” he demands, rubbing the thick mushroom tip of his cock around her entrance, smearing arousal. 

She takes a deep breath, eyes cast downwards to the sight of Harry pushing himself in just past the opening and pulling out. In and out. In and out. Teasing. Torturing. Y/N switches the vibrator on, immediately writhing under the overstimulation, just as Harry rocks in to the hilt—hips meeting and breaths mingling when he bends over her body. Strong hands grip the underside of her knees, folding them to her chest and granting the most stimulating of angles.

Her grip on the bullet is weak, unable to maintain placement as it slips down to press into Harry’s shaft as he thrusts into her slow and hard. He groans from the sensation before gripping her wrist and tugging up—back directly on her clit. Y/N moans, head shaking and hips squirming, but Harry only digs his fingers into her thighs and pushes them further into her chest.

“You’re so—fuck—so wet, darlin’. Can’t fuck you or I’ll slip out,” he grunts, pulling out to the tip painfully slowly before skin slaps as he fills her back up heavily. It expels all the air out of Y/N’s lungs, his every thrust jolting her entire body. “Clench f’me. Hold me in, baby.”

Y/N mewls, tightening her pelvic floor and making Harry groan out as he smears his mouth over hers. She doesn’t know what to focus on. His lips scattering tingles all over her face, the harsh buzzing of the vibrator on her clit, the vast span of his fingers indenting her skin, or the heavy thrusts of his cock into her tightness. Over, and over, and over again. She moans into his mouth, crying out as he speeds up. His palm slips over the bottom of her stomach and presses down in search of something.

He pounds into her harder when he feels it. “In your tummy. So fucking deep inside you, pretty girl.” Y/N can’t speak, she can’t do anything but whine out helplessly as Harry pushes his palm into the bulge he’s swelling. Her orgasm starts to build—the convulsing sensitivity of her clit has surpassed to a near numbness—she knows she won’t be able to come again after this. But as she looks down and Harry moves his hand for her to see each thrust, Y/N throws her head back.

“Come all over my cock, baby. Squeeze me so hard I see stars.”

And she’s convulsing, vibrator falling away from the immense sensation of it all—chest heaving, fingers reaching out to dig into Harry’s biceps as she shatters around him. “Harry! Thank you—thank you—th— thank you.” Tears slip out of her tightly shut eyes, wet lips hanging open as her arms grow numb and they fall atop her ribs.

He’s grunting, low and gravelly, curls falling over his forehead like cascading waterfalls of chocolate. His hips don’t falter as he gathers her into his bulging arms. Y/N’s still twitching from the aftershocks when he stands up, fingers splaying on her ass and encouraging her legs to wrap around him. The vibrator stays buzzing on the sun lounger, falling on deaf ears as Y/N clings on and Harry fucks up into her. If she hadn’t just come she’s sure his display of strength would have her drooling.

And she’s close to drooling now. Involuntarily from the pace in which he sets, forcing her to grip onto his shoulders. She smooths the backs of her arms over them, shaking fingers weaving into the hair on the back of his head. 

Harry is relentless. “Good girl. Such a good girl. You take it so well. I’m so proud of you.” She keens into his throat, tired smile stretching against his neck. The words warm her. 

I’m so proud of you. 

She’s elated, she’ll never ask for anything ever again… But she wants one more thing. 

“Come in my mouth, Sir.” Her voice tickles against his ear. So shy, so unsure. Harry’s knees nearly buckle.

“Is that a demand, little one?” Fuck, he’d give it to her even if it was.

“Please?” His hips snap up harder, their skin is slapping and sticking, and their bodies are going numb.

“You want me coating your tongue, yeah? You w’na swallow me?”

“Yes, Sir,” she nods desperately. 

Harry pulls her off him, setting her down onto the hard floor as gently as his sex-muddled brain can offer. He tugs the condom off, shoving it into a pocket of the shorts he never managed to take off. Y/N opens her mouth obediently, her tired eyes fighting to stay open and watch Harry’s frantic strokes. His head thrown back, jaw sharp and veins in his neck jumping—she’d be a fool not to look.

“God, want you here forever. On your knees f’me,” he looks down at her glowing, sweating skin. “Want to keep you,” his voice trails off into a moan, shuffling forward so the leaking head rests on her tongue as he tugs his length. “Will you let me keep you, Y/N?” She nods, tongue moving on the underside of him. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

It’s her eyes that get him. Big and pleading. Like the only thing she’s ever wanted in her entire existence is for him to come for her. In her mouth. Her eyes… and maybe her tits too. When she pulls the pretty décolletage of her dress down to free them and holds the underside as if to display them for Harry. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he whimpers, leaning forward to spurt thick streaks onto the back of her tongue and watch it drip down. His other hand shoots out to hold the top of her head, strokes slowing and becoming little ruts of his hips when it all becomes too sensitive.

Y/N kneels there for him, mouth open, come painting her tongue. It’s only when he thumps his softening cock against the mess he’s left that she pulls back, making a show of swallowing it all. He’s spent but the sight is one to behold. She smiles shyly up at him, so clearly overjoyed. “Thank you, Sir.”

ㅤㅤ

During their shower, he asks her an important question.

“Was there anything I did to you that you didn’t like?”

Y/N is nearly a deadweight in his arms—so exhausted, so sweet—as she blinks up at him. “Hm?”

Harry smiles. “Did I push your boundaries at all today?”

She nuzzles into his chest, shaking her head, as they stand under the hot stream. “No, Sir.”

“You liked the vibrator?” Harry drags his soapy nails across her back, scratching wonderfully.

“Sore now. Too much, I think,” Y/N admits, as she tightens her arms around his waist. She’s fighting the fog and failing. Harry doesn’t mind.

He hums. “Abused her a little, didn’t I? We can work on that, if you like.”

“Mhm. Anything, Sir.” Then suddenly she pulls back, looking up with harsh brows. “Didn’t like how much you ignored me… down there. Wanted to come all day.”

Harry laughs, “That,” he emphasises, “is something you’ll have to put up with, darling. S’fun to play with you—watch you silently suffer. Promise it won’t be all the time. If only you’d just asked for what you wanted.” Y/N grumbles to herself, basking in the serenity of their touching skin and the clean smell of shower gel as the hot water cleanses them.

The next thing Harry says is unwise. In Y/N’s floaty state, and generally as a rule of healthy relationships, it’s unwise—but he says it anyway.

“You should quit your job.”

She doesn’t register his words immediately, but even when she does, Harry doesn’t receive the expected reaction. She laughs, “Yeah,” sighing. “Can stay in your house all day. Make you happy, whatever you want, all the time.” It feels like she’s joking—like she believes he’s joking and is just playing along—and Harry knew better than to suggest it to her in this moment. He knew better, especially because they were hardly any time at all into knowing one another. It was a rash thing to say… and Harry can’t quite believe he’s thinking it. But he is. He’s thinking it very much. And it feels right. It seems easy.

But he won’t mention it again. Not yet. Not until the girl in his arms is a little less incoherent.

He’s a patient man, is what he tells himself. There’s no rush; Harry certainly isn’t desperate to rush out of the shower, or rush Y/N home, or rush to work the next day. He can wait.

He can wait.

ㅤㅤ

Working with people takes a particular set of skills. Sociability, quick thinking, a strong backbone... Y/N wouldn’t say she particularly possessed any of these qualities—which would largely explain why she hates her job so much.

But she gets up and does it. Every day. And she returns home feeling as though it can’t get any worse, and then the next day proves her wrong.

Despite this, you’d think—after all the practice she has—that entering Harry’s work shouldn’t be so intimidating. That having to ask for him at reception whilst holding a lunch box and a cake tin needn’t stir up the incessant swirls of nerves in her stomach. And even though the woman who tends to her has a soothing smile and a lilting tone of voice, Y/N still stands there feeling obvious. Obvious and unaware at the same time.

Would Harry even want her here? Was showing her face in his workspace breaching a rule? Did he leave his lunch behind on purpose? Would he want the cake she’d brought with her?

The receptionist talks to someone on the phone, announcing Y/N’s presence and her request to see the CEO. She’d thought, perhaps, that she would be immediately denied. Mr. Styles is a very busy man and he doesn’t take surprise visits. Good day. But the lady had  smiled almost knowingly at Y/N, as though she’d been expecting her—which seemed even vastly more silly than the prospect that Harry might turn her away himself.

Which hadn’t crossed her mind until now. What if he scolded her? In front of all his employees? Y/N would die.

A man suddenly appears in her peripheral vision. Hair tied back, suit pressed of all wrinkles, and a harsh line of a mouth that curls so minimally that it could be passed off as a twitch when he meets Y/N’s eyes. “Follow me, Miss L/N.”

He takes her up stairs, through halls and to a small sitting area that she assumes is outside Harry’s office. One sofa and one armchair, adjacent to a water cooler and a vending machine in which two other men in pressed suits loiter, trading inconsequential small talk no doubt. And really, it is too small to be considered an area of any sort, and their looming presence does nothing to quell Y/N’s worry.

“He’s just finishing up a phone call, please sit.”

Y/N smiles at the man and rushes out a small thank you before he disappears down the hallway. The soft cushioning of the sofa cradles Y/N’s heart none, despite the silent appraisal her legs give when they’re granted respite. No, her heart is still beating rapidly, and the mumblings of the two men are pecking away at her ears as she tries to block them out without success. She sees one nudge the other out of the corner of her eye, and she hopes—no, begs—that neither talk to her. But it seems there’s no one there to listen to her pleading.

“Excuse me.” One of the men says. Typically those words come attached with a questioning swing but he doesn’t ask her anything. He demands her. “What have you got in there?”

Y/N slides her palms around the spherical tin, the cold metal granting momentary bliss for her clammy skin. On top of the tin is Harry’s lunch. In the box he’d forgotten to take with him on his way out. 

Y/N had a day off—calling her boss to fake sickness had been scarier than it should have been (Harry rewarded her for her bravery in ways she can still feel if she clenches her thighs together)—and Harry had ordered she lay about his house all day doing, and she quotes, absolutely nothing. 

He’d silently managed to pick up on her preference for a little time alone when talking and coexisting got to be too much (after observing the way she’d spend just that little extra in the toilet after a long day, or insist she’d be with him in a minute that turned into three), and had asserted she finally explore the depths of his garden whilst he was at work. Y/N had thought about asking him to stay home—after all, she only took the day off because of him… and now he was leaving?—but the idea did appeal to her. And he’d kissed her so fervently goodbye that the shape of his lips existed in tingles against hers for an hour after he’d gone.

She’d felt whimsical, like she was existing in a dream, as she slipped on a new dress Harry had bought for her—made of pink silk—and floated around his house like she owned it. She ate fruit whilst perched on his kitchen counter, and sunk her toes into his fluffy rug, and wandered the garden that surely Harry had stolen from another era. 

From the patio that leads out to the pool (and those sun loungers that Y/N can’t look at the same), nothing about the vast stretch of grass and towering trees suggested that there were any hidden passageways or undiscovered alcoves. But as Y/N walked down the lawn, she spotted an archway twined with ivy and vines that nestled in between consuming bushes and thick trunks.

Once she walked under it, it seemed as though she’d entered another time period—one that rejected the modernity of white interior decor and lavish patios with swimming pools. A nook—was what Y/N first described it as in her head. A walkway through foliage that led to an opening that homed stone, and trellising flowers, and complete and utter silence. It was circular, a donut shaped stone bench in the centre with bushes and flowers galore surrounding it. Y/N was stunned. And she hadn’t even discovered all of it.

“It’s Harry’s lunch,” she says, focusing on maintaining steady breaths.

The men look at each other with curling lips. “It’s Harry’s lunch,” the other one parrots, nodding once to his friend like her answer was obvious… which it was, she supposes. What else would it be? “Did he forget it at your house?”

“No…” Y/N doesn’t understand what the pair are trying to do. But she recognises the cruelty of their voices. The mocking—immensely unlike the way Harry speaks to her.

“Did you bake him a cake too?”

“Has Styles got himself a little housewife?”

Her skin heats and her chest aches, as their words crawl inside her head, with the intensity at which she is trying to school her lungs. They want to inhale as though she’s been underwater for twenty minutes. They want to heave and splutter desperately and loudly. But she only allows tiny, little teases of oxygen. She doesn’t know what to say.

