#i consider this to be the best/worst reader x character fic of all time i am so proud of myself i shall award myself a sticky gold star

[nostalgia-tblr]

POV: You're on a hot date with Sylvie Lauffeydottir except no wait actually you're not she's just fucking with your head via her magic mind powers to extract information from you to assist her in her single-minded revenge quest against your employers so all of this date stuff is just an illusion and in the real world you're her prisoner which actually that's a bit like being on a hot date with her it's just way kinkier than the other scenario so okay never mind you were right the first time I guess. Enjoy your hot date!

[changbunnies]

All About You, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), age gap, angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k

♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.

♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine, and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), petnames (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, submissive reader, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal, historical au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap lmao you can also read the story on my ao3 here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times- that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically. 

You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check- and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option. So he lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “Please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason. 

And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it. 

You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you- he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability. 

So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching your description, and as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do. He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere. 

It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself. It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?

He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries. 

Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe. But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days. 

As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you- there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere. 

By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.” 

Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power. “Princess-” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp. 

He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage. Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are. 

But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error- one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach. You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night. 

“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour. He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.” 

Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together. “There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room. 

You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised. He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully. 

Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before? You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to. 

You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now. 

“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.” Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.” “Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”

Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death. He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you. 

Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel- because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it? You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter- you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl. 

But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.

And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats. You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on. 

Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose- he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe. You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper. 

When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning. He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want, but you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.

But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily. 

“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him, that you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion no matter what anyone says. 

“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand. 

You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs. It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho would do if he were you, anyways. 

“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?” Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You.. what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard, a man who is your fathers age at that. 

But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest. “Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation. “Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now? 

Minho was the ideal man, at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you. He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance? 

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help. 

In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil, you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame. You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly, matching one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other. 

But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.” 

You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control. 

Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin. In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish. 

But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this- to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side. “You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?” 

He looks you over carefully, grip on the armrests tightening. Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable? 

“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.” “So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated. 

You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs, and Minho is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need- all for him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin. He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..” He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy. 

“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips. He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies. 

He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows. Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck. 

You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle. 

“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip. If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin.

He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too. His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body. 

He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing. 

“Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something. You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating. 

One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly. 

Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your juices. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect. You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head. “Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?” 

You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”

Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers. It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women, women who knew what they were doing, but really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand. 

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked- you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you. 

He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question. Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget. 

Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet. Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation. “You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology. 

“Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss. His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin. 

He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling. It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all.

“M-Minho, I’m- I’m gonna-” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence. He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.

Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.” All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel. 

You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips. 

You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face, your juices gushing around his fingers. He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had. 

Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes. You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers. 

“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head; you’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down. He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit.

“Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.” Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.

The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.

He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly. “Feels good, I just.. I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.

There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.

“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess-” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious. “Minho, I-” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.

He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop. You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please-” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.

Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble. But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you, not that you mind in the slightest; you’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.

He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you. He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.

You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release. He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust.

A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours. Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him, his arms wrapped around you snuggly and keeping you upright against his chest. 

You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek. He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow. “Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.

“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks. In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.

It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably? He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be.

You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least. “Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it. 

There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same. He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided- so if you make your future husband, your father, the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.

[bloodynereid]

Tinsel, Gold and Dragons

(modern au!)

pairings: rhaenyra targaryen x fem! reader, past rhaenyra x alicent

tw: kissing, alicent bashing, alcohol consumption, talk about hooking up, hatred of the holiday season??

description: You were wondering how the hell this family had so many attractive people. Rhaenyra’s brain was currently not computing, she was pretty sure this was called bisexual panic but it had never really happened to her in real life before.

a/n: hiii hope you enjoy this little fic i randomly wrote last night. i've been kind of missing just writing stuff that isn't requests so hopefully this is still ok haha. ALSO i'm 100% an alicent defender, she's the loml so just remember that a lot of this is from rhaenyra's pov and not my own thoughts about her character. anyways hope you enjoy this and happy holidays <3 (might write a part 2 at some point but who knows?)

Rhaenyra Targaryen never liked the holiday season. After her mother died things just got worse and the boring parties she was always subjected to only got more boring. The welcome reprieve of baking gingerbread in the kitchen with her mom was gone in seconds and now holidays just reminded her of everything she had lost.

This year’s party was going to be the worst one by a long shot. Rhaenyra had to deal with Alicent fucking Hightower - oh sorry Targaryen now… that was something she still hadn’t accepted. I mean how do you even cope when your best friend suddenly starts fucking your dad in secret, gets pregnant, marries him and then proceeds to act like she’s Virgin fucking Mary?

The answer is with a lot of scotch, stupid hookups and long hours studying. She was desperate to get her law degree so she could finally do something and it also meant she could start working at her uncle’s law firm.

Currently though she was stuck in her father’s house whilst her new toddler half-brother threw temper tantrums and broke anything in his vicinity.

It was Christmas Eve and Viserys had nearly decided to cancel the annual Christmas party, in favor of “family bonding” but Alicent had somehow convinced him to keep it on. Rhaenyra did not want to think about what she had done to convince him. She nearly gagged at the mere idea of it.

Smoothing out the material of the dark red dress with a slightly higher slit than what would be considered appropriate, Rhaenyra let out an audible sound of satisfaction. She looked fucking hot. Plus Alicent would freak when she saw it, perfect.

Once upon a time Alicent Hightower had been her best friend, and probably something more but now… all that Rhaenyra could muster up for her is a cold chill of utter hate and rage.

Rhaenyra was thrown out of her thoughts when her phone called out the familiar ringtone that belonged to her uncle.

“Daemon… you do know that people can text now don’t you?”

“Haha, you can call me old all you want but you might regret it when I don’t tell you how I’m about to save you tonight.”

“Please tell me you found a way to make them all die fiery deaths.”

“Nothing as dramatic as that but I assure you it’s still the perfect escape.”

“Are you going to leave me in suspense while I endure this torture or…”

“Fine, you spoiled princess. We’re having a little party at the firm and since you’re coming to work here soon…”

“You didn’t.”

“But I did.”

“Fuck off. You mean I can actually leave this party.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

“You’re my savior.”

“Knight in shining armor and all that. Just remember to get me a good present this year.”

“When do I ever disappoint you?”

“There is also another surprise waiting for you when you get here.”

“Daemon… what have you done?”

“Nothing. There’s just someone I think you should meet.”

“Oh God, maybe I won’t go.”

“You know you’re too desperate not to, plus she’s your age so you won’t have to deal with boring old men like me.”

“She’s a she?” 

Rhaenyra perked up, she hadn’t had a date in a while and ever since Alicent she hadn’t even tried to step her foot back into that pool. A string of meaningless hookups with men had done nothing to quell the heartbreak side of the whole situation. This would probably be good for her. 

“Yes. So I guess that means you’re coming?”

“Obviously.”

“Should I send a car over?”

“Don’t bother, I’ll just drive Syrax.” Syrax was a birthday present from Daemon, a beautiful and subtly gold car that drove like a dream.

“Ok, see you soon Nyra.”

“Bye, Uncle.”

Rhaenyra sped through the streets of King’s Landing in the comfortable leather seat of her car. The bright Christmas lights that adorned the shops made a bright smile appear on her face. She may hate the holidays but at least the lights and food were incredible.

She arrived at the tall building that held Caraxes, Daemon’s law firm and named after his first dog but no one needed to know that. She gave her name to the security guard before parking the car in one of the empty spaces.

Her red dress fluttered in the cold breeze as she waited for the elevator to open. The firm was located on the 60th floor, the penthouse. Rhaenyra always loved being up high so the height was never a problem. What was annoying was how long it took her to actually get up there.

When the elevator doors finally opened at the correct floor, loud Christmas music echoed through the floor and she could clearly hear cheers coming from the area close to Daemon’s office.

Since the secretary was nowhere to be seen, Rhaenyra walked the now familiar route towards her uncle’s office. Weaving through a variety of cubicles she found a large Christmas tree and a small bar had been set up outside her uncle’s office.

“NYRA!” A loud voice that corresponded to her uncle slurred out and his tall frame ambled towards her. Within moments she was suddenly caught in a warm embrace and she returned the hug with her smaller arms wrapping around his torso.

“When did you have time to get this drunk, uncle?” Rhaenyra asked when they finally parted.

“Oh you think this is drunk, darling. Don’t you remember me at that New Year’s-”

“Andddd I’m going to stop you right there. I still get trauma flashbacks.”

“I must say, you look absolutely stunning Nyra. I’m sure our dear Alicent flipped when she saw you.”

“You should have seen her face when I told her I was going to unfortunately not attend her party.” Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a laugh before Daemon spotted someone in the crowd and a smirk appeared on his face.

“Y/N! I have someone you should meet.” 

Rhaenyra followed Daemon’s line of sight and found the most beautiful woman she had probably ever seen. You were wearing a dark blue floor length dress which was held up with spaghetti straps. A pashmina scarf looped around your elbows and you had a smile on your face as you approached the two of them.

“You summoned me?” You asked when you finished weaving through the sea of people.

“Well yes, I wanted you to meet my niece. Rhaenyra this is Y/N, our newest and most promising associate.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” You said as you offered a hand to the stunning silver haired woman. You were wondering how the hell this family had so many attractive people. Rhaenyra’s brain was currently not computing, she was pretty sure this was called bisexual panic but it had never really happened to her in real life before.

“I-uh, nice to meet you too.” Rhaenyra stuttered out as she took Y/N’s hand and shook it.

“Well I’ll leave you two to it.” Daemon said with a conspiring tone in his voice before he disappeared into the crowd.

“So… Daemon’s been singing your merits all over the office for a while now so I think I have an unfair advantage here.”

“Oh God, what has he been saying?” Rhaenyra groaned out as she dramatically swept a hand over her hair.

“Nothing bad, I promise. You’re getting your law degree at The Citadel, right?”

“Yup.”

“How’s that? I was debating going there for a while but ended up going to Oxford instead.”

“It's hell but worth it, I hope.”

“I totally get that, Oxford was like medieval torture but I’m happy it landed me in this place.” You said as you swept a hand in the direction of the office space.

“Wait, how old are you?” Rhaenyra suddenly asked before her face contorted in embarrassment. “Shit, that was rude, sorry.”

“Ha don’t worry, I get that all the time. I’m 25.”

“24.” Rhaenyra offered back in solidarity.

“We’re basically the same age then.” You said with a wink before you took a sip of the amber liquid in the glass tumbler.

“Probably why Daemon shoved us in this little corner together.”

“I’m for one glad to be stuck in this little corner with you.” You said as you smirked in Rhaenyra’s direction. A light blush started to dust Rhaenyra’s cheeks.

“I’m glad too, but I’m desperate for a drink. This week has been hell.”

“You don’t like the holidays either?”

“Hate them.”

“We have something else in common after all.”

You spent the rest of the party sitting next to Rhaenyra in Daemon’s office. You drank sparingly, not wanting to be drunk since Rhaenyra needed to drive back and you didn’t want to act like a fool in front of her.

Rhaenyra felt like this was the first time in years that she felt truly happy. It was nice just to talk and gossip and be free to actually be herself. With Alicent it felt like she was walking on eggshells before the incident and now it was near impossible to be in the same room alone with her. But with Y/N…

At first, Rhaenyra went into this wanting just to have a quick hookup but those hours spent talking or maybe it was the alcohol that got to her head but she decided she deserved something better. She deserved someone better.

“Do you need a ride home?” Rhaenyra asked when people started to mill out of the party. Y/N turned to her in surprise before a gentle smile lit up her face.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble?”

“Not at all, but don’t think this is some kind of selfless act - maybe I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Well, we just have to indulge in your selfish desires don’t we?” You said with a twinkle in your eyes and a laugh on your tongue.

“You have no idea the scope of my selfish desires.”

“I would like to find out…”

Rhaenyra basically dragged you down to her car after that little remark. As she drove through the streets of King’s Landing, you took a leap of blind faith (or maybe love) by gripping the hand that lay between the two of you. Rhaenyra instantly threaded her fingers through yours and you spied a small smile making its way to her face.

Once she pulled up in front of your apartment building Rhaenyra bit her lip and turned to look at you - still completely in awe of how pretty you are.

“We arrived.”

“That we did.”

“Well…”

“Well… do you uh-”

“Do I what?” Rhaenyra said as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Rhae… I- do you want to come up?”

“Only if we can have a date tomorrow.”

“It’s Christmas Day.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Hmm… deal.” You said as a giddy smile graced your lips. Suddenly the feeling of soft lips meeting against yours startled you out of your reverie and you jumped to thread your fingers through her silky hair.

“You are so beautiful.” Rhaenyra mumbled against your lips before slipping her tongue to delicately stroke yours. It seemed impossible that your smile could widen even more but it did.

“Mmm, says you. You fucking goddess.” You said when you both finally pulled away. Panting and grinning like idiots.

“This is certainly turning out to be a very merry Christmas.”

“Ho ho ho.”

rhaenyra is an bisexual icon just like her uncle and we love her for it !!

[lilac-5ky]

The Party (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Plot: You decide to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday

Tags: Birthday fluff, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Shibuya incident?What Shibuya incident? (year is 2018), Established Relationship, Gojo Senpai, Satoru being the adorable menace everyone loves, SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. MAKING. APPEARANCES, feels like an actual jjk ep at this point, (fic deteriorates a bit over the latter part as my mental health does, writing until 6 am is exhausting, i know im late but spare me)

Word Count: Slightly under 9k.

A/N: Happy late Birthday, my love 💙💙💙

Masterlist | Requests | AO3

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost there—watch your step!” You warn, only to lose your footing a second later as you smash head first into your boyfriend’s back.

There is no way Satoru doesn’t know where the two of you are headed. Even with his technique supposedly turned off and your shaky hands concealing his curious eyes, all the things that make Jujutsu Tech into the place that raised generations of sorcerers (yours, included) continue to exist, bearing witness to his intentionally dumb guesses.

“Is it the beach? Are you taking me to see the ocean?” Satoru excites. “Aw, baby! You should have told me so; I would have brought my swimming trunks with! Although, I hafta say swimming in December is probably a bad idea, my nipples will freeze and fall right off. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

A sigh evades your lips, expelled as a little white cloud of frustration. On second thought, his mouth was what needed to be covered. Preferably stitched.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we aren’t going to the beach”—aw, shoot—“and your nipples get to live another day.” Your teeth chatter. Tiptoeing behind him with upstretched arms is already hard on its own. Doing so in the cold is purely exhausting.

You lose count of how many torii gates you cross, the joint click of your shoes switching to an uncoordinated thump as you go from traversing cobblestone paths to climbing an endless uphill of stairs, your stroll, again, feeling like part of a survival show. Curse Master Tengen. They might have only been responsible for the barriers, though in your scare, that doesn’t stop you from holding them accountable.

We are going to die.

Or more like you are going to die, considering Satoru’s already secured himself a life net in the form of your poor broken-to-be bones, and that’s the best case scenario you can hope for, the worst being having to repeat your ascension from the bottom step up.

“Then, are we visiting Himeji Castle?” Satoru continues, the frigid temperature not enough to crack his spirit. “Because I know the single best place for Tama Tsubaki. So fragrant, so elegant, so deliciously sweet! You haven’t been to Himeji before, have you? It’s also known for its excellent leather craftsmanship. Last time I went there, they had these insanely pretty wallets with—”

“N-no!” You yelp, voice as strained as if you’re walking on a tightrope. Shivering, “Wouldn’t you have noticed if I took you on a 4-hour road trip?”

“But time always moves so fast when I’m with you.” He coos in response, his tone serious when he asks, “Wanna take a break? Promise to keep my eyes closed till we reach the top. And after that too, if you want.”

Silky lashes map out the inside of your palms as they flutter against them, sweet little butterfly kisses that convince you to withdraw your hands. After all, you’d hate for his birthday to be stained with blood.

Not yours, at least.

“If you dare open them, I’ll kill you.”

“How scary!” Satoru captures your frozen hand and slips it in his coat’s pocket with far too great precision for someone with impaired vision. You don’t complain. Not even when he makes you bump into every single step on your way up, giggling to himself, until, as promised, you reach the summit and he lets go for you to assume your previous positions.

“I don’t”—pant—“miss”—pant—“walking this w-walk.” You muster in between labored breaths, palms on your knees as you crouch forward like an elderly lady with chronic back pain. “Wh-what are you smiling for?”

“Nooooooothing!” Satoru chirps, soft dimples carving hard into his milky complexion. “Just takes me back to the time when you still called me Gojo Senpai is all.”

Your youth comes playing in your head like an old cassette forced to rewind, bittersweet recollections sending you on a sudden trip down memory lane.

You met Satoru at the peak of spring and fell in love with him over the course of fall—a swirl of autumn leaves coloring the currently naked maple trees red. Muddy soles and uniforms soggy from the rain. Chasing after an umbrella you agreed to share and hopscotching across shallow puddles. Laughing louder than the pending storm.

But before that, bickering. So much bickering that continuously tested the patience of those around you, arguments over video games escorting you to morning assembly, and plans to catch new movie releases sealing your goodbyes.

The bitterness of Shoko’s cigarettes and the promise to never smoke again. Arcades and electronics in Akihabara. Karaoke and conveyor belt sushi in Shibuya. Getting a stranger to buy you your first beer and puking your guts outside a convenience store in Shinjuku. The promise to never drink again.

Moon-viewing festival. The unforgettable sight of him in a yukata, your heart multiplying itself into your eyes. Stolen glances and not-so-accidental nudges. Your first kiss tasting of melon soda, your second burning faster than the wick of his sparkler. Another kind of promise.

The giddiness of first love filters the film pink. Five-minute dates behind the old gym in flash forward. Late-night expeditions to each other’s dorms. Your loss of innocence overshadowed by the sudden loss of Haibara. Tears that threaten to spill out of the sequence. Suguru’s betrayal. The strength to move forward.

You’ve come a long way since the days you cheekily called him Gojo Senpai without a care in the world, and even though tragedy managed to forever sully them, standing here with him now makes it worth the pain. Given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

Rolling the cricks around your neck and shoulders, you walk up to Satoru, a tug at the lowest hanging tuft of hair signaling for him to meet your height. Knees bent. Eyes still closed. Lips still curled. Features so undeniably beautiful at 29 as they were at 17.

“Don’t move.” You mumble, smiling softly as you watch him pucker his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, you fish out a pair of rectangular shades from inside your pocket and place them over the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go before we get scolded for being late again.” Your hand steals his this time around, ushering him forward. A speckle of heat shooting from your fingers to your cheeks. “I trust you not to spoil your own surprise, Gojo Senpai.”

You are less than thirty steps away from your destination when, without a warning, the man behind you stops moving, forcing you to halt with him.

“What is it?” You ask, your body reeled closer to his from the bind of your fingers. “If you’re gonna ask whether I’m taking you to Laputa, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m still figuring out the coordinates.”

“That’s not it.” He huffs a chuckle against your knuckles, tenderly brushing them against his cheek. “But drop a pin when you do. Always wanted to take a nap in that fluffy flower bed. I’m sure it tastes fluffy too, just like whipped cream.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You return, a yawn coaxed at the mention of napping. “So, what is it? Why did we stop?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, so am I, but we really are close this time. If you just—”

“You should kiss me.” Satoru announces with solemnity better befitting a declaration of war. He realizes that himself, bringing his free hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his skull. Awkwardly. Ears tinged red. Cutely. “That would warm me up.”

“Is that your excuse?” You ask, chapped lips rubbing together. Your heartbeat felt in your throat. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not when you’ve known each other for the better part of your lives. It’s not normal. You don’t think you are.

“Nope.” He balances things out with a boyish smile that doesn’t make things any better for the lovesick teenage girl residing in your heart. She doesn’t know any better but to fawn over it. “My excuse is that we haven’t kissed here before. We’ve kissed there,” you follow his pointer, first to a bench made of stone and then to a blind spot behind some shrubs, “and there—many times there, heh, but not here. So we should kiss.” He reasons with a simplistic, nearly childish mindset. One you can’t quite argue against.

Until his spell breaks on you rather unceremoniously.

“I thought your eyes were closed!”

“Well, they were, but then I—hah, stop pullin’ like that—started missing your pretty face too much. Can’t deny me the simple joys in life, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “C’mon, just one kiss. Then we can meet with Yuji and the others. Promise I’ll act extra surprised!”

“Y-you knew?” Your eyes widen.

“I’ve known for about a week now? Heard you two talking on the phone, plus the kids asked to be put on cleaning duty when they usually leave everything to Megumi. Then a ton of chairs started to go missing, and—”

You barely bother listening to the rest, too caught up in your thoughts for Satoru’s detailed explanation of where it all went wrong to matter. Every year without exception—from your 16th birthday party-for-two in that tiny storage room you were accidentally locked in together to last year’s all-out murder mystery dinner party—he’s managed to sweep you off your feet, and yet you can’t throw him one party without it being spoiled.

You aren’t a planner. You know that. You know, but somehow you hoped this year would be different. That, twelve years after his insistence to spend his birthday in your company alone took root, (“Why would I want to spend this day with anyone other than you, angel? We have tons of fun together, don’t we? Just me and my special girl. Speaking of, any special requests for your birthday? I have some ideas myself, hehe~”) and one year after he stopped waiting for an apparition to show up and celebrate with him, he’d allow himself to bask in the appreciation of the living.

“Are you mad?”

The buzz of his voice quiets down, the paleness of a winter morning dawning beneath snowy lashes as he peers at you from above the rim of his sunglasses. Snowflakes of wonder stirring in his irises that contain them like two perfect snow globes, trapped in them, an ageless moment of the past.

“I’m relieved.” Satoru whispers, so faintly you almost miss it.

“Re…lieved?”

“You brought everyone here, right?” You nod. “Without blackmailing anyone?”

“Just Nanami.” You admit. “And Ijichi—Shoko promised to take him out for drinks if he came.”

“That’s good.” His lips pull into a smile warm enough to thaw your worries. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of my own birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” you interrupt. “You aren’t the only one perceptive here, Mister Six-Eyes.”

He gives you a funny look, creases forming over his brow as an imaginary zipper is drawn across the corners of his lips.

You unzip it. “Please continue, Great Gojo Senpai.”

His eyes light up. Satoru isn’t one for honorifics, yet hearing you address him as such makes the lovesick teenage boy in his heart shudder with excitement.

“You know what birthday I got the biggest haul for?” A shake of your head prompts him to continue. “Seventh.” Figures, you add. He nods. “Wanna know what they got me? A Hokusai painting. You know. One of those wavy ones.” Only he would ever refer to a Japanese classic that way. “But seven-year-old kids don’t care about dead people’s paintings or Shinto shrine visits. They want adventure, balloons, and luscious Gâteau au Chocolat. The new Street Fighter game, maybe.” His fingers snap together. “They want Laputa.”

You forget your hand is still in his until it’s given a light squeeze, Satoru nervously fiddling with your fingers while he mulls over what to say next.