Her mouth opens and closes again.

“Fancy coming round to my house and baking me a cake?” They both laugh. “I could do with a little lady like you. Always forgetting shit.”

She fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa. It is now made of unrelenting stone. Even the bench in Harry’s garden would grant more comfort than this. A quick glance to the door handle to see if she is capable of summoning him only encourages the men further.

“I didn’t know he had time for a woman.”

“I know,” the other scoffs, “probably very neglectful of his nice housewife…” He pauses, “Are you? His housewife, sugar?”

It had sounded so much nicer from Harry’s lips. Now she just feels dirty.

“No— I’m… We’re…” What were they exactly?

Harry’s door handle turns.

“I’m his—” Submissive. She couldn’t possibly…

His door opens.

“—friend.”

Harry steps out. Y/N doesn’t know how much of the conversation he heard but… from the look on his face, he’s stern. The two men have straightened their backs and are pretending to be involved in unrealistically riveting small talk once again. But Harry glares at them.

His voice is hard, clearly indicating that he had in fact heard their unpleasant probing. “Mr. Acosta and Mr. Havers, as pleasurable as it has been to have you working here,” his tone drips with sarcasm, “resign or be fired. Immediately. Your choice.”

And then he’s glancing down at Y/N, gaze hardly lingering as he nods towards his office with a clear expectancy that she follows, before he turns his back and leaves the water cooler creeps spluttering in their spots. Y/N rushes behind him, not looking back for a second.

“You forgot your lunch,” she exhales once his door clicks shut. Her breathing deepens now that she’s out of the prying stare of those men. Harry stands with his back to her, hands in his pockets as he looks out the window.

“Yes, I see that.” He seems… short-tempered... Angry. He’s never seemed angry before. “Thank you, darling. And a lovely baked treat to go with it, no doubt.”

And maybe his voice lacks his usual authenticity but Y/N smiles a little, though he can’t see her, as she creeps forward slightly to place the tin and his lunch on his desk. She looks up as she stands beside him, observing the harsh line of his jaw and the furrow of his brows. But he walks around his desk and prods a finger into the hardwood, rolling his chair out of the way. 

“Take a seat,” he orders. Y/N always obeys Harry but his tone carries a sharpness she’s not used to—lacking the soft feathered curves for when he speaks to her—and she lifts herself onto the edge with a haste that surpasses that of her general avidity. Perhaps, in this moment, a part of her is pretending he’s her boss—and he is in a way, she supposes. Then Harry crowds her senses, thighs brushing her knees as he steps forward and utters something that makes Y/N’s stomach drop. In a bad way. In a definitely bad way.

“I want to have a little chat with… my friend.”

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: Hi love! I was wondering if you could do a Jude x reader where they get into a VERY nasty argument and reader goes to sleep on the couch crying and wakes up with jude next to her on the couch! (anonymous - @neosfam)

Word Count: 678 words

(author's note: thank you for the request, my love 🫶)

Y/N and Jude never seemed to argue. They were both so similar and held the same views on everything, so there was never any need for them to fight. But this time was different. Jude had just blown her off again to go for a meal with his teammates, and she had finally had enough.

“I’m not saying I don’t want you to hang out with your friends, baby, you know I encourage you too. Its just we’ve had plans multiple times this week and you’ve cancelled on me every time to hang out with your friends.”

“I need them to like me Y/N, you don’t understand. So what I cancelled on a few plans, we can always reschedule? I don’t understand why you’re so annoyed?”

“Jude, I’m annoyed because it feels like I’m second best to your friends. I know how hard moving teams has been on you, and I get it. But it doesn’t mean you can push me aside and forget about me!” 

At this point, she felt like crying. Jude was normally so understanding, and she couldn’t understand why he was being like this.

“No, Y/N you don’t know how I feel. You don’t know anything.” 

With the final gut-wrenching line, Jude stomped upstairs, leaving his girlfriend crying in their kitchen. Y/N moved over to the sofa, grabbed a blanket, and tried to fall asleep.

Hours passed, and Jude felt awful. He was in disbelief with himself over how he had spoken to Y/N. He didn’t know what came over him. All he did know was how the guilt was slowly eating away at him. 

When Y/N didn’t come up to bed, Jude began to worry. He pushed the plush covers away from his body and quietly walked downstairs. When he saw his girlfriend curled up on their sofa, her cheeks still wet with tears, his heart broke. It was all his fault.

Jude moved over to where she was laid down and manoeuvered himself down next to her. He readjusted the blanket, so it covered them both and tried to fall asleep.

Y/N woke up to the early morning sun streaming in through the window. She felt something wrapped around her waist, and she turned around to see Jude sleeping peacefully behind her. All the pain from last nights argument resurfaced in her mind.

She removed his arms and got up. She turned the kettle on to boil and got a mug out of the cupboard. Once the water had boiled, she began preparing herself a cup of tea.

Stirring at the sound of the kettle, Jude sat up on the sofa. He rubbed his eyes, wiping the heavy weight of sleep away. He watched his girlfriend mill around their kitchen, preparing herself a drink and some breakfast.

“Good morning.” Jude said, breaking the thick silence that had settled over the room.

Y/N just nodded at him, barely acknowledging his presence. She continued making her food, determined to ignore Jude. 

Jude knew that she was still upset. He didn’t blame her. Y/N had poured her heart out to him and alerted him she she was upset and he had responded with spiteful comments and aggression.

“Look, I know you’re angry. You have plenty of reasons to be angry. But I just want you to know that I’m so sorry. I should never have spoken to you like that, especially when you were only telling me how you felt. I understand now that I’ve been a complete idiot.”

Y/N stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. 

“You have been a complete idiot. But I know how much pressure you’re under. I accept your apology, but please don’t ever act like that again. That isn’t the Jude I know and love.”

He nodded at her words, thankful that Y/N had accepted his apology. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. Jude made a silent promise to himself to never argue with the woman he loved so dearly ever again.

[nackrosor]

~ Childhood Sweethearts ~

[part 3/?]

Leon S. Kennedy x bestie!Reader

PART 1 | PART 2

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, roomates, pining, slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, reminiscing childhood memories series synopsis: You and Leon have been friends since you can remember. You've always been there for him, especially through the bad times. He's in a bad place again and he needs you. You're the only light in his pretty dark life. word count: 5k.

A smile lingered on your lips as you turned the corner and made your way to the kitchen. You could feel a newfound sense of joy pervading you at the memory of the excitement so plainly written all over Leon’s face when you agreed to let him move in with you. He did always look like a puppy when happy and you were sure that if you had squinted hard enough you could have seen his tail wagging enthusiastically back and forth.

“Heh”. You shook your head at the silly image, letting out a quiet giggle as you moved swiftly from one cupboard to another to get everything you needed to make breakfast.

He had never been able to mask his happiness, that much was true. Not when he was a child, not when he grew up. He could disguise any other emotion if he wanted to, and make it so hard for anyone to read him - sometimes you included - but he was so utterly incapable of masking his happiness. You’ve always wondered why… 

With a sigh you grabbed a tablespoon, put some coffee into the filter, added water and then leaned against the counter to watch the brewing start. A frown slowly crept over your features.

Perhaps… The answer was less complex than you might have thought.

Aside from the shared joyful recollections of your childhood years, there had never been much good going on in his life, even back then. There was no denying it: discovering that your parents are criminals, witnessing their murder, and becoming an orphan all at once couldn't be a healthy foundation for a happy life. As a result, when those rare instances of happiness do occur, they trigger such genuine and overwhelming emotions that one cannot manage to contain them. That must be the explanation.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter as a vivid and powerful memory resurfaced to your mind.

One of that day. The day he was nearly taken away from you for the very first time.

You could still recall Leon’s blank face when your dad, a police officer at the time and the very one who had saved his life, brought him to your house to leave him in the care of your mother for a short while. You had no idea what had happened that day, you couldn't even imagine the trauma he had just gone through... But the instant you saw him, you could sense something was off, something was different. You dashed towards him and hugged him so tightly, only God knows for how long. And you were certain, even if you didn't realize it at the time, that he was quietly crying on your shoulder as he held you back. Yet, the image that had really carved its place in your mind and that you recalled the most vividly was how Leon pulled back from the hug and just… smiled. He smiled at you as if he was the happiest kid in the entire world. And you smiled right back at him. 

Hell. That memory always did bring back chills, every goddamn time…

“Sleeping with your eyes open?”

Leon’s voice caught you off guard and you glanced briefly up at him to see him enter the kitchen with a spring in his step, before you hastily turned your back and blinked the tears away. 

“Ha. Ha. I’m making you coffee, you should sound more grateful, you know?” you quipped back with a playful innuendo, hopefully masking the emotional trip you had just gone through in your head.

You busied yourself by staring down at the machine as if it would start brewing faster if you put pressure on it. You didn’t hear the rustle of clothes drawing nearer until Leon was standing right behind you, poking his head right over your shoulder.

You don't know what it was; the whole pot of coffee you drank to stay awake all night, the fact that you hadn't shut an eye in 24 hours, or the way that he was standing so close to you with his warm body literally pressing on your back... but your nerves suddenly gave up and you flinched hard, almost knocking the coffee machine off the counter. 

Leon promptly grabbed your shoulders to keep you steady, and even if you didn't look straight up at him out of embarrassment, you could tell he was concerned.

"Hey, I can handle it myself. There's no reason for you to stay up any longer."

His palms were so warm against your bare skin, his touch so comforting and familiar... The urge to simply lean into him and feel his soothing warmth was so strong, nearly unbearable. 

But, luckily, the machine beeped right then, and the brewing came to a halt, along with that awkward interlude you got caught up in. With a shake of your head, you took the bowl and focused on filling the Hello Kitty $1-deal mug you had purchased months ago but had never used; it was the only one you owned besides yours, so Leon would have to make do with it.

“You’re technically still a guest here, aren’t you?” you glanced up at him with a half-grin, grabbing the mug with both of your hands - just in case - and turned around to set it on the table. "So let me be the lady of the house and go sit your ass on that chair."

Leon shook his head with a silent chuckle and followed your orders opting for no rebutting, yet he couldn't pass up the opportunity to mockingly throw you a military salute. 

“Yes, m’am.” 

You gave him a pointed look, although the little smile playing on your lips sniffed out the playful nature of it. Turning your back on him again you grabbed the tray you had previously stuffed with all you could offer him for breakfast and placed it right in the center of the table.

“Bossy as usual, huh? Even when you’re about to collapse, you’re still hard as ever to reason with.” 

You could catch the affectionate hint in his voice and you couldn’t help but huff a chuckle through your nose. Once you grabbed the gallon of milk and a cup, you dropped on the chair opposite his and let out a long tired yawn.

“Especially when I’m about to collapse.” you eventually retorted, pointing the tip of your spoon at him as if you had just reminded him of a well-known fact before you smiled and nodded at the tray.

“C’mon, dig in.”

“I just want to make one thing straight-” he started and you glanced up from your half-filled cup of milk, taken aback by the sudden grave tone in his voice. He made sure to give you a long and meaningful look before he added: “I am grateful. For everything.”

You matched his expression, your stomach fluttering under the intensity of his gaze.

“I know.” you simply answered, no humor or mocking tainting your voice this time. 

Leon gave you a firm nod in return and then finally dug in his breakfast.

You joined him right away, grabbing some cookies, soaking them in the milk and shoving them in your mouth before they could flop and melt. All the while you kept on peering up at your friend, finding solace in the way he seemed to enjoy the food, munching and sipping with gusto as if he hadn’t had a nice meal in days. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was indeed the case.

“Mmm, this croissant is great!” he announced, giving it another good bite. “You made it?”

You almost snorted the milk straight out of your nose.

“Me??” Your eyebrows shot comically up to your hairline. You must have had such a weirded out look on your face that Leon couldn’t help but chortle and look away to avoid choking on his mouthful. “‘Sorry I burned the cake I made for your birthday and never tried baking ever since’, little ol’ me???”

You too tried to bite back a laugh as you watched Leon struggle to swallow the food and answer. 