“Bottom line is, birthdays with the clan suuuuuucked. And then, as I got older, I grew tall enough to outrun those stupid goons watching over me. So I’d run straight to Suguru’s house, drag him to the station, and from there, we’d go to that one pastry shop in Shinjuku and buy every cake on display. We’d eat till we both got sick—hah, you wouldn’t think his stomach was this sensitive with all those curses he gobbled up, right?—and then a few years later we met Shoko, and she’d put out her cigarette on my share.” He hisses like a distressed cat. “Then we met you”—another squeeze—“and those were the best birthdays of my life. Back when we were all together.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t think I could have that again.” He cuts you off. “But you said you got everyone together, and while some of us are no longer here, a lot are. This is good. You did well. I’m relieved, really. I’m happy.”

By the time Satoru finishes talking, you find yourself at a loss for words, blankly staring at his unaffected expression. It’s easy to forget how vulnerable he can be in those rare outbursts of sincerity; easy to forget that the one branded as the strongest is a person who cries and breaks too, and even easier to let yourself be deceived by that happy-go-lucky attitude. But as a smile begins to take shape upon your features, you can see where he’s coming from.

You are relieved.

“What are you smiling for?” Satoru asks in the same manner you did earlier.

“Nooooooothing!” You shamelessly steal his line. “Just thinking about the sorry look on your face when you realize there’s no chocolate cake.”

“You evil witch!” He proclaims, mouth hanging slack and forefinger pointing in accusation. “Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t buy candles either!”

“Actually…”

You take hold of his finger before he can protest any further. Not that he wants to when both his hands are enveloped in the warmth of your smaller ones, childishly swinging by your sides. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Arms overlapping as you both step closer, chuckling at a joke only your eyes seem to know.

“About that kiss.” You begin, laughing again at the small, exasperated mhm your boyfriend lets out, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the high neck of his sweater. “Are you still feeling cold?”

“So cold.” Satoru wiggles his shoulders as if he’s truly shivering. “Warm me up before the cold hand of death takes me away. Pleaseeeee.”

You aren’t one to deny him. Tiptoeing forward, you crane your neck so you can reach higher, while he bends his knees to shorten himself, meeting you halfway. Heavy breaths are shared as your noses brush together. The subtle notes of bergamot on his clothes blending with the wintry crisp in the atmosphere. Eagerness tugging at his bottom lip.

You might not be one to deny him, but you definitely are the type to tease him.

“Why don’t you do it? Why should I be the one to kiss you?”

“Wha—because I asked you!” Satoru quips.

“And?”

“And I have Senpai rights. Plus you didn’t pay boyfriend tax this morning, and come think of it, you didn’t wish me a Happy Birthday either!” He gasps like he only realized that just now. He builds his entire case around it. “Birthday Boy demands it. You have no choice but to give in or you’ll be cursed for your next seven birthdays!”

“But I thought you didn’t like your own birthday.”

“Baby!” Satoru finally breaks, his voice reduced to a high-pitched whine. “Even so, you can’t be mean to me on my own birthd—”

His lips are warmer than yours when you nullify the distance, conveying the softness and fruitiness of your stolen chapstick. A smirk is written on them, bitten away as you drag his hands closer to your body, foreheads bumping together and sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. He giggles into your mouth, whispering how hot he finds it when you take the lead—moaning at the way your tongue presses against his, and disregarding the three sets of footsteps that enter the scene.

“Sensei!” A somewhat recognizable, albeit squeaky, voice calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Way to ruin the surprise, Itadori!” Another, angrier, squeaky voice scolds.

“Idiot, you just said there was a surprise. And I told you both to go easy on the hellion.” The last of their group tries to deadpan, somehow sounding more ridiculous than his peers.

“Pft—F-Fushiguro!” Nobara and Yuji laugh in sync, too preoccupied with poking fun at their classmate to notice your form erasing itself from existence behind Satoru’s back as he turns around to face them.

“Yuji! Nobara! Megumiiiii!” His tone is colored with a falsetto when he addresses his favorite (target) student, prompting the duo to keep harassing him with countless pokes at his confetti-laced spikes.

Your plan to use poor Megumi’s torture as a decoy to flee the premises goes to waste as your hand is held out in the open, with Satoru showing you off to them like the big prize at the end of a wrestling match.

“Oh, future Mrs. Gojo Sensei!” Yuji is the first to acknowledge your presence; the effects of the gas are all but worn off as he timidly waves at you. “I didn’t know you were here! What brings you to school today?”

“That’s quite the title, Yuji. Told you to just—ugh!—call me by my first name.” You struggle to pull your wrist out of Satoru’s grasp. You lose. “Also, no need to keep playing charades. He knows.”

“You told him? Then what was all of this for?” Nobara comes forth, a pink balloon dramatically deflating in her hands.

“Actually, I figured it out myself! Aren’t you proud to have such a smart teach—”

“No!” Two out of three shout in unison. You almost do so yourself.

After their back and forth escalates into a full-blown debate on who’s more intelligent, Satoru or Megumi’s shikigami (the results to be announced on a future episode of Are You Smarter than a Toad?) and happy birthdays are wished, Yuji asks the one question you feared answering the most.

“Sensei? Miss Y/N? What were you doing out there in the cold?”

Their own curiosity beats Megumi and Nobara to the classroom as they stall their entrance, with Satoru being the first to hit the buzzer.

“You see, Yuji, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they—ahahouch! Love really does hurt! It hurts so badly!” He yelps as you stomp on his foot hard enough to cripple an average man.

“Don’t you dare use me as a test subject for the talk, Satoru!”

“What talk, darlin’?” He smiles coyly, not losing the chance to brag. “Oh, you mean the talk about how you fell victim to my charms and couldn’t wait till we were alone to kiss me? Guess I still got it, despite the extra candle on the cake.”

“Aww!”

“Eww!”

“Gross!”

The reactions vary.

“You’ll get another candle lit up in your memory if you keep spewing shit like this!” Your attempt to step on his shoe is countered by his technique.

“Hey, no cursing in front of my precious students!” Satoru chides. “We’re supposed to set an example for them, not taint their innocent souls!”

“Satoru!” With a tremendous roar, the door flies open, startling the three students to jump behind their teacher and you to follow suit.

Principle Yaga stands by the frame, his authoritative tone coursing through your body as it recalls every punishment he ever subjected you to. The soreness in your calves from running laps around school for being late. The dryness in your eyes after surviving one of his excruciating educational VHS tape sessions for being “cheeky” and the ache in your fingers from scrubbing the gym floors squeaky clean—courtesy of being caught sneaking back into the dorm with tousled hair in the dead of night.

You almost feel sorry for Satoru acting as the wavebreaker for the incoming tsunami, but then you remember how the majority of your crimes were incidentally committed in his name and wish him good luck. He deserves whatever earful he gets, possibly something along the lines of “Sixteen minutes late? Are you trying to break a world record?”

“You think Gojo Sensei will die?” Yuji whispers. “He’s at that age when a lot of celebrities die, right?”

“He’d better not! I didn’t bring any funeral wear with me.” Nobara answers back.

“Can’t you read the room?” Megumi rasps. “Plus, that’s the 27 Club you’re talking about. Gojo Sensei has outlived that.”

“Didn’t take you for a clubgoer, Fushiguro.” The two of them snicker, prompting Megumi to sigh as he again points out their idiocy.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru bravely puts himself forward, your line of defense falling apart like a house of cards you’re made to support on your own. “Are you here to wish me a happy birthday? How thoughtful! Guess it’s true what they say: People mellow down with age.”

“Sixteen minutes late—”

The man’s mouth twitches furiously as an invisible countdown starts in all your heads, none of you expecting the situation to simmer down before it boils over.

“But I’ll let it slide this once. Happy birthday, Satoru. I’ve stopped hoping that the years bring you wisdom and fix your bad habits. It’s pointless; every year you turn more impudent than the year before,”—is that supposed to be a birthday wish or you getting kicks from throwing shade at me?—“but I wish they bring you happiness. I made this with you in mind. Hope it’s to your liking.”

You watch as Principal Yaga reveals a felt doll from behind his back, handing it to a repulsed Satoru, who makes no effort to conceal his personal feelings, let alone express gratitude.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to be?” He asks, shaking the doll so quickly you only catch a glimpse of its fluffy white tail and stitched black sunglasses—a cat?

“It’s you.” Its maker replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he has a name. Satoru, say hello to Catoru.”

Four of you share a look among yourselves, too stunned to say a thing until Satoru and his doll counterpart face you, the latter being held up by the scruff of his neck. Just like an actual cat.

“Do I look like this?” Satoru asks, and you all go quiet, with three hands simultaneously nudging you to represent them. Traitors!

“I mean, there are times when you do act like a cat—kinda?” Your voice is pinched up, hands moving frantically to dispute your words as your boyfriend’s face turns sourer than umeboshi. “But you look ten times—no, a hundred times more handsome! I promise! If anything, you resemble a—uh, Turkish Angora? Those are super beautiful!”

“You’d better get along.” Yaga warns. “I designed Catoru with a sweet tooth like you.”

“I don’t want a little mochi thief in my house!”

Yaga marches back into class without waiting to hear Satoru’s concerns about the impending depletion of his secret mochi stash. The kids tail after him, leaving you to comfort Satoru with a gentle pat on his back. “Let’s go inside, mm?”

The atmosphere inside the classroom is significantly more promising than what Yuji showed you on FaceTime this morning. All desks are pulled to the side in a rough T formation, with the spread of food you spent two nights making carefully put in order, from platters full of golden-crusted corn dogs and crispy chicken fingers to dainty cupcakes decorated with Konpeito candy and colorful mochi of every filling you could think of. Inumaki serves bar, and you’re pleased to see people returning for seconds, with Yuji waving his hands while praising your popping candy cake poppers to his taciturn upperclassman.

Balloons hang near the ceiling—a flag garland dangling from one end of the blackboard to the other. A gigantic birthday message spans across the surface, with smaller wishes sprinkled in abundance, some consisting of mere congratulations and others expressed with heartfelt emotion. You can easily guess who wrote what based on handwriting alone; Megumi’s by far the tidiest.

You knew leaving the decorations to Nobara was a smart choice. She knows it too. She doesn’t waste the chance to boast to Maki about it, the older girl twirling a bouquet made of lollipops between her fingers while gazing at the drifting clouds outside the window.

Satoru was right. This is good. You have every reason to be proud, too.

In the far back of the room, the adults have struck up a conversation with Panda, who snaps a picture of your entrance. The two party poopers—Ijichi and Nanami—look up from their quiet exchange.

“Satoru! You came!” Principal Yaga’s pride and joy steps forward with open arms, a party hat pulled taut between his round ears. “Congratulations on your birthday,” says Panda, planting two identical party hats on your heads. “Let me take a picture of the two of you. Couldn’t get an angle from back there.”

Your shoulders get squeezed as Satoru smooshes your faces together, the pointy tip of his hat nearly taking your eye out when he tries to steal a kiss from your cheek. You squint—and snap!

“Hey, can you take another? I think I wasn’t looking straight.”

“No do-overs!” Satoru interferes before Panda can even open his mouth. “Don’t worry! Getting a bad picture of you is impossible when you look perfect at any given time. Right, Panda?”

His former student glances down at the camera, letting out the exact same sound your computer makes when a Windows program crashes, and then rushing to mask it with a hearty chortle.

“Of course, Satoru! You got very lucky; Y/N is as beautiful as she is kind-hearted.” He shows you a grin that’s mostly teeth. “You know, she worked really hard for this party. We barely did anything ourselves.”

Not true; you all did your part…

Your eye is endangered once more, with his lips finding their target this time around. “That’s my vanilla caramel drizzle cupcake muffin baumkuchen pie to ya!”