“You were like 14…”

“Yeah and I’m still 14 in that regard. Me and baking it’s a no-no.” you quipped back, throwing him a sharp look that said ‘believe me, you don’t wanna know’. “The only thing I did to those croissants was stuffing them with nut cream.”

“Ah! That!” Leon animatedly wiggled his finger at you and nodded knowingly. “Yeees. That’s what it is, then. You stuffed it juuust right. And that’s a skill!”

You stared at him long and hard, a deadpan look on your face, until you couldn't keep it together any longer and burst out laughing.

“What a fucking dork!”

Leon seemed pleased with your reaction and grinned triumphantly at you. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he watched your laughter ease into a big smile.

“A veeery grateful dork who appreciates the efforts taken in putting together this breakfast.”

"Yeah. Yeah." You brushed off his attempt at flattery with a flick of your hand and resumed eating, although not before belting out another chuckle. “Kudos for trying, soon-to-be roomie. It won’t save you from all the future dish duty, though.”

You glanced up again mid-bite when you realized he was still staring at you. Your brows arched in an inquisitive look.

"What?"

“That sound…”

He smiled as your head tilted to the side in a perplexed twitch.

"Your laugh. I missed that."

"Ah."

You had to look away, afraid that the way his words had made your heart race would somehow show on your face. Sometimes your friend would say such touching things with such stark bluntness that you didn't know how to react. Especially without making it obvious how smitten you were with him.

“I haven’t heard it in a while.”

You grabbed your cup of milk and chugged it down in one big gulp merely to buy some time for your heartbeat to ease down.

“Well, you’ve been away for a while.” You eventually replied with a casual shrug and leaned back in your seat, arms lazily crossed over your chest. You focused your gaze on him, your expression turning a bit more serious. “Extra top secret mission?”

He just nodded, a dark look clouding his sparkling eyes and you knew not to ask any further questions. He wouldn’t have told you anything about it anyway. 

“The point is…” he started again and the clouds instantly faded back into a serene blue sky. “It brings back good memories. I've been thinking a lot about those recently."

You softly hummed along, your eyes roaming over his face as those heartwrenching words he had uttered earlier, made their way back to your mind. 

“I wish we could go back to the good days” he had said, “I wish it was always just you and me”, “ I wish that you were there for me all the time.” 

You could feel your chest grow heavy all over again at the memory of a distraught Leon whispering those heartfelt words to you and you had to force yourself to take a long, deep breath to regain some control over your body. You hadn’t had a minute alone since that serious and profound conversation you had with him, a moment to process it, digest it, take in all the very serious implications behind it. And thinking about it now, with your body working on energy saving and Leon seemingly feeling better, it wasn’t really the best of times. 

But… There was also something else that had kept swirling in your mind since you heard it escape his lips the night before. Something you just couldn’t shake off, no matter how hard you tried. You couldn't help but think that that very soft-spoken “I love you” he had whispered before passing out had sounded so genuine… As if he had truly meant it… And not in a platonic way.

Was it too pathetically delusional of you to hope he had truly meant it? 

“Y/N?”

Leon’s warm voice ripped you out of your thoughts and you hastily focused back on him.

“Hm?”

You were relieved to see the understanding look he gave you. You had been awake for a whole day now, you could be excused for zoning out for a moment without raising questions, after all.

“I asked you if… if you frequently think back to those times, too? To when we were kids, especially.”

“Of course I do. Everyday.” you admitted without hesitation, eyes widening slightly at how easily the words flowed from your mouth. Perhaps you had been too honest about it? Leon looked startled as well. 

No, actually… He seemed relieved by how direct and sincere your answer had been. 

He leaned back in his chair with a soft sigh, his eyes drawn to the tray in front of him. As his gaze grew distant, you dreaded what was about to come. Was he going to pour his heart out yet again, come up with some more gut-wrenching stuff that would most likely deliver the ultimate blow and send you K.O.? You would not withstand one more confession like the ones he had made already. 

Instead, you watched with a flutter in your chest as his lips curled up even further until a genuine smile bloomed on his face. His eyes twinkled with such vitality. That. That was a rare sight… and the most precious one to witness. You felt blessed and lucky to have seen it more than anyone else. 

"The cookies," he began, tipping his chin towards the serving plate of goodies. "They resemble those your mother used to make almost every day. I still remember that scent..."

He plucked one from the plate and brought it up to his nose to sniff it, as if he seeked to revisit that same aroma again. You grinned knowingly as his eyes widened and his entire face lit up with recognition. He looked at you with a silent query in his blue eyes, and you nodded, a cheeky grin spreading on your face.

“Yep. Mom made them. I’m quite honestly impressed you could still smell it on ‘em since they’re more than a week old. You have a bloodhound’ nose, I swear.”

“Heh. Comes with the job.”

“Huh-huh.”

No. It did not come with the job. He was born with it. You had seen it, and you remembered one time clearly when he had so blatantly made a show of it. You had spent the entire afternoon with a classmate, a nerdy boy who was forced to assist you with your math homework because you had been struggling that year. That same evening, when you met with Leon to play, he smelled that boy's scent on you, as if you had bathed in it. He appeared to be really upset about it. He sulked and moped and whined about it basically the entire time. That one memory always came back with a thrill of satisfaction buzzing within you. Leon had made such an uproar out of jealousy, that much had been obvious even to a very giddy 8-year-old you.

When you returned to the present conversation with Leon, you realized with a smile that he was still reminiscing about all the times you devoured those exact cookies for breakfast whenever he was at your place. You too remembered. You ate breakfast together at least twice a week. It helped to be neighbors on the outskirts; you could spend time together every day, multiple times a day, and you would always meet at your house, since his parents would leave Leon alone quite frequently. Much too frequently; at the time you still didn't know why. 

“-you ate them every day and yet whenever I had breakfast with you, you would always steal one of mine. Sometimes even two.”

You caught Leon throwing you a playful glare as he hit you with that nostalgic jab and you couldn’t help but giggle, a sly glint passing across your eyes.

It was true. You used to do that. But in your defense, you were a young, shy girl with a major crush on her best friend. It was always meant to be a very innocent way to grab your friend’s attention. Even then, all you ever wanted was to have his blue eyes trained on you at every waking moment. 

With Leon gazing down at the crusty pastry, seemingly lost in one of his reveries, you felt that it might be fun to relive that one memory just for the thrill of it. Leaning forward, with one quick flick of your hand you grasped the cookie right out of his fingers. The outraged gasp that he rewarded you with definitely made the childish deed worth it. But it was that look, that fond look he gave you that felt like the real reward.

“Like the good old times, huh?” You winked at him and bit back your silly grin as you popped the cookie into your mouth.

He shook his head, his lips pursed in a mocking, unimpressed grimace.

“Some people never change.”

And yet, he sounded pleased with it. There was something in his warm, humorless tone, in the way his sparkling eyes lingered on you as he said that, that caused your insides to flip and turn not once, but twice, with your heart missing a beat as well just because it didn't want to lose out on the fun.

You held his gaze for a few moments as you chewed on the cookie, until you felt your heart beg you to look away.

"Anyway…" You swallowed and cleared your throat, lazily settling back in your seat. Another yawn escaped you just as you reverted your focus on him, and you thought you caught him beaming affectionately at the sight. For your own sake, you decided to brush it off. “Now that you’re back, you should go pay my folks a visit. You know how my mom is. She’d bake you some of those cookies before you even have time to say hello. She'll give you a bag or two to bring home, too.” 

“Hm. It’s been quite a while since I last saw them…” He hummed and nodded along, a pensive look on his face. “We could go together.”  

“I g-guess, yeah…” you shrugged your shoulders and tried to mask the sudden raspiness of your voice by clearing your throat again. You hadn’t visited your parents together since that last lunch you had a couple of years ago at their house, when it really dawned on you just how serious your feelings for Leon were. You remembered that moment clearly, as if it had happened yesterday. Your friend was chatting amicably with your dad, making your old man laugh just as he always did. Your mom had that serene look on her face, that one she always seemed to have whenever Leon was around. And you? You were looking at the scene, taking in that precious image of a happy little family, soaking in the genuine love that oozed from each one of them… and your weak heart nearly combusted right then and there. You made a pledge to yourself that day: Leon or nobody. Because there was no one like him, really. No one that could make your dad so genuinely happy or your mother feel so safe and at ease. No one that would make your heart beat so violently in your chest. So you’d rather live your life with no partner at all than settle for someone who wasn’t him.

You just needed to find the courage to tell him. 

If only you weren’t such a big coward.

“But… since you’re moving in with me, you’ll probably see them soon enough.” you stated, trying to tune back into the conversation as if you hadn’t just gone on a mental tangent that had left your mind reeling and your heart aching. “You know, they have started to come visit me once or twice every month.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but they don’t stay overnight or anything.”  you swiftly explained. Your tone took up a hint of humor as you added, “You won’t have to share one bed in three, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I would leave the guest room to them anyway. I’d much rather sleep in your bed. It’s very comfy.” he quipped back with a smirk that made your stomach flip.

“Yeah… Dream on, boy.” 

To be honest, you had dreamed of that very same thing happening more times than should be socially accepted. There was no way you’d admit to that, though.

“They just come to say hi, anyway. To make sure I'm doing alright here by myself.” you said, veering the conversation back to a much safer territory. “But I’m quite sure they mainly come to these parts to get a taste of the city life, you know? They've been taking away some whim with dad’s retirement money, living it up a little now that they’re free and old but not that old.'' You paused to share a knowing smile with your friend; you both knew that if your parents had been there, they would have made such a scene over being deemed old. “They like to visit museums and exhibitions, mostly. They look like a cute elderly couple, arm in arm, bickering about the painting's meanings and all that. I know because I chaperoned them the first time.”

Leon listened to you with a fond little smile curling up his lips. Your parents had always been very dear to him for obvious reasons, even more so than your late aunt who had welcomed and taken care of him once he became an orphan and until he left for the police academy in his teens. He was so attached to them that you found yourself worrying more than once if he considered them his parents as well, and you his... younger sister. But you had always tried with all your might to shake the notion away from your mind. You'd get queasy just thinking about it.

“That’s good to hear. They should enjoy their life, now that they can.” He commented, fingers lazily fidgeting with the napkin on the table while he kept his attentive eyes fixed on your face. “We could do that too.”

Mild heart attack. 

“Huh? Do… What?”

“Go to museums, exhibitions and whatnot.”

Those words truly made you question whether he wasn't just messing with you, despite the fact that you hadn't picked up on any humor in his voice. Nonetheless, you tried to keep your heartbeat at bay while flashing him a skeptical look.

“But you don’t like any of that.”

"Sure. But you do."

Effortless answer, maximum hit to your heart. He had voiced it with such straightforward frankness that you were left genuinely speechless for a moment.

“I wouldn’t mind going with you.” He added, shrugging his shoulders, as if the answer was so obvious to him that it didn't even need an explanation.

“Huh… Riiight…” 

You eyed him curiously, warily even, ready for the punchline he must have been holding back. When none arrived however, your eyes narrowed and your lips pursed in a confused pout. "Have I fallen asleep? Am I sleeping right now? 'Cause that's not something the Leon I know would say." Your tone had a sardonic edge to it, for you were clearly retorting to humor to try to disguise the emotional turmoil he had caused within you with what he had said. Hopefully, it wasn't that evident to him too. “This must be a dream, or something…”

“Eh. Does that mean you dream of me?”

Fuck. You had walked straight into that one. You couldn’t even be mad at him for making your stomach flip like that or for flashing you that smug smirk of his.

With a half-groan, half-grimace, you slapped your hand in the air to ward off his joke and flopped on the table, laying your heavy head on your arms.

“Had a nightmare or two where you showed up, sure.”

That was a lame comeback, you knew it. Of course you knew. But, what else could you have said? You were too preoccupied with hiding your blush from him to come up with a better quip. At that point, you were also struggling to prevent your weary mind from blurting out something far more honest, which would inevitably ruin everything.

God. You truly were just too exhausted. And it wasn't only the sleep-deprived tiredness that was weighing on you, but also the 'I have to double-check every word I say and every little reaction I make so that my best friend doesn't realize I'm in love with him' load that was draining you. And to think this was only the first day of living together…

Well, actually not even the first day. You could only imagine what it would be like to go through this every day, for who knows how long. There was no way you could survive it...

You were too caught up in the webs that were plaguing your mind to register the strong pair of hands grabbing you by the middle before you were tugged out of your chair and lifted into the air.

When a shocked gasp escaped your lips, you were already securely enveloped by two massive arms as solid as steel.

Oh, you were certain. You were absolutely certain that your face resembled a tomato as you raised your wide eyes and met his lazy smile, given that you could feel your cheeks burning.

“The fuck-?!”

Leon snorted at your reaction, his eyes traveling across your face as if to enjoy your flustered state. "I thought you fell asleep," he joked, blatantly lying as he squeezed you playfully and started carrying you out of the kitchen toward your bedroom.

“Leon, god… really?”

That was so unnecessarily extra of him. He did that on purpose, obviously. As he had always done in the past. In fact, after his first year at the academy, he began to pick you up out of nowhere to flaunt off his buff and strong physique, and it only worsened over time. He would lift you up whenever and wherever he wanted, simply to annoy you... and make your stomach do a somersault.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t always enjoy when I did this.”

“I always despised it with my whole being.”

Lie. Biggest lie you could tell. But then again, telling him that you adored how his large and muscular arms swallowed your frame, keeping you snug against his chest and carrying you effortlessly about, or how every freaking time he did that, he caused those stupid butterflies to wreak havoc in your gut, was definitely out of question.

"Huh-huh."

He smirked knowingly, seeing right through your snarky response. The amused glance he threw you compelled you to simply shut your mouth. At that point, you didn’t trust your voice anymore.

You tried to refrain from plainly staring at him the entire time. To not linger on his chiseled jaw, or admire his rosy lips, or the way they curled up in that familiar languid smile. You tried not to marvel at his focused gaze or his long eyelashes which made his eyes look even prettier from below…

You tried. But it was hard. Hard not to be dazzled by his effortless beauty, especially when his face had moved suddenly so close to yours, you could feel his hot breath blowing on your cheek.

You were locked in a daze as he eased you out of his arms and onto your bed. You couldn't tear your gaze away from him, even as he grabbed the blankets and tucked you in, ensuring you were well covered and comfy.

When your eyes met, you felt one of those all-too-familiar thrills rush through every cell of your body.

Oh, you were about to lose it. To do something crazy, something stupid…

Your breath caught when he leaned in again, his fingertips gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling.

“Sleep tight, cookie.”

There was no way you could hold back the genuine grin that bloomed on your face upon hearing the nickname he chose to use. You had been calling each other in every way possible since you were kids; it was one of your favorite pastimes. ‘Cookie’ was a nice addition to the collection.

"Thanks, pup." you quipped back, eyes flashing with amusement and pure affection. "You gonna guard the house while I take a nap, yeah?"

"Like a good boy."

"Mhmm."

You exchanged one last lingering look that almost made you melt in a puddle - and you were glad you were already lying down because your knees couldn't have taken it - before he drew back and headed to the door.

"Dream of me." he teased you as he stood by the entrance, triggering a loud groan from you.

"Shut up-"

You rolled onto your side and hid your face in the pillow as he chuckled softly at your expense. You did not raise your head until you heard the door close. Only then did you let out a long, shaken breath. You could still feel your face burning, your cheeks warm to the touch, and your heart racing in your chest.

What a crazy day! And it wasn't over yet. You were both thrilled and nervous about waking up and spending more time with Leon. You'd need to help him move in, clear his room of your belongings, have a very serious roomie to roomie talk...

But everything would have to wait. Sleep was catching up with you and you had evaded it long enough. The coziness of your bed, along with the pleasant fuzziness still lingering in your chest caused your eyes to grow heavy within seconds. With a yawn, you rolled to the other side, where the sheets from the night prior remained unmade. Your hand lazily clutched the other pillow and pulled it closer. 

His scent. It still carried his scent… You nuzzled your cheek into the fabric and took a long breath.

A fond smile tugged at your lips as your eyelids fluttered closed and you dozed off.

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[letsquestjess]

Hello 🤎

If you’re still looking for some requests, I have an idea for a fic where the reader gets in between Crosshair and Hunter when they are first bickering when Crosshair rejoins the group, defending Cross (who she of course has been in love with from day one but never said anything) and he is completely taken aback by her willingness to protect him.

And fluff and confessions and love ensue?

Thank you 🤎

Hi there! Thank you for the request 💜

I love this idea so much! There was probably a lot of tension on The Marauder on that flight back to Pabu 😅

In the Middle (Crosshair x GN/F!Reader)

Summary: Tensions run high after Crosshair returns, and after listening to enough bickering, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Word count: 2K (yep, this one ran away with me)

Warnings: Bit of angst.

A/N: While this request was made with a female reader in mind, it's gender neutral like most of my SFW xReader fics.

-- -- -- -- --

With each pocket of turbulence, The Marauder shuddered and rattled. The latches on the cupboards struggled to withhold the avalanche of items, threatening to scatter them across the floor, while the unused hazard chairs juddered.  

“Those should have been secured before we set off,” Hunter grumbled from the co-pilot seat. 

“We’ll be through the worst of it in a minute,” you promised, manoeuvring your fingers over the buttons and pulling a lever. Slowly but surely, you handled the ship, making precise adjustments to the engine and applying incremental pressure to the thrusters, guiding it through the dense pocket and emerging unscathed. “There we go. May get a bit of rattling, but it shouldn’t be as bad now.” 

As soon as the shaking subsided, Hunter sprung out of his seat and got to work tightening the loose brackets on the hazard seats. Ever since picking up Omega and Crosshair, he’d been on edge, monitoring his sister’s every move and occupying himself with mundane, self-imposed duties. 

You turned in time to catch the intense glare Hunter shot at Crosshair when the sniper tried to assist him. You offered Crosshair a reassuring smile, but he flinched away, his tired eyes overflowing with a wariness that had become all too common since he returned. He’d taken to dawdling around the bunks at the rear of the ship or concealing himself in secluded spots while Wrecker and Hunter doted on Omega, making himself as small as possible and ensuring he wouldn’t be a nuisance. Not that he ever could be, not in your mind.  

In order to avoid detection by Imperials, you had all unanimously decided to forgo the hyperspace lanes and opted for a longer route to Pabu. At first, you thought nothing of it, the plan seemed perfectly reasonable, but the suffocating atmosphere on the ship soon amplified the palpable tension between them. 

The communications unit emitted a shrill beep, and before you had the chance to even think about responding, Hunter crossed into the cockpit and leafed through the message.

“What is it?” Omega asked, peeking into the front cabin. 

“It’s from Echo,” Hunter replied. “He’s planning to visit soon so he can welcome back our happy arrival.” The smile faded and his jaw stiffened the second his eyes rose to meet Crosshair’s as he wandered to the cockpit door.

“If you have something on your chest, Hunter, spit it out,” Crosshair told him, exhaustion tingeing his tone. “Ever since I got here, you haven’t stopped glaring at me, so just say what you want.”

You exchanged a glance with Omega, silently conveying your shared hope that Hunter wouldn’t. You saw enough hurt in Crosshair as it was. 

The moment you had laid eyes on him disembarking the Imperial shuttle and crossing over the pools of light to The Marauder, the affection you’d harboured for him since being assigned to Clone Force 99 during the war resurfaced. For a reunion you hoped would hold so much promise and joy, the atmosphere quickly soured as Hunter stood in the way, protecting Omega and preventing Crosshair from boarding the ship. 

If it weren’t for the young clone’s persistence and yourself and Wrecker coaxing him round, he most likely would have abandoned him. Since then, you’d spent the past few days contemplating what you would have done in that situation, but a small voice inside insisted you would have gone with Crosshair. Fortunately, you hadn’t been forced to make that tough decision, but now you found yourself dealing with backhanded remarks and agitated glares, and your patience wore thin. 

As they started bickering again, you positioned yourself between them. “Will you both stop it?” you demanded. “Haven’t we all been through enough? You are brothers.” Instead of allowing Hunter to continue his argument, you interrupted him by slamming your hand on the controls. The door whizzed shut, confining you both in the cockpit. 

“You have got to drop this suspicion of him, Hunter,” you all but begged. “I understand you’re on edge and this has been overwhelming, but we have no idea what he endured on Tantiss. Based on what Omega has shared, that place is a nightmare for anyone who opposes the Empire, so please quit looking at him like he’s a potential threat.”

You could see the gears revolving in his head as he processed your words, his resistance crumbling. Every time he clenched his fists or snapped at the slightest question, you had felt the urge to intervene. His actions were only aggravating the situation, particularly for Omega and Crosshair, but the months of stress were taking their toll in leaving his system, and the last thing you wanted was to make the tension worse. 

There was an absence of culpability in your words, and even if he’d tried, he couldn’t condemn you for confronting him in such a way. The days had passed by uneasily to say the least, and he’d done nothing to help matters. He was scared. Fearing failing Omega again, he also grappled to acknowledge his abandonment of Crosshair, and anticipated a reckoning. If his brother did hold him partly responsible for his suffering, he wouldn’t blame him. So often he scolded himself for accepting that he was a lost cause instead of putting up a stronger fight for him. And he had come to terms with the fact that he had played a role in everything you’d all suffered since. 

“They both need calm to recover,” you said softly. “Can you not see how your brother is hurting?” 

Hunter couldn’t have felt worse than he did in that moment, but he remained quiet. He knew you weren’t doing this to guilt him, but to jolt him out of the terrified haze that was making him lash out at his family, that was driving a wedge between them when they should be reuniting in solidarity. So he listened. 

Weary and with pleading eyes, you perched yourself on the arm of the co-pilot chair and gazed at the squad’s leader. “Whatever happened to Cross, it has left him visibly shaken, and for something to shake a man as sturdy as him… I dread to think of the horrors he went through.” A lump snagged in your throat but you breathed it down. “Ease up on him. That’s all I ask.” 

Outside the cockpit, Crosshair’s fingertips dug into the rigid metal of the door as he leaned a little closer, ears trained on the noise within and disregarding the ongoing conversation between Wrecker and Omega at the navigation console. Your determined protection of him stirred up his guilt, and he listened enraptured by your ability to hold Hunter accountable without losing sight of the underlying complexities of the situation. In truth, he hadn’t anticipated such a strong defence from you, and his chest fluttered. 

Prior to the end of the war and the fateful order, he had nearly confessed everything to you, poured out his feelings just to be free of them. It hadn’t mattered to him whether you reciprocated them or not. He merely wanted you to know so that he no longer had to bear that uncertainty. If he had to hurt, he preferred to rip off the plaster fast and move on as best he could. 

But the way you smiled around him when nobody else did, the easy flow of your conversations, the lingering touches that ignited a comforting warmth made him wonder if you shared his affections. You hadn’t treated the others in that manner, and it sent his mind spiralling.  

The situation had changed now, though. You survived with the Empire on your tail, with the daunting task of evading him while he hunted you without mercy or relent. Handled dangerous missions and daring ventures solely to provide for and protect his brothers. There was no assurance that the feelings you may have once held for him remained.  

Alerted by the sound of steps nearing the door, he retreated and pretended to secure the cupboards after the earlier jolts and jostles. Thankfully, you took no notice of his sudden movement, but he didn’t miss the glimmer of a smile you directed at him, a comforting reassurance and a gesture of hope that everything would work out in time. 

With meticulous care, you finished cleaning the brunt of your blaster and slipped each piece back together with a satisfying click. As you worked with the rotary system, you encountered some difficulties and resorted to using the slim brushes to sweep each cleft in the cylinder. The pungent smell of oil clogged your nostrils, and with a brief wince, you sealed the container.

Lost in your task, you picked up on a set of footsteps drawing near but remained immersed in the intricate inner workings of your weapon. 

“Sorry,” Crosshair mumbled once he spotted you sat on your bunk. “I can go. I don’t want to interrupt you.” 

Your gaze shot up, locking onto his with a silent plea to stay. The confidence he exuded during the war had vanished, leaving him second guessing every action he took, and it pained you to witness how the Empire had savagely chipped away at him. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “I actually wouldn’t mind the company.”