That’s half your macchiato and half your bakery order, you argue silently.

“Shame Yuta couldn’t make it.” Panda continues. “Heard he’s down with a cold, though he did send you his gift via Maki.” A fuzzy thumb points at the closet-turned-gift-depository, where various bags and packages are stacked into a pyramid. “Anyway. I’ll let the two of you mingle. Come over if ya want more pictures of you taken. Got lots of props too.”

Your eyes follow as he returns to his post, spotting Shoko experimenting with a pair of groucho glasses. Nanami shakes his head disapprovingly, leaning back into his chair while Ijichi’s stutter is visible from where you and Satoru stand.

You glance up at him, a default smile plastered on his lips. Unreadable to others, but painfully obvious to you. The face he’s searching for is not among those present.

“Everyone seems to be having fun.” Satoru points out.

“Y-yeah.” You croak.

“Can’t believe you got everything down. Class looks like it did back then. Even the wobbly pom-pom on the party hats.” He squeezes the one on your head. “That caught me off guard.”

“Well, it would’ve been a greater surprise if you didn’t eavesdrop on my private phone calls.”

“That ain’t on me, sweets.” He whisks your hand into his and drags you onward. “Not my fault I was born with heightened senses. Better get used to it; our kids will probably take after me in that aspect.”

You shrug his comment off, watching as Satoru stows the cat away in the closet and dramatically dusts his hands off. “Another great addition to the world’s creepiest collection.” He grumbles.

“But Catoru is the cutest so far!” You object.

He is about to answer when a sound akin to that of someone choking has you both turning toward the makeshift buffet where Ijichi is downing water straight from the jug, his sunken cheeks a scarlet shade of red.

“Shit! He must’ve discovered the jalapeno poppers.” You bite your lips into a straight line, feeling somewhat responsible.

“Nice job!”

“It wasn’t my intention!”

Your plea of innocence doesn’t resonate with Satoru, who gives you a thumbs up before forming a cone around his mouth and shouting at Ijichi—chuckling at the hurried way the man searches for an escape between chairs and people.

“Ijichi! Oi, Ijichi! I-ji-chi! Over here! Come wish me a happy birthday!” He waves his arms around like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, declaring—unlike Tom Hanks—that he’s coming to him instead.

“Don’t go around terrorizing people, ‘Toru.” Your voice has him stopping his march to peck your lips.

“Promise I’ll be a good boy. You’re free to punish me if I’m not.” He smirks, finger-gunning you all the while stepping backwards in slow motion.

“You never are!”

“Hmm, that’s only because I’m the best. And you’d better prepare a handsome reward for when we get home, ‘cause the best always wins.” A flirtatious wink makes you question how many people listened in on your exchange, praying that the answer is none.

You take advantage of Satoru’s absence to pay a visit to your old friends, mentally counting the days since the last time you all gathered up. It’s been way too long—the beer you’d promised to catch up over turned into a distant fantasy.

“Gonna get yourself nauseous if you keep staring at that whirlpool, Shoko Senpai.” You plop down on the closest vacant chair, the bored brunette humming without lifting her eyes from the lemonade swirling inside her cup.

“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.” She states, managing to sound both mesmerized and disinterested at the same time.

“And? Seen anything yet?” You lean closer.

She retires with a sigh, dark circles looming below her hazelnut eyes. “Nothing yet.”

“How about now?”

Pulling your trump card—aka one of those miniature vodka bottles you specifically brought with her in mind—from your pocket, you pour a generous amount into her drink, reminiscing about the time she accidentally spiked Satoru’s soda and had him swimming on the floor.

It takes one sip for Shoko to liven up, a sudden jolt of energy coursing through her veins as she reaches out for the bottle.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You chuckle. “Big praise coming from someone who actually saves lives.”

“Big words coming from people who openly drink in front of underage students.” The man to your left observes, absentmindedly picking at the tentacles of the octopus sausage on his plate.

“Kento! You made it!” You tip from one side of your chair to the other, arms dangling empty as he dodges your hug. “Having fun?”

“Please stop acting like him. I know the years in his company have caused your twisted personalities to merge, but the world is already wretched enough with one Gojo Satoru around.” He munches on the “good part” of the dissected octopus, discarding the tentacles inside a carefully folded napkin.

“But to answer your question, whether I’d rather spend my Friday afternoon explaining to everyone I know that the man in the picture dancing inappropriately with half-naked models in Ibiza isn’t me but a look-alike or sitting here, chaperoning a bunch of kids and making sure no one kills themselves, then yes. It’s not as horrible as I expected. And you’re as good of a cook as I remembered.” He wipes his mouth. “But I’m still clocking out at 7 sharp.”

“Come on! I did what I had to do to get you here!” You giggle, experiencing a little of the same rush Satoru feels when he’s poking fun at Ijichi. Oh no. “I am glad you’re enjoying the food, at least!”

A sound viler than any curse’s wail pierces through your ears as a TV cart is dragged into the room. You recognize it as Yaga’s old torture device—those five-hour black and white tapes gleaming menacingly on the lower shelves, with an unknown machine piled atop the cassette player. You aren’t sure what its purpose is until Yuji connects a microphone to it.

“Everyone—ah, ah, ah! Can you hear me?” The boy dabs a palm against the microphone, sounding loud and clear across the room. “Fushiguro, can you hear me? Fushiguro—ah, ah, ah!” The last of his ah’s interrupted by Megumi’s calling him out in front of their live audience.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to Gojo Sensei’s birthday party! I’m Itadori Yuji, and I’m happy to have co-hosted this event with Miss Y/N.”

A couple of heads turn in your direction, Satoru’s among them. It’s easy to make out his silhouette when he dwarfs everyone around him—Principle Yaga on his side and an antsy Ijichi lurking behind them.

“I enrolled in this school a little over a semester ago by accident.” Yuji continues undeterred. “Back then, I didn’t know any more about curses than the next person. Not that I do now.” He scratches through his hair. “Honestly, it was a lot to stomach, especially the part where I get to share my body with another. I was told I’d be better off dead, and I did die once. I was supposed to be dead, but then Gojo sensei gave me a choice, and I’m here because of that choice. More than a helping hand, he’s been a guiding light to me, and on behalf of all of us, thank you, and Happy Birthday!”He bows. “I hope you have a good one!”

Yuji holds out the microphone for Satoru, the two of them sharing a high five with an affectionate pat seeing the boy off.

“Thank you, Yuji, for this wonderful speech!” Satoru grins, evidently moved by his student’s words. “Everyoooooooooooone! Give it up for the man of the hour, the one and only, the most incredibly handsome and magnificently strong sorcerer known as Gooooooooooojo Saaaaatoruuuu!” His body twists in a pirouette, peace signs and heart signs flying everywhere as he lands with a finger pointing at where the imaginary camera would be.

Unsurprisingly, no one is impressed. Cricket sounds almost audible.

“Wow, okay. Tough crowd, I guess.” His lips comically jerk to one side of his face, his tone turning nasal before switching back. “I won’t bore you with individual thanks and other useless formality crap.”

He smirks at the way your mouth rounds a silent gasp. Nanami notices too, posing a question you shrug off.

“To cut it short: first-years! You’ve all proved yourselves as worthy sorcerers and worthier humans. As a reward, I’m proud to announce your reward in the form of a—c’mon guys, drum your desks a little!—luxurious, one of a kind, ten outta ten, uniquely planned field trip by moi!”

“Is it Paris? Are you taking us to Paris?” Nobara dreams out loud.

“Sensei! How about Universal Studio? I saw them post their newest churrito flavor on their webpage.”

“Can I sit this one out?” A gloomy murmur begs.

“Great thinking, Yuji! Unfortunately, Nobara, we won’t be going overseas this time, but, Megumi, you’ll definitely want to reconsider once you hear our destination, which iiiiiis—excitement is free, everyone!—Parque Espana!” Satoru claps for his suggestion.

Three dejected faces say pass in unison, with only Megumi daring to complain about Satoru taking him and Tsumiki to the theme park every second Sunday when the two were younger. You remember that. Some times you’d tag along, and you’d all grab ice cream while staring at that humongous roller coaster the kids were too short to ride.

Undefeated, Satoru directs his attention to the second-year students, the three of them loitering by the chip bowl. His tone turning grave, “Second years, I’m honestly very disappointed in all of you. In our two years of knowing each other, you never thought to throw your favorite teacher a party for his birthday. You’re lucky I don’t have the authority to drop you a grade, but still. You fail!”

“Fish Flakes!” Inumaki expresses his supposed disagreement.

“Huh? You never even told us when your birthday was because you didn’t want us knowing your real age, you blindfolded idiot!”

“Maki, not now!” Panda anxiously gets in her way. “Cool it!”

“You should have figured it out yourselves.” Satoru toots. “Moving forward! I’d like to give my special thanks to the moon of my life, my sun, and my stars.”—you knew watching Game of Thrones with him was a very bad idea—“Y/N! Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy; everyone knows how much we love each other.

It almost feels like you have the limelight shining on you, with every person eagerly awaiting your response. You gulp hard, whispering so that only Nanami can hear. “You were right. Please save me.”

“What is it, Buttercup? You already have my heart, but if there’s anything you’d like for me to do, then now is the moment to say it.” Satoru smiles sweetly, his voice dripping with honey.

“Actually, there is. Can you put me down?” You kick your legs around while he hoists you up in bridal style, your unjust abduction having occurred in the blink of an eye.

“Anything and everything for you!” He kisses the top of your head, holding you close to him even after letting your feet touch the ground. “Alright, that’d be all! I hope everyone gets to have the time of their lives. Now, let’s get this party started!” He throws the microphone up in the air.

Nothing happens.

“I said, let’s get this party star—whatever.” Satoru gives up half-way through raising his arm again. “Yuji, play something fun!”

“On it!” Yuji salutes him, and the two of you walk away from the blackboard.

A faint sigh echoes behind you, its relief cut short as Satoru grabs the microphone once more. “Ah, right. Ijichi, I’ll see you in my office on Monday. I’d wear a headband if I were you.”

“I’ve c-committed a mortal sin, G-Gojo!” Ijichi struggles to say, uncertain of the crime he’s being accused of, yet hopeful for Satoru’s forgiveness.

“You are such a menace!” You throw a playful punch to his chest once he sits you on his lap, away from the eyes of people gathering around the karaoke machine, and close to Nanami, who departs with a disgusted scoff.

“You love me for it.” Satoru’s lips press softly against yours, incapable of hiding his smile when you pull his face in for another kiss, the tight squish of his arms making sure you’re going nowhere.

“I do.” You affirm, rubbing your nose on his. “I love you.”

“How much?” His eyes crinkle fondly.

“Hmm, like, a lot?” You giggle, your fingers absently brushing through the trimmed hair on the back of his skull. “Enough to spend half a lifetime by your side and still find you the most incredible person in all of creation.”

“Wanna spend the other half too?” His breath on your cheek colors your skin red, your eyes momentarily lost between shades of blue.

“Come back with a ring, Shit-toru.”

“That’s not the way you talk to your future husband!”

“He’s here? With us? Right now?” You gasp, frantically looking around, until Satoru forces you to face him with a thumb on your chin, his other hand squeezing an innocent touch around your thigh.

“Satoru!”

“Scared your future husband will see us?” He throws his head back, laughing at your panicked state. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight him for you. And win. After all, I am the strongest.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he did it! He said the line with only—”you glance at your phone—“six hours left before the day ends, what an amazing record!”