With a sense of comfort from your soft admission, he wandered over to the upper bunk and reclined until his hip met the rail, scanning the weathered hull as though he was still trying to grasp where he was. “I apologise if the atmosphere hasn’t exactly been pleasant,” he said, massaging the palm of his right hand with his thumb as a tremor coursed up his wrist. 

“I’m just glad you’re back,” you said in a relieved breath. You finished reassembling your blaster and fastened it into the holster hanging over your bed. Shifting the tray of tools onto the bedsheets, you rose from the mattress. “Hunter will come round. Give him time.” 

“I missed that bright optimism,” Crosshair admitted. 

The shakes in his hand spread and he hunched his shoulders. Sensing the shame in the action, you gently enclosed him in your arms, waiting for any discomfort before squeezing him. 

“I wish I could repair the rift between you and Hunter,” you muttered, resting your temple against his as you held him. “Fixing the most complicated of ships is a breeze compared to working with you two and your stubborn natures.” 

Through a thin haze of tears, Crosshair clung onto you tighter, breathing you in and relishing your tender inclination. When you pulled away, his hand quivered as he reached out to wipe the lone teardrop that had trailed a path down your cheek. 

“But if I can help you both through this, then I will,” you told him. “Whatever it takes.” 

Struck by your compassionate, resolute statement, Crosshair pressed his forehead to yours, his heart skipping when you met him halfway. All he wanted to do was hold you close and never let go. “This is nothing compared to the arguments we had as cadets.”

“More than one bloodied nose, wasn’t it?” 

“Uh-huh.”

You both shared a grin as he cupped your cheeks and nestled into you. “I overheard what you said to Hunter,” he confessed. 

“I meant every word,” you whispered, settling your hands on his chest. “Cross, I can see you hurting and I want to be here for you.”

At the slight crack in your voice, Crosshair dropped his focus to your mouth before returning to your watery eyes. You answered his silent question with a nod, and he wasted no time in sealing his lips to yours. As he melted into the kiss, he dried your fallen tears with the pads of his thumbs, moving in tandem with you until your back hit the wall and his arms protectively encompassed you.

“Your willingness to stand up for others is one of the things that drew me to you,” he said, pulling away, breathless. Another sweet peck landed on your lips, feather light and full of promise. “I never should have left.” 

You hushed him with a slow shake of your head. “You’re home,” you reminded him. “That’s all that matters now.”

[anton-luvr]

hiiiiii!! if you don’t mind could you write about ex boyfriend!anton who gets jealous of wonbin because he keeps making fem!reader laugh (they are having a staycation tgt after finishing finals). wonbin and her are currently cooking dinner at the kitchen while anton just sits on the sofa with the other friends (could be anyone tho). they look very close and comfortable with each other so anton chooses to go out to get some fresh air. he eventually decided to swim as it might help him to calm down a bit. not long after that, she comes to him to tell him that the dinner is ready but it turns out differently (anton drags her into pool with him lol and they have a long overdue convo there.)

thank youuuu no pressure tho ❤️❤️❤️

# ALWAYS WAIT FOR YOU.

𖦹 ex bf!anton x fem!reader | fluff & angst 𖦹 note ; im so sorry anon i felt like this could be better but my brain is just not.. braining. IM SORRY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT + reqs closing soon!!

"Here comes the choo choo train!" Wonbin coos, steering a spoon full of mashed potatoes towards you.

"Stop it!" you shriek, laughing as you whack his arm away from you. "I hate potatoes!"

Wonbin giggles, setting the spoon back into the pot.

"You didn't seem to hate potatoes when we were at the dining hall the other day," he jokes, poking you in the shoulder playfully.

You click your tongue, stepping away to look for parsley. "It was free food, 'Bin," you reason. "Who doesn't like free food?"

The glass jar of green herbs catches your attention, resting on the top shelf of the cupboard.

"Can you help me get the parsley? It's up there." you ask, tugging at his jacket.

"What would you do without me?" Wonbin laughs, ruffling your hair before easily reaching up for the jar.

Anton wonders the same thing as he watches the entire thing from the living room, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.

The wound of your breakup from several weeks ago was still fresh, even though he was the one who called it quits.

Just because of one stupid misunderstanding over you coming home late, everything had blown out of proportion.

Amongst the tired shouting, confusing accusations, and tears shed, Anton had called it off in the heat of the moment.

He was really regretting it as he continued eyeing the both of you.

Did you really need to be so affectionate while making dinner?

Were mashed potatoes even that funny?

Why did you seem so much happier with Wonbin than you had been with him?

He feels his head spin from the jealousy and anger bubbling in his chest, and he stands up abruptly.

"I'm going out," the Boston-born boy mumbles. "Gonna get some fresh air."

Your other friends, Eunseok and Sohee, hum in response; they were too busy playing the PS4 to notice the discomfort in Anton's voice.

Frustrated, Anton ran his hands through his hair as he sat down by the pool.

How could he mess up so badly?

His mind mapped out a million different scenarios if he hadn't broken up with you, plagiarizing the poor boy's mind. If only he had just communicated with you.

"God, I hate this." he mumbles to himself.

Shaking his head, Anton yanks his tank top off and tosses it aside. Maybe a quick swim would help him clear his mind.

The serenity of the water calmed the thoughts in his head, and Anton tried to logically think of a way to solve the issue.

Maybe he could just talk to you? But if so, when and where? What was he even going to say?

Anton barely got to think of anything else when he heard someone calling for him.

"Hey, dinner's gonna be ready soon," you say, standing close by the pool. "Do you wanna go take a shower first?"

He grips on to the end of the pool, supporting his body as he caught his breath and stared at you.

"Are you okay?" you asked slowly, feeling flustered by his all-too-familiar stare.

Without another word, Anton pulls you right into the water with him.

"What are you doing?" you spluttered when you resurfaced, wiping the water off your face.

"I need to talk to you about something," Anton pleaded, his hands holding onto your waist.

"But here? Right before dinner?" you questioned, dumbfounded.

He nods, praying that you'd stay.

"Okay, fine. But make it quick." you mumble.

Anton feels his hands clam up as he clears his throat. He can't mess this up.

"Well, I'm... sorry." he mumbles, voice closing up.

A tense moment of silence passes by, only interrupted by the sound of water sloshing around as you treaded in the pool.

"That's all you have to say?" you ask. "Because if that's all, then I'm gonna head back inside."

"N-No, there's more." he hurriedly assures you.

Staring at him as if to say 'go on', Anton gulps.

"This is all my fault. I didn't mean to shout at you and accuse you of those things that night, I was just... I was worried. And jealous. And scared. I know it makes me sound like a shit person, and I kind of am a shit person, but I really didn't mean it." he starts.

"I didn't mean to break up with you, I was just so stupidly scared that you were out with someone else. I should've listened to you and given you a chance to explain your side of the story, and I'm just.. I'm just so sorry, Y/N. This is all my fault."

Tears start rolling down his cheeks, but he doesn't let that stop him.

"If you've already moved on and you're interested in... someone else, then I won't interfere," he sniffles. "But if you're not, then can we get back together?" he asks, so quiet that you can barely hear him.

Anton's hands slip into yours, and he holds on to them tightly. "I promise I'll change. I'll be the best boyfriend that you deserve."

His eyes gaze into yours sincerely, sparkly with tears and vulnerability.

"Anton, I don't know." you sigh.

"I'm not interested in anyone else right now, but you really hurt me that night." you whisper, voice laced with pain.

"Like, why would you even think I was out cheating on you? Don't you know that I love you too much to even think of doing that?"

Anton feels his heart shatter into a million pieces at your words, guilt crashing down even heavier on him.

"I know, I'm so sorry." he mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. "But can you give me another chance?"

If this was with any of your other ex-boyfriends, you'd say no immediately and shove them away, but Anton was different.

He was the only one who actually treated you right; giving you his jacket when you're cold, trying his best to cook your favorite meals for you even if it's two in the morning, and helping you study when you couldn't understand a single question.

But of course, he wasn't perfect. He was still human after all.

And deep down, a part of you really wanted to stay and love him more, working together through his flaws to make the best out of your relationship.

So you sigh, gently cupping his face.

"Okay, I'll give you another chance." you whisper, smiling softly. Anton bursts into tears as he throws himself around you, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

"Thank you," he repeats over and over again, pressing kisses all over your face.

You laugh at his sudden outburst of affection, gently pushing him away. "Okay, now let's go eat dinner first before we starve in this pool."

Anton nods, and with lightning speed, he's out of the pool and helping you out too. He grabs the tank top he had tossed aside earlier and drapes it around you as a towel. Then with one easy lift, he picks you up in bridal style.

"Thank you so much," he sighs, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." you giggle.

With that, Anton carries the both of you inside, ignoring the surprised shouts coming from your friends as he rushes you into his room, both of you laughing and squealing.

You grunt when he drops you onto the bed, still laughing.

Anton beams, loving the sound of your laughter and swearing to himself to never make you unhappy again.

"Alright, I'll go shower and then you can shower, and we'll go eat dinner." you chirp, getting up.

A mischievous light sparks in Anton's eyes. "Why not we shower together? We can save time and water that way, you know." he suggests, smirking.

You scoff at the boy, chuckling. "Since when were you so concerned about the environment?" you teased, knowing what his true intentions were.

"You just stay out here and wait, I'll be done real quick." you scolded lightly.

Anton smiles, nodding readily.

He'll always wait for you.

© anton-luvr, 2023.

[purecantarella]

an unlabelled drabble but that i might delete to turn into an actual piece later. there's no idol to it but still, for those who'll see it i hope you enjoy !! think of it as a slow return i suppose. warning/s : mildly angsty, mostly fluffy

You stare out the window, the past few weeks hitting you like a truck. The work load, the stress, and the constant thoughts slowly plaguing you. Making sure that you can't resurface to breath.

With one fell-swoop, your cheeks are drenched in tears. Pent up from every moment leading up to this. Everything around you feels heavy and the moments tread by like water dripping out of the tap.

You run a hand through your hair as you try to recompose yourself, feeling nothing but exhaustion and anxiety. But before you can drown yourself in your thoughts, finally succumbing to the urge to hide away again…

...The doorbell rings.

You perk up in fear. It was late. Far too late for anyone to be knocking at your door. With shaky legs and a racing heart you walk towards the living room...a million different scenarios play in your head. Food delivery you forgot you ordered, your family member surprising you with a visit, maybe even a murderer trying to catch his next victim.

But no.

You open the door. Slowly. Cautiously. Almost nervously.

It's her.

Suddenly, you feel the self pity turn into self consciousness. You're a mess, you'd been crying madly and everything around you feels like a wreck. The warm smile she wore on her face melts into a look of pure concern.

Before she can say much of anything, you quickly wrap your arms around her waist. Like you'd done a million times before. But she knows it’s different this time. She’s surprised but her arms wrap around your shoulders tightly. You slowly nuzzle yourself into her neck, finally feeling like you were able to inhale properly for what felt like a lifetime. Delicately, almost surgically, she pulls away before lifting her hand up to reach your face. Silently asking you what was wrong. 

For the first time the entire tempest of the week, you smile. The same bright brilliant smile that she adored you for. You shake your head and press your forehead gently against hers, pressing your lips tightly together before placing your hand over hers. Guiding her hand towards your chest, right above your heart. 

She guides you back into your house before sitting you down on the couch that lay flushed against the wall. You watch in mild amusement as she rummages thoughtlessly around the kitchen cupboards, not knowing where things are. You smile again before standing, legs feeling relatively stable again, and walk over to her. The smile on your face widens a little as you hear her mutter the most silent of curses trying to find the cups—which you can only assume to be her trying to get you water. 

The same thing you’ve done for her countless times when she was going through similar issues. 

You lean over and open a drawer, pulling out two glass cups. She smiles sheepishly up at you before taking one glass and walking over to the dispenser. You do the same. She fills up the glass and lets out a soft yip as you sidle up behind her. Wordlessly, you fill up the glass in your hand before offering it to her. She takes it before handing the other one to you. 

The two of you giggle at the silliness of the whole exchange before both of you take sips from your individual glasses. A silence hangs. It’s a comfort to you after the noise and loudness that echoed from the deepest parts of your mind earlier in the hour. 

Placing both your cups down on a nearby table, your hands return to wrap themselves around her waist. Pulling her impossibly closer. Her arms find themselves around your neck, almost leaning up to meet your height. She turns her head before leaving a light kiss on your face. 

“I’m sorry I came late…” She whispers against your cheek. 

You pull away. Then you smile, lean down and peck her lips gently. Feeling the coolness from the water radiating from them. The night’s initial bitter taste immediately being replaced with the sweet candy you can taste from her usual chapstick and likely consumption of sweets before she’d arrived. 

“Just in time, my love.” 

just an idea i had while avoiding my uni work, but i still think it came out rather nice. been a rough couple of months. in the end though, it did turn out surprisingly well. i can't promise this means i'm back for good, but i do want to write a bit more helps get the thoughts straighter. i hope you lovelies have been taking care of yourselves and i'm going to try and be more active on here. but yeah there we go. short lil piece that i hope yall enjoyed. i'll see you all as soon as i get a minute to breath and i love you all vv much !! - r

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 15 - Relegate

What went before.

💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛

Scott could make himself really quite small when he wanted to.

The height could be useful - not only for helping people reach objects on high shelves and seeing over a crowd to find a wayward baby brother - but it gave him a certain extra presence in a room, particularly useful when said room was full of older, more experienced egos.

But it was deceptive. The gangly limbs folded up very efficiently and he could squeeze into unexpectedly tiny spaces if required. It came in useful for hide and seek. And other times.

Gordon snuck out of the infirmary and moved swiftly down the corridor intent on fetching snacks for John and Grandma who were on Virgil-duty.

About half way down, while lost in his own thoughts he nearly leapt out of his skin when a quiet voice greeted him from a knee height storage alcove.

“Hey, Fish”

“Geeeeeez, Scott!” Gordon took a moment to collect himself and leant heavily on the wall.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“No worries. Uh, silly question but… humour me. Why are you lurking in the cleaning cupboard?”

“Just… waiting. How’s he doing?” Scott unfolded himself and emerged like an octopus from a crevice.

“He’s sleeping right now. The anti-psychotic meds will make him a bit drowsy even without taking the sedative.”

“Yeah. Grandma said. D’you think I can…” Scott gestured half-heartedly back towards the infirmary door.

Gordon cringed and watched his big brother’s face fall.

“I’m sorry, bro… Grandma thinks after… earlier… it’s best if when he wakes you’re not… you know.”

“There.”

The volume of bitterness contained in that one word made Gordon flinch again. His heart ached for Scott but having witnessed the scene when they’d arrived back - John desperately trying to calm a newly woken and intensely distressed Virgil and Scott, utterly defeated and cringing back against the wall… he was rather inclined to accede to Grandma’s point of view.

“It’s not forever, he’ll get better and then realise that you’re the real one and not…”

“Dad, who he apparently hates.” Scott slumped against the wall alongside Gordon and picked at piece of loose plaster.

“I don’t think he hates him, exactly. He’s just… confused.”

“Is he still… I mean… am I… err is the…other me still on the scene?”

“Apparently so. He was chatting away earlier. He’s not unhappy right now, he’s… well as ok as he can be.”

“Yeah as long as I’m not around.”

“Well… as far as he is concerned you are. He doesn’t think you’ve abandoned him or anything, Scotty.”

Scott swore quietly and kicked the wall. The swore rather more loudly and shook his abused foot.

“I hate this.”

“I know. It sucks. Look, hopefully it won’t be long. Why don’t you go and get some sleep, you’ve been awake for…”

Gordon registered the immediate threat to his survival being telegraphed from the sky blue and shifted tack seamlessly:

“Can I get you something to eat?”

Scott shook his head and curled himself back on to his shelf, eyes fixed on the infirmary door. Gordon knew he was dismissed and headed onwards, quietly deciding he would bring back something calorific that his big brother might be tempted to consume when nobody was looking.

And maybe a chair.

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[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — target practice #15

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: past whipping mention, multiple whumpers, mentioned gun violence/threat, manhandling

Getting up from the comfort of his bed was difficult. Not only could he feel the looming threat of Roy hanging over his shoulders, but the brief encounter he’d had with other mercenaries was making his stomach pool with dread. Roy by himself was a terrifying force; now there were more like him, and the secretary found himself hesitant to even leave his room. 

His back was throbbing, and he’d even considered digging the crutches back out to take away some of the lingering pain. The thought of being that defenceless again wasn’t sitting right with him, however, so he decided against that idea. 

The painkillers were taking the unbearable edge off, and when he’d hobbled over to the window, he could see the strangers outside. All four of them, and from the looks of it, they’d set up a few sturdy, human shaped targets. When Leo looked further on, he could see a big crate filled with what he could only assume was guns. 

He swallowed, backing away before somebody could see him. 

Roy wasn’t outside, which meant he could possibly still be in the house. Leo wasn’t pleased with the idea, but he wanted to stay as far away from the strangers as he could. 

Tugging Roy’s jacket on, he let the sleeves engulf his hands, gripping tightly onto the ends, and finally breached the hallway. 

It was quiet. 

Even as he strained his ears to get a relative idea of where the mercenary could be, there was only silence that followed. He swallowed uneasily, trying not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He could only assume what he looked like after what happened in the basement. He didn’t want to feel any worse than he already did. 

Silently sliding down the stairs, Leo let his eyes briefly flicker around. The sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and everything could almost be mistaken as normal. He softly bit the inside of cheek, gently pushing the kitchen door open. 

Luckily for him, it was empty. 

He gratefully closed the door behind him with a relieved sigh, his shoulders sinking. His eyes swiftly snapped to the clock above the cupboards. Making food for six people was going to take some time, so Leo was glad he managed to grit his teeth through the pain and get up out of bed when he did. 

It was difficult to bend down into the lower cupboards, and he found his eyes watering from the pain each time. He didn’t want to remember the lick of the whip against his skin, but the memories resurfaced unwillingly each time, and it made his stomach curl with nausea. He didn’t know much about whipping, but he was praying it wouldn’t leave any scars. 

He bit back his train of thought, popping the cupboards and drawers open so he could decide what to cook. It’d have to be something he could make a big portion of in bulk, and his eyes locked onto a can of chopped tomatoes. He gently took it in his fingers, setting it down on the countertop. 

He wondered if he’d make something they didn’t like; what would he do if they didn’t like Spaghetti Bolognese? 

He sniffled, taking out a couple pans. 

Leo pressed his lips into a thin line, his bottom one still sore to the touch. Anxiety was rushing through his veins, and he could feel stress pricking at the back of his neck already. Some part of him wanted Roy to walk through those doors right now, maybe say something nice like he used to, even if it wasn’t genuine. Leo would’ve really liked to hear something nice right now. 

He eyed some thyme and bay leaves, forcing himself to start cooking. He set the mince in the pan, preparing the pasta for later, deciphering how much he really needed. Time seemed to fly when he started cooking, and when he glanced at the clock, he was worried they were going to walk through the door and demand why the table wasn’t set with food yet. 

The smell of beef and tomato wafted through the kitchen, and Leo found himself putting the pasta on. He numbly set the plates along the table, fingers fumbling for the cutlery to go with it. 

Leo must have been so distracted by the task, that he hadn’t even heard the door clicking open. His only indication another person had entered was a brief shadow in the corner of his eye, which made him flinch back instinctively and almost stagger on his feet.

With a sinking realisation, the secretary noticed it wasn’t Roy that had come in. 

It was one of the other strangers, the one who he briefly recognised as the man who’d been carrying the pack of beers in his grasp. He was looking at him with piercing eyes, expression unreadable underneath his sharp features. His brown hair seemed to be quite long, but when he turned his head aside to glance at the pans on the stove, Leo eyed the bun it was curled up into on the back of his head. 

“Bolognese?” The man murmured, and Leo’s eyes widened in panic. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, his eyes darting from him to the pan. “I didn’t know if…if you don’t like it, I…” 

His throat closed up, and Leo anxiously wrung his fingers together as he analysed the man’s stoney expression. He just seemed to shake his head slowly, staring at the pan. 

“It’s fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll have a smaller plate. And you should give Bran the biggest. He’s the big guy with the scar.” 

Leo didn’t quite know what to say, so he stiffly nodded his head. 

His nerves were shot, and yet for some ridiculous reason, he really wanted Roy to be here. He felt this horrible uncomfortableness creeping down his spine, and all he could think about was how relieved he would feel if Roy was standing between them. That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Because out of everybody here, it was Roy that had hurt him the most. 

As Leo stiffly stirred the mince in the pan, the other man softly cleared his throat. 

“Sorry.” 

The secretary risked a glance. 

“I found you, so I feel like I was responsible for getting you in trouble with Roy.” 

Leo swallowed, his throat bobbing. He recalled his voice in the darkness, the chill he’d felt sinking into the pits of his heart when he knew he’d been spotted. 

“I think his pet got out.” 

He anxiously chewed on his lip, forcing his eyes back onto the pan. He was mindlessly stirring now, his head a million miles away. He wasn’t going to tell the man it was okay, because it made a spitfire of frustration spark in chest that he had the gall to try to apologise to him, as disingenuous as it might be. 

He went to move onto the pasta wordlessly to test if it was ready, when the door slammed open with a cracking bang.

Leo flinched, wrenching his head around as the man who he’d described as a ‘big guy’ came barreling in, his lip curved into a smug grin and laughter still dying on his tongue. He was definitely someone who could knock Leo to the ground with a single hit, and he found himself gripping onto the edge of the countertop out of fear. His steely grey eyes instantly pinned him down, and a snort fell from his lips. 

“That Roy’s jacket?” He scoffed, a twisted chuckle escaping him as he motioned to the other quiet man. He didn’t seem phased by the man’s entrance, simply looking at him with the same unreadable expression. “What are you, his fucking boyfriend?” 

The other man finally seemed to frown. “I thought you were busy in the range.” 

“I am,” the man, Bran, chuckled, leaving the door wide open behind him. “I came to find a better target.”

Leo almost shrank in on himself when he stalked closer, and he could easily recognise the scar going down his cheek. He eyed the food with a sneer, nose wrinkling in annoyance. 

“Bolognese?” 

Bran took the pan by the handle, and scooped some of the mince onto a spoon. Leo’s throat was too closed up to say anything when he ate a mouthful, and he even found himself shuffling away subtly to create some more distance between them. He was so imposing, his body broad and full, and Leo had the feeling he could lash out violently at him whenever he pleased, and he’d be unable to do anything about it.

His eyes slid towards the door, some part of his mind hoping Roy would walk through there any moment. 

Bran’s lip curled into a sneer, and he instantly strode over towards the bin. 

“Tastes like shit,” he hissed under his breath, and Leo’s heart leapt up into his throat as he watched the contents spill into the bottom of the bag. He’d even lurched forward, his eyes wide in fear. 

“No!” He cried, stuttering to a stop as his mouth dried out. Bran’s eyes snapped towards him, and there was something dangerous flashing in that narrowed gaze. Leo didn’t dare look, staring hopelessly at the now empty pan, slick with sauce. 

“No?” He echoed, a slight growl to the edge of his voice. 

Leo hugged the jacket, his mouth quivering open in an attempt to say something. The word had blurted straight from his chest before he could even think, and hot dread was stabbing mercilessly at his heart as the big man straightened up, the pan clattering against the countertop. Bran’s lip quirked into a strained smirk, eyeing him up and down. 

“You say something?” 

Leo instantly began shaking his head, his words dying on his tongue. He could only manage a choked breath in response, making Bran nod his head. 

“You’ll make for some good target practice then, huh?” He smirked, and Leo had barely even made it around the corner of the table before the man strolled towards him, and seized his wrist in a terrifyingly tight grasp. Leo gasped in pain, and was hardly even able to gain the strength in his legs before he was being dragged towards the kitchen door. 

The other man went to switch the stove off, taking the pan of pasta off as he watched them with sharp eyes. “I don’t know if Roy’s going to be happy with that.” 

Bran whipped around, and the roughness of his grasp reminded him of the night of the escape. He’d been the one who’d dragged him out from behind the car, and into Roy’s awaiting arms. He froze still, feet planted into the ground, and tried to control the breathing that had picked up to an irregular pace in his chest.