A shrill screech fired from the other side of the room interrupts your banter, the microphone turning into a lethal weapon in Panda’s massive palms. The students appear to have divided themselves into couples, fighting over who gets to go first until Inumaki takes the initiative with a rap song—or, more accurately, sings over a rap song, as the only words in his roster revolve around onigiri ingredients that are mentioned nowhere in the lyrics.

“Stop hogging the mic!” Maki attempts to steal it, backing away as the boy teases to unzip his collar. She knows better than to push her limits while unarmed.

Panda still gets in the middle. For precaution, you assume.

“Reminds you of something?” Satoru comments on your riveted attention. “They’re just like us. How we once were. Young and full of dreams.”

“Nah. You were always a horny bastard.” You slap the inappropriately placed hand away before you get up and sit where Nanami was previously stationed. Poking your tongue at his devastated expression.

Conversation between the two of you is kept to a minimum after a different tune begins blasting from the speakers—Yuji and Megumi take over the stage with Takada-Chan’s most recent success, one of them performing the vocals to perfection while the other merely mumbles yeah’s whenever the song calls for it. Next are Nobara and Maki, the two girls belting out to an anthem of empowerment that has the boys in the room gulping uncomfortably among themselves.

The mood shifts completely when Yaga pours his soul into an 80’s power ballad, his raspy voice transforming into the smoothest velvet, complemented by Panda’s harmonies. Even Satoru praises his old teacher, cheering him on from the bleachers with a makeshift napkin-banner.

You don’t realize your boyfriend’s gone until you see him with the microphone in hand, bending the cable as he makes quick gestures for the floor to empty, performing what is possibly the cheesiest, most romantic love song ever written, and ushering you to join him once he drops to his knees—quite literally at your feet.

You ruffle his hair and shove his goofy expression away. No matter how charming his singing voice may be, he’ll never get you to sing in public. Similar to how he’ll never catch you admitting how loudly your heart beats in your chest, despite the fact that it’s written all over your face.

God, you hate this man. So much that part of you wishes you’d spent his birthday like you did every other year—tangled in his sheets and kissing till you cannot breathe.

As soon as the karaoke session ends, Megumi and Yuji exit the room to bring in the cake, with Satoru jumping them for a thorough inspection. The dessert is inspired by one of his favorite confections. Handmade mochi bites are spread evenly between three layers of fluffy strawberry cake, the entire enterprise covered in fine red bean paste and topped with vanilla buttercream, strawberry cutouts, and, of course, more mochi in a light pink shade to recreate the world’s largest daifuku.

You lost count of how many failed attempts it took to create your own recipe from scratch, but the look on Satoru’s face is better than any payment you could possibly ask. He struggles to find a word that describes his feelings—phenomenal being the one he ends up using. Definitely better than chocolate cake. Perhaps even on par with the legendary Laputa.

Everyone gathers anew for the birthday boy to blow out his candles, awkwardness sweeping through the crowd as, one by one, you come to the conclusion that there is no available lighter.

you search through your pockets for a lighter, finding none. Shoko’s unhealthy (and supposedly cut) habit comes in clutch, with the brunette handing Yuji the keys to her office. The boy sprints outside at full speed, idle chatter put on pause as the TV starts playing on its own, the song selection window traded for a relic of the past.

“Is this even working?” A young Shoko taps the camera, tilting her body at a curious angle. Short skirt rolling up.

“Probably not. That shit’s ancient, but feel free to test it! Maybe try showing it something funnier, like your pant—”

Horny bastard. Right on the money.

“Cut it off, Satoru.” A voice makes both you and present-day Satoru shudder, its owner taking the camera from their friend’s hand to shoot footage around the gym. “Yaga Sensei told us to use this to document the Goodwill Event, not film amateur gravure.” The frame shakes once more. “Looks good to me.”

“Pft, what’s the point?” Satoru flicks a pebble at the camera. “So he can make a quick buck out of me destroying those brats? The outcome’s already decided. Now turn this thing off. I wanna lay under the sun without some junk in my face.”

The camera zooms in on him splaying his limbs on the grass, possibly near the track field, based on the slight hint of red inside the green.

“The only junk in your face is your face itself.” Shoko deadpans, making him chase after her while Suguru continues filming them until they turn into a pair of flickering dots.

“These two.”

The world is turned upside down as a close-up of his bang takes over the screen. Realizing that himself, he pulls the camera further away, cat-like irises shining like pure amber under the sunny sky. You’ve missed their warmth.

“Preparation for the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Day 1.” He declares, and the screen goes black in an instant, white noise reigning over the space.

Your hand seeks Satoru’s on its own, the faint sound of his name dangling from your parted lips, both your breaths catching in your throats. He’s left gawking at the screen, reciprocating your touch with shaky fingers that try to anchor him to you. It’s safe to say this was not part of your plan.

“Weird. Thought it’d be one of those old workout tapes.” Nobara reveals herself as the culprit behind the incident, ejecting the tape back into its box and later standing with her hands pinned to her waist. “Gojo Sensei, I recognize you and Ieri, but who was that third person in the video? Bangs Guy.”

Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one to have absolutely no information on Suguru. Aside from the adults, the second-years were all present during last year’s attack, and Megumi knows whatever has slipped from Satoru during his stay at the Gojo clan’s compound.

Nobody rushes to respond; all of you tuned in on Satoru even though only Shoko, Yaga, and you are directly gazing at him, his face contorted with a pained grimace he tries hard to disguise.

“Geto Suguru was—”

“My best friend.” Satoru grins at Principal Yaga’s attempt to help him, grasping your hand more confidently as he confronts the girl. “Geto Suguru is my best friend.”

“Huh. Guess there’s hope for everyone.” No one’s left with any courage to laugh at Nobara’s poor attempt at a joke. “Where is he now—”

“Senseiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” A voice gains volume as the door bursts open, Yuji pouring into the classroom with the lighter held over his head like it’s the Olympic flame. “I g-got th-the—” He tries to breathe, ending up only saying, “Fire. Wish. What. Miss?”

“Yuji!” Satoru makes you follow him to the door. “You’re right on time! And no, you didn’t miss anything. Just stories of the past.”

“Stories?” Yuji wipes the sweat off his forehead. Still very much exasperated. “But I…like stories.”

“I know you do.” Satoru’s eyes settle on yours, the clamor in his eyes hushing for the first time in years. “But birthday wishes are meant for a future that’s yet to be written.”

“Thank you!”

Appreciation falls from your lips as a long-drawn yawn, every second you spend huddled under the kotatsu’s warmth begging to lull you to sleep. Today was a long day. So long, it feels as if it spanned an entire lifetime.

Satoru plops down beside you, the neckline of his sweatshirt diving low over his collarbones as he chugs his share of hot cocoa. Yours remains untouched while you switch between the same two movie options, incapable of picking one over the other.

“What do you have for me?” He asks, running his fingers over the ceramic rim. A melodic string instrument-like sound is induced.

“Okay so. Got the cult classic Sixteen Candles, which we’ve probably watched more times than Molly Ringwald had to practice her lines for the role, and I also have La Boum, in case you’re feeling more adventurous, and I don’t know. Frenchy, maybe.”

“Hmm, I mean. When you phrase it like that…”He acts as if he’s seriously contemplating his choice, only to snatch the remote from your hand and choose La Boum. He smiles slyly, curling near your chest. “It’s what you obviously wanted to watch. And I always choose, so.”

“Forfeiting your birthday boy rights?” You hum, tenderly combing through his freshly washed white strands. He smells just like his cake, you think. “Be careful. There are still nine minutes left before your birthday’s over, and you’re robbed of your rights for an entire year. Think you can make it?”

“Will you be with me during those horrid days?” His voice turns muffled.

“Always. Now, before the movie starts and you ruin the fun with your excessive blabbing, how about you reach under the kotatsu for your gift?” You suggest, chuckling as his head lifts up, cerulean eyes shining with unfeigned surprise.

“Angel! You shouldn’t have!” Satoru beams whole as he drags the heavy box out, shaking it in an attempt to feel out its contents.

“You know that doesn’t work with me. C’mon. I’ll pause for you.”

He wastes no time to untie the light silver bow that ties the box together, taking, however, his sweet time to review each and every object placed within. Carefully, he lays everything out on the table, small gasps evading him at a constant and maturing into a full-on shriek as he spots that one rare Digimon trading card you bust your gut trying to purchase via private online auctions.

“I—um. I know it doesn’t sound too good ‘cause I’m your girlfriend and I’m supposed to know everything about you and what you want, but I really had no idea what to get for your birthday. So I decided to get you a bit of everything from your favorite things. You can blame me for weaponizing nostalgia later.”

You clear your throat with a quick sip of cocoa. Licking your lips, “Anyway. It’s really no biggie as you can see. I just bought off some trading cards, ported a few of your old favorite games to a current generation console—yes, Street Fighter included—and made you this silly beaded charm with our initials for your phone, since they are back in fashion.

“I know it’s not much, and you could buy those things at any given time, but—time is something you cannot buy, right? Your childhood, your youth. The so-called best years of your life. I wanted you to have that back, even if just for a day.”

It’s been minutes, and Satoru remains quizzically silent, to the point where the array of kisses aimed at your neck comes as a true ambush. You’re knocked to the floor, giggling and flailing while he shows you his affection in every way possible, kissing you, praising you, hugging you—loving you.

“H-Happy Birthday, Toru.” You repel his face enough to say. “Y-you know, a thank you would be nice to hear!”

“As if you don’t know what I’m about to say.” Satoru grins, holding your palms to his mouth. Kissing them one by one, repeatedly, and slowly. Multiple times each. “You are my childhood. And my youth. And the best years of my life—they are all you. Everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll live together.”

“How’s that for a thank you?” He chuckles, quickly breaking the tension with a final kiss on your nose. Perhaps the only part of you that’s not tinged red. “That being said…”

“You want to go for a quickie?” You sniffle against your will.

“See? You do know everything about me.” He reaches for the deck of cards with the swirly brown backside. “It’s time to duel!”

A/N: sorry for hastily written ending. had no time, oopsie!

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart)

Mihawk x reader. NSFW!!

Title is an excerpt from Blind and Frozen by Beast in Black. I will probably write a second part to this...

Note - 13/11/2023: I have edited the fic to delete a brief, completely unimportant reference to Kain, the reader's past lover, in order to focus on other, more important characters.

*****

What I wanted to ask you is... do you wanna have a baby?

Dracule Mihawk doesn't have friends; he hasn't had any for a long time, maybe since he was still a child and forming bonds with school mates was almost inevitable. He knows, without guilt or embarrassment, that the fault is largely his own, since approaching him requires a certain courage, given his intimidating figure, not to mention his reputation; he prides himself on the fact he has never hurt an innocent, least of all voluntarily, but many people don't even need to know about his activities and his deadly ability as a swordsman to perceive he is not the sort of man you could invite to join you at the bar.

He is fine with that; truthfully, he is happy with that, since he has always preferred his own company to that of others; perhaps it is presumptuous of him, but most people bore him in the best of cases... and get on his nerves in the worst. At best, he has a few acquaintances he doesn't mind meeting, like Shanks (even though he doesn't consider the Red-Haired pirate a worthy opponent anymore, given the loss of his arm)... or you.

Your acquaintances goes back a long time, after a chance meeting soon after the beginning of your respective carreers. A swordsman who had challenged him was killed by you the day before they had agreed to meet for their duel; you apologized for stealing his adversary, and offered to split the bounty as compensation, but Mihawk declined, convinced that the fact that the other swordsman had been so easily killed made him an unworthy opponent, so in a way you had spared him a waste of time. You parted (somehow) amicably, and that had been your last encounter for years, until you had both allied yourself with the Marines, him as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea and you as a mercenary, both not exactly on the World Government's payroll but still regularly called upon to carry out assignments suited to your particular talents.

You have never exactly looked for each other, but for some reason you have met often and regularly, both at the Marine HQ and wherever your travels would bring you. You are extremely capable at what you do, proud of your abilities and accomplishments without lapsing into boastfulness, smarter than many of the people he has to deal with and a pleasant company when the two of you find yourselves killing time with a glass of wine as you wait to meet Vice-Admiral Garp. Mihawk... likes you, in a sense, a feeling that is in part respect and in part a fondness he can't describe; it is pleasant talking to you, you never get on his nerves like many people do, and he can't help admiring the bravery, stubbornness and resourcefulness that have made you the best mercenary in the four seas, capable of hunting down whoever you are pursuing across land and sea and dispatch them, accurate, relentless, and inexorable. He wouldn't say he looks forward to seeing you, but you are one of the few people he doesn't mind meeting, and is pretty sure you feel the same.

That is how things are between the two of you; such they have been for years, and such Mihawk expects them to remain for the foreseeable future... until today. Until your proposal, and since he has been a boy very few things and people have been able to surprise him, but this... this really takes the cake.

"Is it good to see you; it's been a while." you say, receiving a nod in response. A small, well-lit chamber in the Marine HQ is used as a waiting room for officers and civilians waiting for a meeting or to be received by a superior, and this is where the two of you have met, having both come to the HQ for your own affairs; you seemed happy to see him, and he had accepted your invite to sit and enjoy a glass of wine, that you had languidly ordered to the first cadet who had walked past you.

"It has."

"Are you leaving or returning?"

"Returning; I have to report to Garp." Mihawl explains as he makes himself comfortable on the chair; he has not fully carried out the task he had been assigned, since the young pirate who has inherited Shank's straw hat is still at large, but he is not worried of the repercussions; after all, he is not the Marines' lap dog, the Vice-Admiral's even less "Yourself?"

"Just received my new assignment; I'm leaving for the North Blue in the morning. Just killing some time until my dinner reservation." you elaborate; one of your many guns (you always have no less than four on your person, from the long rifle you carry slung over your shoulder to a tiny but deadly pistol you keep hidden in the wide sleeve of your shirt) is placed on your lap, together with the rag you have used to polish it until the arrival of your drink "So, what keeps the greatest swordsman in the world busy these days?"

You listen intently as he tells you about Zoro, a young and impulsive adversary he nonetheless is sure will one day will be worthy of his attention, and then you tell him about your latest quarry: a man who, knowing you were pursuing him, had hidden in a ball-room full of people during a dance, confident that the quick-moving throng around him would make it impossible for a sniper to aim. He didn't have the time to realize how wrong he was when you, hanging upside-down from a lamppost across the street, shot him through a window in the middle of a valzer, your bullet brushing against his partner's cheek without hurting her and passing through his skull from his left orbit.

"Impressive." Mihawk says; he doesn't tell you he could count the people who have earned such a compliment from him on the fingers of one hand, but you smile, clearly flattered.

"Thank you."

For a couple minutes, the only noise in the room is the soft song of the backwash filtering through the windows; you seem... pensive, Mihawk thinks, not sad but vaguely tense as you sip your wine, as if there were a problem you can't find a solution for.

The only other people present in the room are a trio of captains arguing over a map on the table in front of them; coming in, they have glared at both of you, as if unhappy to see a couple of miscreants like you, a pardoned pirate and a woman who kills for money, among them, but both you and Mihawk have ignored them. He sees a look of satisfaction on your face when finally the three uniformed officers leave; as soon as you are alone, you look at him.

"May I ask you something?"

Mihawk looks back; this is why you were anxious, he realizes. Even though you try to maintain a calm, almost casual tone, the tenseness is still clear in your eyes and in your ramrod posture, and in the way in which you almost subconsciously grip the gun in your hands, not to point it against him but because it makes you feel safer and more in control.

It is the same for him; otherwise, no matter how confident he is in his capacities as a swordsman, he would not sleep with Yoru under his bed... and the Kogatana under his pillow.

"You may." he concedes; not of course, or tell me everything, because such expansiveness is as far from his personality as it is possible to be, and you know it well. But he knows you as well, and because of this, he is willing to listen; he has no idea what you may want to discuss (maybe a partnership for a particularly challenging task? If so he might humour you, if the quarry is interesting. He wouldn't mind seeing you at work) but he must admit, he is curious... just a little "What is it?"

You breathe in, like a diver ready to jump; you don't lack courage, and still, for a moment Mihawk expects to hear you say "It doesn't matter." and leave it there.

You don't.

"I would like to ask you... if you'd like to have a baby with me."

*****

You can't remember ever being so nervous, even though he is the last of a long list of men you have approached (but after all, none of them were like the one sitting in front of you; none, you have come to suspect, could ever be), but when you look at Mihawk, who after a whole minute has yet to utter a single word, you feel a smile blossoming on your lips.

"Are you surprised? I should be proud, I left the infamous "Hawk Eyes" Mihawk speechless..."

"Is this a joke?" he inquires, and you would have to be deaf to ignore the threat in his voice; your smile disappears, as quickly as it had come.

"Absolutely not; I know you are not the joking sort, and this matter is extremely important to me. Give me five minutes and everything will be clear."

He doesn't answer, not even with a nod, but he remains where he is, silently allowing you to go on, and you swallow, your mouth suddenly as dry as if you hadn't had a sip of water in days. You are not afraid of him (not actively, at least; he could probably kill you, if he tried, but you know he is not the sort of man who needlessly resorts to violence for the simple pleasure to hurt others... and maybe, just maybe, your long acquaintance will grant you a little of his patience) but probably you'd have been better off keeping him out of your little plan. After all, there are so many other candidates, healthy men whose cooperation you could secure with a bought drink and a bit of sweet talking; involving him (a man you know, and respect, and because of this who you feel obliged to be honest with, not to mention it would be hard to keep him in the dark regarding your plan, since you meet semi-regularly) is unnecessarily complicated... but at the same time something in your heart, a tiny voice you have stopped listening to eight years ago, tells you that this is the right choice, he is - for your future child, and maybe for you as well.

"I don't think you know this, but I am the heir of a noble house." you begin "My family rules over an island in the North Sea. It is nothing special, tiny compared to many others similar domains, but the soil is fertile and we have trade agreements in place with many other kingdoms and cities; about fifteen hundred people live on the island, and my family has governed them for more than ten centuries. It is a very beautiful place, with a mild climate and a luxuriant nature."

Silence.

"Sorry, sometimes I get carried out when I talk about my home. Anyway, I am the only heir to the family; I have no siblings and my mother is too old to have other children, which means that the responsibility to ensure the continuation of the family lineage falls on my shoulders. Because of this, I have decided it is time for me to bear an heir who will one day rule our home; and because of this, I need someone to sire a child for me."

Silence again, and you know him well enough to know that Mihawk never utters three words if one is sufficient, nor does he appreciates useless talk from his interlocutor, so you force yourself to keep silent as well, feeling your heart beating fast enough to hurt. The worst he can do is refuse your offer, which would be disappointing (it would really be, you realize in your heart; a bitter, deep disappointment) but not an insurmountable problem, and you'd be free to look for another donor, but still, you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for an answer. Why do you feel like this?, you wonder; he is just one man, one you have grown deeply fond of in the years since your first meeting and whose blood would undoubtedly produce healthy, strong and attractive offspring, but suddenly you feel desperate to receive a positive answer, and you don't know why. Is it because after five years, you're starting to lose hope? Or because you know how embarrassing it would be, to think back to his refusal when you would meet Mihawk again in the future? Or maybe...?

"Don't noble families require a member to be married in order for their children to be eligible to inherit?" the man in front of you suddenly asks "I seem to understand you are not asking for my hand."

"I am not; what I would like from you is to get me pregnant, that's all. It is true that the children of unmarried couples are often forbidden from inheriting, especially in the case of a noble family, but things are different in my island. Marriage is often just a formality and a personal choice, and no large difference exists between couples who actually tie the knot and those who don't, nor between the treatment given to their children. A blood relationship with the ruler, or their heir, is enough to ensure suitability as far as the inheritance of the fief is concerned; I could technically adopt a child from another family, but their position would be less solid. I have no siblings or other close relatives: if the child is born from my womb, there will be no reason to doubt their qualifications." you explain, secretly relieved Mihawk has not refused your proposal already but suddenly wishing you could exchange the average red wine in your glass for a sip of cool water "So... are you interested?"

Silence - again, and this time it is clear to you Mihawk is reflecting on your words, something you can't blame him for, and obviously this is the sort of proposal you can't decide on in a matter of minutes, not to mention he is clearly the sort of man who likes to meditate on what he does, but at the same time you can't take it anymore... the silence is going to kill him.

"Mihawk, please." you murmur. For a moment you are about to rest your hand on his over the table, an innocent contact to lend more weight to your words, but thank all the Gods you stop yourself in time since, good acquaintances or not, in a heartbeat you'd probably find your hand amputated by the little blade hanging from Mihawk's neck "Tell me what you're thinking."

His eyes, until now focused on the wine in his glass, move to you, and for the first time since you remember, you need to make an effort to hold his gaze, not because of his eyes, whose colour actually reminds you of a bird of prey, rather because of the intent behind them: he is observing you like a scientist studying an interesting experiment, and it is not pleasant.

Stop it now, you're about to say, but once more, you force yourself to hold your tongue; you are not afraid of him, you have never been, but after all you're trying to earn his collaboration.

"I have a few questions." he states in the end, folding his hands on his lap.

"Understandable. Please ask."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Well, you're not my first choice." you confess, immediately aware those words don't precisely convey your thoughts; you glance at him, suddenly curious to know if he found them offensive, but Mihawk's face is as expressive as the wall behind him "I mean, I have started trying to conceive five years ago, and consequently it was then that I have started searching for a donor. Until now, I have chosen men I didn't previously know; I made sure they were healthy, because obviously I want my child to be physically and mentally sound, and young, since at a certain point age results in a decline of fertility. But now..."

"Now?"

You shrug. "I don't know. I am tired of sleeping with men I don't even know and don't feel attracted to; seducing them is not easy, since I have never been good at flirting, and I can't help feeling guilty when some of them ask to see me again. With you it would be different, and this is why I am coming clean about my real intent; with the others I didn't, and not simply because we meet regularly and you would notice I was pregnant and suspect the child was yours. I know you are in excellent health, and since I want what is best for my child, I'd be happy if they inherited your skills and strength of character."

"I see."

He seems uncertain - he is uncertain, you realize, maybe like it rarely happens in his life; but he is actually considering your proposal, which is already more than you felt confident about.

"What if I wanted to be part of the child's life?" he says after a while "And what if they were not fit to rule your island? Healthy parents can have sick children as well."

"Do you think I would put aside my child simply because...?"

"Answer me."

In your heart you can't blame him for asking, rather the fact that he wants to make sure the child will be taken care of does him credit; he doesn't seem the sort of man who dreams of fatherhood, but after all he deserves to have his say on the matter. So you tell him that your child will have to be raised on your island, since it will be necessary for them to know the land and the people they will one day have to rule, not to mention to receive the necessary education, but nothing forbids their father to spend some time with them, either there or wherever else. "You could visit our island as often as you want, or they could visit you; I'm sure you'll keep them safe. On the other hand, if you wished to have nothing to do with them, I would respect it; I would also keep your name a secret, if you so desire. And whatever happens, even if, Gods forbid, our child got sick or something actually made him unfit to rule, I would still take care of them at the best of my ability. I don't want you to think they would be a means to an end; I don't want a centuries-long lineage to end with me, and I know of my duties towards my island, but... but I do want a child. I want to become a mother, I have for a long time; and there is nothing I would not do to defend my child, not after...