“He ain’t here, is he?” He snarled. “He’s busy. I won’t put too many rounds in him.” 

Leo tried to protest as he was dragged away, but it only seemed to come out as a terrified squeak.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE CHARACTER SONG Vol.8 KILLYOU,AGAIN By Mukami Azusa Mini Drama “My Only Light is Right Here”

Original title: たったひとつの光はここに

Source: Diabolik Lovers CHARACTER SONG Vol. 8 Mini Drama

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kishio Daisuke

Translator’s note: Since it has been a while since I played MB, I was a bit shocked by just how much Azusa has changed compared to his debut. Now he’s mostly a precious cinnamon roll and while his love for pain does still resurface every now and then, he has come a long way. I am glad they went into that direction, however, because I never quite liked how he would beg the MC to harm him. :’’) While I’ve never seen him as boyfriend material, he is the character who triggers my ‘MUST PROTECT’ mode the most. 

*Knock knock*

“...Who’s there?”

You answer.

“Ah...That voice...Eve, it’s you, isn’t it? The door’s unlocked...so come on in.”

You enter Azusa’s room.

“What’s wrong...? What brings you here so late at night?”

You explain.

“You came here...because you couldn’t sleep? ...I see. Hey...Come a little closer? Right next to me...”

You approach.

*Rustle*

“Don’t worry...I wasn’t asleep just yet either...I was thinking of you, you see.”

*Rustle*

“Ah...Uu...Haah...My friends underneath the bandages are very lively today...That’s why I’ve been...keeping still all day.”

*Rustle*

“Hey...Check this out. The bandages are drenched in blood...They must be so happy to see you...I can feel them aching.”

You frown.

“Say...Can I hug you...? ...You don’t mind, do you? If I wrap my arms tightly around you...I’d be able to feel you here with me even more clearly... I’m sure it’d open up the wounds even more...It should feel...amazing...!”

You seem hesitant, not wanting him to be pain.

“Eh? I...can’t...? ...I’m sorry, I can’t even if you say that. I simply can’t hold back.”

Azusa embraces you.

*Rustle*

“There...Gotcha. By doing this...See? You can’t move at all...You can try and fight back if you’d like...I don’t mind if you hit me or push me away...”

You refuse.

“Huh? What’s wrong, Eve...? You don’t want to...? But why...?”

*Rustle*

“Uu...Ah...My wounds are bleeding again because you moved...”

You offer to change his bandages.

“Eh? Why would you...change the bandages? They’re so beautiful...dyed in blood...”

You explain.

“Mm...I understand. If you insist, go ahead. ...I’m sure my friends will understand...that I had no other choice but to listen to your request.”

*Rustle*

“Right? You guys? ...The fresh bandages are...”

He points towards the back of the room.

“Inside the cupboard in the back of the room. ...I’m pretty sure that’s where I stashed them away.”

You move to look for the bandages.

*TIMESKIP*

*Tick・tock・tick・tock*

*Rustle rustle*

“How nice...”

You raise your head.

“Ah...Sorry for disturbing you...But I was just thinking...how nice your hands looked while unwrapping the bandages. It gives me this warm feeling inside...similar to how I felt when gazing up at the skyー the blue skies. ...No matter how far I extend my arms, I’ll never be able to touch the sky but...I can grab your hands...just like this.”

*Rustle*

“Ah...Why did you withdraw them...? You haven’t even finished...applying the fresh bandages...”

*Rustle*

“Show me...More...I’m begging you...”

You start wrapping a fresh bandage around his arm.

“...Haah...This really is so nice...Makes me want to touch you even more...Hey? Can I have a small sip of your blood...while we’re like this...? I promise that I won’t get in the way of your work...”

Azusa leans in close.

“From your nape...Like this...”

He bites you.

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Nn...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Hah...No, you can’t...Don’t stop your actions...Continue...”

You frown.

“It looks pretty...So I want to keep watching...Mmh...Nn...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Mmh...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Ah...My bad...”

*Gulp gulp*

*Sluuuurp*

“...Hah...Haah, haah...Nnh...Hahn...”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

*Sluuuurp*

“Mmh...Hah. Haah...”

*Rustle*

“I’m sorry...I promised I wouldn’t get in your way but...I can’t...I want more of your blood...Haah...I want you...Mmh...”

*Gulp*

*Sluuuurp*

“Ah...Nnh...”

*Sluuuurp*

*Gulp gulp*

*Sluuuurp*

“Hah...Haah...Hey...I’m begging you...Give me your hand...”

Azusa grabs hold of your hand.

*Rustle*

“Let me suck from your fingertip as well...”

He bites your fingertip.

“Mmh...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Nn...”

*Sluuuurp*

*Rustle*

“Hah...! ...Ah...The bite marks are very pretty but...I’ll lick the wound for you, okay?”

He licks the wound.

“Nn...”

*Rustle*

“Hah...I like the shape of your fingers...Just watching them doesn’t do it for me...Nor does simply sucking your blood...Not even running my tongue across like this to confirm the shape is enough to satisfy me...Nn...”

*Rustle*

“...What should I do? It’s rough that nothing can give me that sense of fulfillment...I had no idea a pain like this existed...”

You remain quiet.

“...And you are the only one who hurts me in this way...That’s why...You’re not allowed to leave...okay? Please continue to make me suffer...forever...”

ーー THE END ーー

[rebelwrites]

Winner Takes It All || Seven Fraudulent Activities

Charles Leclerc x Valentina Hendrix (OC)

Winner Takes It All Masterlist

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and things are starting to heat up and not in the good way.

Warnings: mentions of being arrested, GTA and assault.

A/N: I am so sorry I have made you wait so long for this part 🥺 hopefully the ending makes it up to you ❤️

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get back to sleep, every time I closed my eyes it was like a movie playing on repeat in my head.

The night Charles walked out on me.

It had been a while since I had been prisoner to this memory but being back around him caused it to resurface.

Kicking the duvet off I swung my feet around letting them land on the floor, my toes wiggling in the fluffy blanket that laid on the hardwood floor of one of the guest rooms. Running my hand over my face, I let out a shaky breath. This was one of my favourite times of year and he was spoiling it.

The smell of bacon and coffee drifted through the crack in the door causing my stomach to growl, Pascale’s Christmas Eve breakfast was one of the best meals I ever had tasted, she made everything; pancakes, waffles, fresh pastries, you named it she probably had it on the table. The sound of Charles’ laughter echoed through the house, causing my chest to tighten and tears to burn my eyes.

Fuck why was this so hard?

“Hendrix, tu ferais mieux de ramener ton cul ici avant que je ne mange toutes les crêpes. Hendrix, you better get your ass in here before I eat all the pancakes.” Arthur shouted up the stairs.

“Je jure devant Dieu que si tu manges toutes les crêpes, je te décapiterai bébé Leclerc. I swear to God that if you eat all the pancakes, I will decapitate you baby Leclerc.” I shouted back, quickly wiping my eyes before grabbing my Alpha Tauri hoodie forgetting it now had my number embroidered on the back, before running down the stairs

Taking a deep breath before I walked into the kitchen, I plastered a fake smile on my face as I made my way to the coffee machine, silently thanking that someone refilled the pot.

I stayed silent as I poured the drink, I was trying hard to bite my tongue as Becky was moaning about something that wasn’t on the table. Rolling my eyes before wrapping my hands around the mug.

“Maman, have you got any-“ I asked, scanning the table just to make sure I hadn’t seen them hiding away.

“Top cupboard above the fridge sweetie.” She smiled back at me, responding before I could even finish my sentence. “Bought them yesterday especially for you and hid them from the vultures.”

My heart swelled at the fact she remembered how much I loved them even after all the years that had passed.

“This isn’t fair, you buy her stupid caramel waffles yet there’s no grapefruit or dragon fruit for breakfast.” Becky screeched, causing me to wince.

I could see Charles pinching the bridge of his nose at his girlfriend's outburst.

“Firstly I’ve told you about your tone when you speak to me.” Pascale growled, gripping her knife and fork with so much force I was worried she was going to bend them. “And secondly, Valentina is and will always be my daughter so shut your mouth before I kick you out.”

I had to pull my first to my mouth to try and hide the chuckle that had escaped, I had a snarky comment sitting on the tip of my tongue and even though I was ready for a fight I decided to keep my mouth shut for once. Pascale threw a wink my way which I returned by blowing her a kiss before jumping on the counter top letting my ass land with a thud.

“You need a hand there Nugget?” Pierre hollered from across the table.

All eyes were on me as I pushed myself to my feet, once I was steady I leant up into my tiptoes letting my finger pull the cupboard door open. This was something I had perfected over the years.

“I’m good.” I smirked, reaching up into the cupboard blinding snaking my palm against the wood until I found what I was looking for.

“Little bear,” Lorenzo asked, causing me to glance over my shoulder. “Why are you wearing an Alpha Tauri hoodie with your race number?”

“Fuck,” I mumbled, hoping my lie was good enough “because it was a gift and you know manifesting and all that shit.” I hummed, jumping off the counter landing on my feet.

I noticed that Pierre, Pascale and my parents had to hide their proud smiles from everyone else. I was thankful that they were all keeping this a secret for now.

Lorenzo cocked his brow at me, like he knew I wasn’t being honest with him. Rolling my eyes at the oldest Leclerc I took my place at the table instantly loading my plate with pancakes, bacon and maple syrup, my mouth instantly watering.

“Like she’d ever be able to get into F1.” Becky scoffed, not even trying to keep her voice down. “I know you boys want females to get into the sport but she aint it.”

Once again I felt my blood boil, my grasp on my knife tightened, who did this bitch think she is? There was no way I was holding back now, not now she had come for my career.

“Come back to me when you have fucking won the W-series world driver championship, twice.” I spat, slamming my cutlery down on the table causing Arthur to jump slightly at the contact. “Oh that’s right you are nothing but a grid girl, using your body to get through life and to steal people's boyfriends.” I didn’t care anymore. I wasn't going to sit here in a place I classed as another home, a place I had so many memories only to be torn to pieces by some slag.

Kicking my chair back I stood to my feet, grabbing my stroopwafels and coffee. I needed to get out of the room before I showed this bitch who Valentina Hendrix actually was.

“Bambino, what about breakfast?” Dad asked, causing me to glance over my shoulder as I reached the back door.

“Ho perso l'appetito. I have lost my appetite.”

It didn’t take long before I was joined outside by Lorenzo. He silently pulled me into a bear hug and I could feel my resolve starting to crumble.

“Lor, I don’t know what to do.” I whispered, scared if I spoke any louder then I would break down. “It’s been four fucking years, yet right now if feels like everything happened yesterday.”

“Petit ours, tu n'as pas vu Charles depuis que tout est arrivé. C'est tout à fait normal de se sentir comme ça. Little bear, you haven't seen Charles since everything happened. It's perfectly normal to feel this way.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I know it’s easier said than done but you gotta ignore them and focus on the time you have with us instead.”

“She is practically rubbing it in my face.” I sighed, pulling away from the hug, reaching for my mug of coffee.

“I know, we can all see what she is doing, well apart from Charles but he can be stupid at times.” Lorenzo said with a slight chuckle in his voice. “I know exactly what you need.” He smiled, shoving his hand into his hoodie pocket, slowly pulling out a set of car keys.

My eyes went wide the moment I saw them, I knew exactly what car they belonged to just from the keyring that was hanging between his fingers.

“You still have my ST?” I asked, slightly shocked that this car was still here.

“Of course.” He smirked.

“I thought Charles would have sent it to be scrapped by now.” I mumbled, taking the keys from him. I hadn’t seen this car in four years. It was the car I used in Monaco but when everything happened Pascale let me keep it locked up in her garage.

“Maman fell in love with the car, so we may have acted fraudulently, got her added into the insurance along with changing the bank details for the payments so she could drive it.” He laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “She refused to let anyone else drive it, kept up with maintenance and even kept your modifications saying that it was her way of still feeling close to you.”

Tears burned my eyes, and in this moment my heart was full. A lot had happened in the last four years but one thing that hadn’t changed was the love that Arthur, Lorenzo and Pascale still had for me. No matter what life threw at me I would always be family.