... after what I have been through. After I failed once already.

"... after wanting it for so long."

Silence. Again. You are still clutching your wine glass, hard enough to break it you realize, and as you place it on the table between the two of you Mihawk is still deep in his thoughts, his fingers intertwined on his knee; after a while (you have practically stopped breathing) he opens his mouth to talk...

"Hawk-eye Mihawk? Vice-Admiral Garp is waiting for you."

You have nothing against the cadet who has just joined you at the table (a young, short man with pink hair and round glasses) but you find yourself glaring at him, wishing he had better timing. Mihawk doesn't try to hide his dissatisfaction either.

"I will be with him in a moment." he says with an hand-wave, as if to dismiss the messenger; for a moment the cadet looks as if he's about to say something, before wisely deciding it really is not worth it, and leaves the two of you alone.

Mihawk stands; in a moment, he has retrieved Yoru from the wall he had placed it against and he has placed it on his back, the movement as fluid and apparently effortless as those of a dancer. "I will think about it." he says; he doesn't add I promise or anything of the sort, but you can trust him (you do already) and you know it, and because of this, you smile.

"I know you will. Thank you; thank you for listening to what I had to say." you say, and then he leaves, and you pour yourself another glass of wine, still thirsty but aware you need more than water to recover.

*****

The sight of the sun disappearing beyond the horizon, the flame-red ball seemingly drowning in the dark waters of the sea, is still breath-taking; Mihawk loved it when he first took the sea as a young man, and while no one could ever consider him a romantic (not that many people know him well enough to get an impression of his personality, but still) he finds it equally charming now, so many years later.

The harbour is almost empty around him, a few sailors who hurry to secure their boats before retiring, while the Marines doing the night shift cross the paved path behind him to reach their post. A gentle wind has risen, the white feathers on Mihawk's hat and the tails of his coat barely stirring; he doesn't notice, so focused he is on the spectacle taking place as every day in front of him... and on the surprising proposal he has received four hours ago.

(name) has amazed him; that he has to give her. He would have never imagined her in the role of the scion of a noble family, given her collected but friendly personality, completely devoid of the conceit and sense of superiority so common among the few World Noble he has crossed path with, but at the same time, it isn't hard to imagine her drafting laws or collecting taxes in the little corner of world her family has ruled over for so long. How did a woman whose destiny had undoubtedly been prepared for her since before she was born (Mihawk had no doubts about it, given the care (name) herself had already taken programming the future of their child) end up working as a mercenary? Is her fief so impoverished she needs to raise funds to take care of her people? Or is it simply an hobby to pursue while the previous generation still rules... ?

Their child. The thought appars, sudden and unbidden, in his mind, and Mihawk finds himself struggling to breathe for a moment. He has never given much thought to a possible future paternity, and during his (very sporadic, at least in the last decade) sexual encounters he has always made sure to avoid the risk of pregnancy. Still, the idea of having a child with (name) is... intriguing. He has no doubt she would take care of her progeny in the best way possible, and while he has never considered himself an ambitious man, the prospect of contributing to perpetuate a centuries-long lineage is... pleasing; also, should the child demonstrate an attitude for swordsmanship, he could take them on as an apprentice and bequeath them his knowledge and capacities...

And then there is the other thing. The fact he is almost embarrassed to admit even in the privacy of his own heart, the small but not insignificant detail that has caught him off guard like no adversary has ever done since he was thirteen: the warmth that has filled his belly, and the area below that, when the mental image of him and (name) conceiving that child... the two of them naked, in bed together... blossomed in his mind.

He shouldn't feel embarrassed, let alone distressed, because of that. He is an adult, having thoughts and desires of a sexual nature is perfectly normal, and he has no troubles admitting, at least privately, that (name) is an attractive woman; he surely is not the first man to be attracted to her.

... am I? Attracted to her? I have never thought about her in such a way, let alone about the two of us together; and there was nothing lascivious in the way she discussed her proposal. She wasn't trying to... to seduce me, she asked for a favour but it was more akin to a business deal. Then why am I feeling like this?

He sighs, his eyes still focused on the darkening expanse of the sea. The whole matter is probably harmless, but delicate enough to potentially cause troubles down the line; but after all, what would they have to fear? The idea of becoming a father is not so unpleasant after all, he and (name) are both adults and have the sort of relationship he is confident would not suffer after the end of their... tryst. At worst, they will spend a few pleasant hours together; at best, they will have something precious to carry out their lineage once their time is over.

It is getting darker by the minute. Mihawk remains still, his svelte figure cloaked by the night, witnessing the sun disappearing under the sea.

*****

Dinner was nice. If there is a positive side in your visits to the Marine HQ, besides the thousands of berry you are paid every time you successfully carry out an assignment, is the possibility to visit the city's establishments, among which many world-class restaurants; after all, Admirals cannot always dine in the mess hall, and while you'd be content to taste your island's local cuisine for the rest of your days, sometimes it's nice to have a little variety.

Now, your belly pleasantly full, you are sitting cross-legged on the bed in the inn room you have booked for the night, still busy polishing your weapons, like you do at least once a week. A few of them (a couple of revolvers, customized to hold up eight cartridges instead of six; a carbine with a barrel longer than your leg, that you took as a souvenir from the last man you killed; an ancient varmint rifle you regularly use to hunt larger preys than badgers and boars; and your personal favourite, a beautiful, muzzleloading derringer, your name engraved on the ivory butt, that you always hide under your pillow before going to sleep) are neatly arranged on the duvet in front of you, waiting for their turn. You are singing softly under your breath as you clean the barrel of a gun from the drops of blood left by your latest quarry, when an unexpected noise comes to disturb your concentration: a discreet, soft but resolute, knocking on the door.

You haven't told him what inn you're staying in, nor were you thinking about your discussion at the Marine HQ. Still, you immediately know who it is, as sure as you are of your own name, and when you stand from the bed, the way your hand immediately moves to grasp the derringer is more out of habit than because of a potential danger, and the way your legs are suddenly shaking might be because you stood all of a sudden after more than an hour spent cross-legged, or maybe not...

You force yourself to cross the room. "Who is it?" you ask in a deliberately questioning tone. You would recognize the firm, vaguely husky voice filtering from the other side of the door everywhere, even without the soft whisper of the name of his owner. A moment later you have pulled the handle towards you, and you and Mihawk are face to face, again after just a few hours, but suddenly you feel, and he looks, as if it everything had changed - as if you had.

"Hello."

"Good evening." Mihawk greets you; he is not smiling - if he ever did, you think, the world would probably stop turning on its axis "Is it too late? Am I disturbing you?"

"Of course not; please, come in."

He looks around him as you close the door, unhurriedly examining the weapons on the bed, the folded clothes on the tiny desk, the boots you have taken off as soon as you returned in a corner; and then he looks at you, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

You feel his gaze on the back of your head as you retrieve your weapons from the bed and neatly place them on the desk, except for the derringer, which is simply moved to the bedside table; you haven't been anywhere, not even in the privacy of your own room at home, without a loaded gun within easy reach ever since you were ten, and you don't intend to start now.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." you invite him, and a moment later Mihawk is sitting next to you on the bed, Yoru resting against the wall, and you feel yourself smiling softly at him, still unbelieving you are actually here - with him.

As you dined (and wined; you immediately stop drinking alcohol after one of your trysts, well aware of the dangers for the baby you each time hope has been conceived in your womb, but the only silver lining to getting your period once more is that you can start again, if only to drown your sorrows) you had started regretting involving Mihawk in your plan. While it is true that you're tired of sleeping with men you don't even know, much less like, and that any child would be lucky to inherit his gifts, the choice of an acquaintance as a donor is potentially even more complicated; first of all, he is aware of what you plan on doing, which means that it will be next to impossible to fully exclude him from your child's life, should the need arose. One of the reasons you are an excellent mercenary is that you are resilient and stubborn enough to follow your quarry to the other end of the world and back, without giving up until your bullet is in their brain or heart and their bounty in your pocket, but you know no one and nothing, barring perhaps death, could ever keep Mihawk away from something he is keen on. You are more than willing to let him be part of his child's life, and you don't think he would ever hurt them, but still, who knows what could happen...

And then, there is another reason, one it is hard to explain logically. What had become as a simple business proposal (this is what you had intended it to be when you spoke to him, you could swear it on your mother's life) has quickly become something else, something more delicate and less rational, all of it in the few minutes you and Mihawk spent discussing it, and then later you couldn't help reflecting about it, wondering what he thought about your proposal and whether he would accept it, as you enjoyed your dinner.

Having a child with Mihawk... and more specifically, Mihawk putting a child inside you. You have forgotten (it has been a mistake, a simple and natural failure to recall a relatively small detail during an already complex discussion. You didn't do it on purpose!) to tell him there is no need for the two of you to sleep together, artificial insemination is a common occurrence nowadays and the doctors on your island are more than capable. It would be much easier the other way, but honestly, you hadn't meant to suggest... to give him the impression that you wanted to...

You chided yourself for your forgetfulness, in case that was actually a dealbreaker for him and Mihawk would not think to propose a less invasive procedure himself, and then... and then it was as if you couldn't stop thinking about it, thinking about him... and how it would be, what it would feel like. You'd have nothing against it... quite the opposite, actually, you realized as you emptied the wine carafe on your table and asked the waiter for another.

Mihawk is an attractive man. Extremely attractive, actually, especially if one looks beyond the menacing look, deadly reputation, and the huge sword on his back (or, if one is actually attracted by that sort of man. You might.. not not be.) to notice his elegant and athletic figure, the chiseled features of his face, the well-styled beard and hair... even his eyes are exceptionally beautiful, that deep, penetrating yellow gaze that actually reminds you of a bird of prey. You have no idea whether he has a partner or not, but you'd be ready to bet he doesn't lack in admirers... even though approaching him would require no small amount of courage.

You have known him since you were barely more than a girl, and met him regularly for years, and you have never thought about him like that, never even realized how handsome he is. Or rather, you were aware of the fact (after all, you are not blind!) but somehow subconsciously, never paying attention to the fact. You have already slept with many partners you were not attracted to and you could easily do it again, Mihawk' strong body and swoon-worthy face change nothing, but... but...

Who knows what kind of lover he is, and he would be with you. Generous, attentive to his partner's pleasure as well as and maybe even before his, or egotistical, the sort of man who doesn't even look at you in the eyes and tries to avoid even kissing you? What is his favourite position? Your guess would be something that allows him to be the dominant part in the rapport, given his forceful personality and no-nonsense attitude, but for so many people the face they show to the world is different from the way they live their intimacy, and maybe when he is with a partner (someone he trusts, someone he can be himself when he is with... why were you suddenly picturing yourself in that role?!) Mihawk likes to surrender control, to relax and let someone else take care of and decide for him. If he is with a woman (again, in the thoughts that had quickly become a full-blown fantasy, not simply any woman) does he like to be ridden, or to push her against a wall and lift her legs around his hips? Does he like to receive oral? Or... or... to give it? Does he grunt, moan, sigh, scream, his partner's name or to express his pleasure, or is he silent just like his normal taciturnity would suggest...? What does his body look like, under the elegant but austere clothes he favours? What does his...?

This, and much more, is what you couldn't help reflecting about at dinner, and then during the little walk you took to return to the inn, and even later, as you killed time with the upkeep of your weapons, those thoughts persisted in your mind, so much that you started fearing you wouldn't be able to fall asleep... or that you would go from thinking to dreaming about him.