“How the hell did you manage that?” I questioned, raising my brow at him. “None of you sound anything like me.”

“Somehow Arthur can do a brilliant impression of you, it’s actually scary come to think of it.” Lorenzo laughed softly before pausing for a second. “Now I think we could all do with a morning at the track.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Somewhere that you can release some of this anger legally, the last thing we need is you getting arrested again.”

Summer 2012

I should have thought this through, but once again I flew by the seat of my pants, throw in a little peer pressure and you could get me to do anything. Which was the reason why I was currently sitting in a police cell, surrounded by nothing but metal and coldness. I knew the friends I had weren’t the best but as a fifteen year old I didn’t care. Just like in the moment I didn’t care that we were committing GTA and assault whilst intoxicated.

Once again Charles was right, the people I was hanging around with suddenly would land me in shit.

Running my hands over my face I realise how badly I had fucked up. My knuckles were starting to sting from the cuts across the skin, dropping my hands I ran my eyes over the state of them. They were already starting to bruise from what I could see from the dried blood that covered my skin. My parents were going to kill me and from my moment of stupidity I was going to have a criminal record for the rest of my life so I might as well kiss my dreams goodbye because who in their right mind would want a driver that has a record.

“Princess,” a familiar voice echoed around the room. “What’s going on?”

The moment I saw Jules standing on the other side of the metal bars I broke down sobbing, hiding my head in my hands as embarrassment and regret took over.

“Uncle J, I am so fucking sorry.” I said between sobs, refusing to look up at him. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he started to speak again but this time it was too low for me to hear. The next thing I knew the cell door had been opened and Jules was crouched in front of me, resting his hands on my knees.

“Everything is going to be okay, little one.” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me as I sobbed into his hoodie.

“I’m going to have a criminal record” I sobbed, clutching onto the material.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” he whispered, pressing a kiss against the top of my head. “Now let's get you out of here and get a large black coffee into you, we can’t have you going home in this state.”

Present Day

The moment I was back behind the wheel of my old car nothing could wipe the grin off my face, it was clear that Pascale was a little speed demon at heart considering the fact that the ST was a lot quicker than the last time I drove it four years ago.

“Buckle up.” I giggled, smirking at Pascale before dropping my hand to the handbrake once I had pulled into the track car park. Once I had done a quick check that there was nothing around I yanked the handbrake up, causing the car to spin before quickly and smoothly started doing donuts on the dirt causing dust to smother the car.

After I had a bit of fun in the ST I parked the car before quickly clambering out the red little beast. Leaning against the front wing of the car everyone was cheering and whistling apart from Becky who was scowling.

“Some things never change.” Dad grinned, pulling me into his side, pressing a kiss against the top of my head. “Should have known you would be trouble the moment Jules taught you how to drive.”

“Such a child.” Becky scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

Pulling away from Dad I slowly walked over to her, squaring up with the dumb bitch. Anger was soaring through my veins as I stretched my fingers out by my side before balling them into a tight fist. Everyone had taken a few steps backwards now, including Charles. They knew what was going to happen and all knew better than to try and intervene.

“I have had enough of you.” I growled, narrowing my eyes at Becky. “Even before you stole my boyfriend you always pissed me off, thinking you were god's gift to the drivers on the track. But news flash darling you are nothing but a dirty little slag.”

“I can end your career you stupid bitch.” she laughed loudly, which just irritated me more. “You may have two championships but we both know I am the real winner here. I am the one hanging from Charles’ arm not you so I would suggest you would back the fuck off.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer, I had wanted this moment for a while now so I was going to enjoy this. Becky didn’t know what came for her as my fist collided with her face with so much force I could hear her nose crack, the sound alone caused a huge grin to form on my face.

“Valentina,” Charles exclaimed, causing me to roll my eyes. “What the fuck?” he muttered as he rushed over to his girlfriend’s side.

“I should have done that fucking years ago.” I smirked.

“Tu as changé. You have changed.” he said, raising his voice.

“Pas grâce à toi, connard. No thanks to you, asshole.” I spat, glaring at the person that my heart called out for all of the time. “Tu sais quoi, j'emmerde cette merde. You know what, fuck this shit”

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo67 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @sunf1owerrq @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @sessgjarg @derpinathebrave @idkiwantchocolatee @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @alynoa @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @organasith @inchidentwithmax @raaaaabzzz @teamspideyman

[spnexploration]

Collared part 25

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: Bad news from Garth.

Warnings: drug use

Word count: 1.6k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 24 <- -> Part 26

Dean came in from the garage with his arms full of groceries. Sam jumped up and followed him back to the car to grab some more. Once they were at the car’s boot, Sam muttered to him, “Bad news from Garth.”

“Shit, what?” Dean whispered back.

“Azaneth has resurfaced.”

“Fuck.”

“We’re going to have to tell her, she'll never trust us again if we don't.”

Dean groaned, “This is going to kill her.”

“I know.”

“Where is he? What's our plan for ganking the bastard?”

“Still waiting on more intel from Garth and his network. He fled the city where the last hunter saw him.”

“Ok. Let's get the food away and then tell her.”

---

“Hey, Y/N, we uh, we need to chat,” Sam said after knocking on your door and gently opening it. “Can you come to the library?”

You looked worried. “It’s nothing about you or anything you've done wrong. We just have some news to share.”

“Bad news?” you said tentatively.

He reached out to touch your shoulder, “It'll be ok.”

He walked you to the library with his arm gently around your shoulders.  He watched your reactions closely, trying to see if this was providing you comfort like he intended or worrying you.

Dean was sitting in his normal seat at the library tables when the two of you walked in. He looked over at the two of you and must have seen something in your face because he looked around him and saw the cushion next to his chair. “Shit, sorry Y/N, I didn't even notice it,” he said.

“It’s ok,” you said quietly. Sam gave your shoulder a rub.

“Do you want to sit? Stand? We can sit on the floor if you'd like?” Sam asked, slightly awkwardly.

“You sit down, I'm ok,” you mumbled. He thought you might have been embarrassed so he crossed quickly to his seat, not wanting to seem like he was interrogating you about your difficulties with furniture.

Dean looked expectantly at him. This would probably go over with you better if he said it. “After we fought the witch, we asked some of our hunting buddies to keep an eye out for Azaneth,” Sam started. You stiffened at the sound of his name. “Well, one of them found him last night. Garth rang me to tell me a little while ago.”

“Where is he? What happened to your friend?” Your voice shook and he could see you tremble.

“Belinda is ok, but Azaneth got away. But now we have someone who knows what he looks like now, she's going to try and sketch it for everyone.”

“What?”

“He changed vessels. He's, um, in another person.”

“He’s inside a person?!” He could see your ‘mind blown’ moment playing across your face, and then another emotion replaced it. Horror? Shame?

“Uh, yeah, demons possess people. They don't have their own body.”

“Why did he change? To sneak up on us?”

“Uh, no,” Dean answered. “He smoked out of his last vessel in the fight when we nearly had him. So he would've had to find a new one.”

“You nearly had him?” Your voice sounded slightly hopeful.

“Yeah, it was after he'd gone with you. We killed his henchmen and then went and found him, but then he smoked out and we couldn't find you. Guess you were with the witch.”

“I was in a cupboard,” you said quietly.

Dean clenched his fists. “They put you in a cupboard?!”

“Well, first Azaneth cut me up but then my mi- the witch came and told him to go kill you instead so they attached my leash inside a cupboard and locked it.”

“Fuuuck me,” Dean breathed quietly, and Sam found himself swearing too.

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” Sam said to you.

“Hey, it’s fine, was probably the least traumatic time I ever saw him,” you joked weakly. Neither brother laughed.

There was an awkward pause.

“Ok, well, we wanted to tell you he's back,” Sam said. “But he doesn't know where you are. This bunker is warded, he can't just appear here even if he knew where it was. And all of the hunters we or Garth know will be looking for him.”

You nodded, although Sam could tell you were scared. He didn't blame you. They'd failed to protect you last time.

“Is that it?” you asked, fidgeting with your hands.

“Yes. I'm sorry, Y/N.”

You turned and left, walking quickly. Sam watched you go, his heart wrenching at how you must be feeling.

---

“That went better than expected,” Dean muttered to Sam after you'd gone.

---

Dean was walking through the bunker when he thought he heard a noise. He went to investigate. He relaxed when he heard you humming, although it was a little strange that you were down this end of the bunker. You also didn’t normally hum. But at least it didn’t sound like an intruder.

He walked into the war room and stopped dead in his tracks.

You were sitting on the table playing with a revolver.

You had the bullets in your hand and were dropping them back into the cylinder one at a time. You missed and dropped one to the floor, giggling about it. You spun the cylinder and pushed it back in, then flicked it out again and spun it some more.

Dean was very confused and very, very worried.

You noticed him. “Dean!” you said, strangely excited to see him. But then you flicked the cylinder back in and pointed the gun at him. “Look what I found!”

Your pupils were tiny pinprick holes and you didn’t really seem to be focusing on him. Fuck.

He discreetly moved his hand into his pocket and hit the couple of strokes on his phone required to automatically dial Sam. After waiting a few seconds until he thought his brother would have picked up, he said, “Ok, Y/N, how about you put the gun down? I know it’s called the war room but that’s not really what it’s for.”

“But I like it,” you said, frowning in an almost comical way. “You’re always telling me what to do, STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!”

It was almost amazing, Dean thought, his talent for getting you angry. One second happy, then BAM – angry. You weren’t normally brandishing a loaded gun near him though. You weren’t exactly pointing it at him all of the time, but you were waving it around while you spoke to him, and it was probably pointing in his direction at least half the time.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, trying to placate you. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, good. I’m sick of doing what everyone else wants. You’re mean and I’m not going to show you what I found.”

“That’s ok, I understand.” He saw Sam duck his head around the door behind you. He needed to talk to distract you. “I’m sorry you feel like everyone is always telling you what to do, that must be-” he cut himself off, jumping to grab your torso and other arm after Sam had grabbed the arm holding the gun. Sam wrenched it to point at the floor, away from Dean, and was wrestling to get the gun out of your grasp. The gun went off, embedding the bullet in a wooden chest of drawers.

You howled and yelled at them, “Stop! It’s mine! I want it!”

Sam got the gun free and put it in the waistband of his pants. Dean wrapped his arms around your torso and held both of your hands as you struggled. “I think she’s taken something,” Dean told Sam. “Go look for what in her room or the infirmary.” Sam nodded and jogged out the door.

“Ok,” he said, turning his attention back to you and releasing his grip on your arms, “What did you take?”

You shrugged out of his grip and stepped away from him, then crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him. “And WHY would I tell you?”

“So I can save your life.”

You glared but it lacked your usual vigour. “Why bother?”

He sighed, “You going to come willingly or am I going to have to carry you?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Wrong answer,” he said gruffly, hoisting you up over his shoulder and binding your legs together with one strong arm. You hit and tried to kick at him, but he ignored it.

“Put me down!!”

“No can do, sweetheart.” He marched down the corridor to the bathroom, finally putting you down in one of the toilet cubicles. “Alright, you get to choose: your fingers, my fingers or salt water?”

“WHAT? You are not cutting off my fingers!”

“No, you’re going to make yourself vomit, or I’m going to do it for you.”

You giggled, “Vomit is a funny word.”

Sam came jogging in at that moment, shaking a small pill bottle. “I think it’s these, opioid pain meds, but there aren’t heaps missing. I googled and it said don’t try and make them vomit, and if she’s still conscious and didn’t take that many it looks like maybe she’s just high, not overdosing.”

You looked annoyed at Sam. “That's mine! And I am not high!”

“Yeah, right, Bambi,” Dean replied sarcastically. “You just nearly shot me and your pupils are practically AWOL.”

“A-what? Oh, are you being an owl? A wolf?”

“My point exactly.” He turned back to Sam, “You take first shift babysitting, I’m gonna babyproof the bunker.”

“You guys got a baby?!” You said, jumping excitedly and clapping your hands.

“It was easier when you could just order her not to touch stuff,” Dean muttered as he shuffled out of the cubicle, past his brother.

He heard Sam behind him turning to you, “Ok, Y/N, what do you want to do? Watch a movie with me?”

.

.

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