Is this due simply to your proposal, and the fact that you did ask him to get you pregnant? After all there already is an emotional, no matter how distant, bond between the two of you, and you're still a sort-of-young woman with a heart and not a stone in her chest. Or were these feelings already part of you, hidden until you had reason to reflect on the fact that this business deal could actually turn out to be much more pleasant, not to mention complicated, than you had thought...?

Whatever the truth may be, the man who is the source, and the cause, of your emotional turmoil is now sitting next to you, on your bed, to further discuss your proposal, and no matter how many times you have risked your life since you were just a girl, no matter the coldbloodedness you have acquired during your years as a mercenary, no matter how many men you have slept with since you were sevevnteen, you are trembling, like a young girl before her first kiss, and suddenly you are not sure what would be better, if he refused your proposal... or if he accepted it.

Because of the baby, and not only that.

You have remained lost in your thoughts for several minutes, which is perhaps deplorable when someone has come to talk to you, but Mihawk seems fine with your silence; actually, he looks as pensive as you feel.

"I thought about your... proposal." he finally says "And I'm willing to accept it, provided you agree with my conditions. I'll give you a baby, or at least I'll do my best trying."

A hundred other men would have accompanied those words with a saucy look; a thousand others would have blushed, or stammered, or betrayed embarrassment due to the delicate, intimate nature of the deal they are accepting. Not Dracule Mihawk; he looks as rational and dispassionate as if he were buying an umbrella during a sudden downpour to discard it as soon as it stops raining, something he needs to do but he is relatively unconcerned about. And once more, you're not completely sure how that makes you feel.

What you know, is the answer he deserves. "Thank you. I... Thank you so much. I am truly and deeply grateful, you don't know how much this matters to me." you say; you are not stammering, but you know he can hear the depth of the emotions filling your heart in your voice: happiness, gratitude, relief, and trepidation. All he can do is try, there is no guarantee he can actually get you pregnant, and the list of failed attempts you have left behind you is as long as your arm, but still, you have a good feeling about it... and even if the two of you failed, you feel suddenly sure you won't consider it a wasted effort "You spoke about conditions. Tell me everything."

Mihawk's first request is to keep his involvement in the conception of your child a secret; in other words, nobody has to know he is the one who got you pregnant, not even the child themself, at least for a while. "Even though I am technically an ally of the World Government now, I have a certain number of enemies in the world, people who could try to hurt me or lure me out through those closest to me. I have no doubt you would do everything you can to protect your child, but I'd feel safer if no one knew. Unless, of course, this would be cause of... embarrassment for you, on your island..."

"It won't be." you assure him; many at home will undoubtedly be curious about the identity of your child's father, but the law says your heir must be a child of your blood, without any particular requirement about the other parent, so that won't make any difference "I promise I'll keep it secret, if you wish. Anything else?"

Mihawk's second request is even simpler: for you to immediately tell him whether you are pregnant or not, as soon as you know for sure. He is a patient man, but since the matter you are discussing about is particularly delicate, he'd rather not be left wondering.

"Of course. It will take about a month, you can probably guess why; should I miss my period, I'll go to my doctor, and then I'll inform you of the results, whatever they are."

"Very well."

Silence falls between the two of you, and you're suddenly aware of the still purely platonic, but somehow compelling intimacy surrounding you: you're alone, for the first time in the many years of your acquaintance, sitting on a bed, discussing about matters that concern you both deeply. Mihawk looks as relaxed and in control as ever, so maybe for him this is simply a favour he is doing you and an investment that could come in handy one day, or maybe not, you think as you search for something, for an emotion of any kind, in his beautiful yellow eyes, and could swear you actually find it, maybe that is simply a facade he is used to present to the world, and in the privacy of his heart, he feels exactly as you do...

"Anything else?"

"Not on my part, no. I'm sure you will be an excellent mother, and I don't need to ask you to take care of them. I... still haven't decided how involved I will be in the child's life, I hope this is not a problem."

It isn't, since you will be happy with whatever he decides to do, as long as he does not object to you raising the child on your island.

"So... shall we?" Mihawk asks; the flash of emotion in his gaze is brief, but you see it (maybe he has let you?) and a smile blossoms on your lips.

"We shall."

You quickly take off your shoes, while Mihawk stands to take his hat and then his coat off, leaving them neatly placed on a chair.

"I forgot to tell you." you begin once more, after more than one silent moment spent staring at his naked back "We don't necessarily have to... to do it the old-fashioned way, if you'd rather not. We could... go to a doctor..."

Mihawk grunts as he bends to unbuckle his boots; again, you find it impossible to avert your gaze. "I will not give a stranger a vial of my seed, as if I were a stud bull." he states "It is barbaric. There is nothing wrong with the natural method."

You silently agree. A moment later, he's back on the bed; he lets you look a him, and he looks back while you unhurriedly take off your dress, exposing the bra and underskirt you wear underneath.

"Very beautiful." Mihawk says, as if he were talking more to himself than to you; you smile.

"You'll make me blush."

"You are an attractive woman, I sincerely doubt I am the first man to pay you a compliment. The other... donors you selected, for example. I'm sure all of them felt exceptionally lucky."

There is no trace of mocking in his voice, let alone of blame; still, those words are enough to make your smile disappear. "They did not matter."

"While I do?"

"You do. You know you do. We have known each other for so many years, and I know we are not... friends, exactly, and I could always close my eyes and think about something else, but you don't know how... how dehumanazing it is to... well, to feel nothing for the other person..."

Mihawk nods. "I know the feeling." he says, and then, in response to your incredulous look: "I have been young as well; and I've made mistakes, like everyone."

"I'm sure you were the only one to think so."

"Hmmm..."

For a whole minute, you are both content looking at each other. Finally, Mihawk's raised hand brushes against your face, and you close your eyes, savouring the warmth of his fingers against your cheek. You take his hand, and let it guide you as you stand, close the brief distance between you, and rest both of yours on his shoulders to stabilize yourself as you sit on his lap, your thighs open to the sides of his clothed legs.

Mihawk's eyes move on your body; you can't stop looking at him either, and so you feel, rather than see, his strong and elegant hands rest on your hips, gently caressing them above the light fabric of your underskirt. You can feel his breath on your chest; he can feel you hold yours when you rest your hand on his cheek and then let it slip down his body, the well-toned physique (he is much less burly than other pirates and fighters you know, but his muscles are solid and defined, as you expected... and even a little more), the pale, smooth skin, except for a thin line of hair on his lower abdomen that your fingers follow down to the waistband of his pants, and that is when you hear him grunt.

"Shall I stop?"

"Do not mock me, woman..." he growls, but he's enjoying your ministrations and doesn't bother to hide it. "Take this off, now."

This is your bra, which you obediently remove; you sigh, kissing his dark hair and temples and any inch of him you can reach, as Mihawk, whose arms have circled your waist and who is now holding you tight against his body, begins licking your chest, the sensation of his lips on your skin sweet and delicious beyond words. Soon, you are moaning his name, gently rocking against the turgescense under you, and you hear him whisper your name before he quickly but gently turns, pushing you on your back on the duvet while he kneels above you.

He sighs, relief evident in his tone, while you relieve him from his pants, lowering the fabric to his knees. He returns the favour lifting the hem of your underskirt, but when you move to take off your panties

"No." he stops you, gently resting his hand on yours "Please, keep them on."

A minute later you are locked in an embrace, your leg lifted around his hips, Mihawk's hand caressing you between your legs, gentle, confident, inexorable, until he feels you are ready for him, and he shifts to press the centre of his body against yours.

You lock eyes; for a brief, precious moment, it is as if the distance between the two of you had melted like snow under the sun, leaving you the two parts of a single, hot and quivering being.

"I don't know if I can actually... do what you want." Mihawk whispers; his hips press against yours with the desperation of a man living his last night, but he sounds regretful, as if saddened by the possibility of disappointing you "I... want to, but..."

Of all the emotions you expected to feel for Dracule Mihawk, tenderness was the last of the list; still, you do, a sudden, powerful surge of empathy that makes you desire this night would never end... and that it weren't your last, as well as your first.

"An attempt." you murmur, before claiming his mouth in a new kiss "That is all I ask."

He gives you three.

*****

You wake early on the following morning (like you expected Mihawk to do as well, since he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who likes to sleep in; on the other hand, you did exhaust him last night...), but you linger a bit before getting up, as you observe the man sound asleep next to you. He is lying on his side towards you, an hand hidden under the pillow, the other reaching out towards you.

He is so handsome - no, he is rapturously beautiful like this, tranquil, at ease, not exactly smiling but serene, as if he were in the middle of a beautiful dream; the azure sheet covers him up to his hips, letting the first sun rays of the day caress the naked skin of his arms and chest.

You feel as if you could spend the whole day like this, just admiring him; but sooner or later he will wake up, and then you could stay in bed for a little more, attempting again or just cuddling, savouring that new intimacy that feels so natural, so genuine and true, even though nothing in your relationship until last night could suggest this could be born from it. But it has, and it is a gift you will keep in your heart forever... as a cherished, now-distant memory; because no matter how desperately you wish you could stay in that little paradise you have created together for a little more, you can't... and, in your heart you know for sure (or you think you do; the truth couldn't be more different, but you haven't learned to read his heart, nor he to express his feelings. Yet.) Mihawk doesn't want to, no matter how enthusiastically he made good on his promise last night. You didn't even know a man could last so long, and hearing him growl your name was enough to push you over the brink...

Still. He has done what he had promised you, and expecting more, expecting other, is naive and even dangerous, because the last thing you need now is to have your heart broken. You know Mihawk respects you and maybe even considers you a sort-of-friend, and not to brag, but you are confident you have given him the best night of his life... but letting that rapport evolve, pursue a relationship, whether romantic or even simply sexual? That's another thing altogether, one you know he won't be interested in.

(Again, you don't, and he would).

You shouldn't even consider thoughts like these. Since when have you thought about Mihawk like that? You are well aware of how attractive he is and are genuinely fond of him, yes, but when did you start wanting more than a casual friendship with him? Probably you don't, not really, it's just that the amazing night you have spent together and all the talking about the baby made your most emotional and romantic side emerge, as if you were still the young girl who thought two people could not experience pleasure, let alone reproduce, without being madly in love with each other. The truth is obviously different, and in a few days, maybe even as early as tomorrow, you will realize how naive and shallow your desires are, born from passion and the hope to see your dream come true. You don't really want him, you just... think you do, because you shared something amazing last night and you know he'd be an excellent father for your child. That's all; and he wouldn't want you in any case. You did what you agreed to, and now you better leave as soon as you can, to avoid the classic, unavoidable embarrassment of the morning after.

This is why when finally Mihawk wakes up, twenty minutes later, he finds you already clothed and ready to go, busy sliding your weapons in their holsters or hiding then under your clothes, your faithful derringer by your side once more.

"Hi." you murmur softly as you sit on the edge of the bed, your hands naturally, instinctively finding the one he has moved towards yours "Are... are you ok?"

"I am. You?"

"Fine. It... it was nice, wasn't it?"

He looks at you, veguely ironic; do you really need to ask?, his lovely yellow eyes seem to ask, and you can't help a small laugh.

"You are leaving, I see." Mihawk adds after a moment, his tone expressionless. He is looking at you as if your clothes were still scattered on the floor, just like he did last night; he sees you blush, and he smirks, but after a moment he turns serious as usual - even a little more sombre, you would swear.

"I am; after all Garp gave me a new assignment yesterday. The first ship for my next destination leaves in half an hour, but you can stay, if you want, I have rented the room until midday."

"There is no need, I have things to do as well."

He gets up, without bothering to hide what you have had time to look at, and to touch and to kiss, as much as you wanted last night, and retrieves his clothes. He has turned his back to you, and you wonder if it is deliberate, because he has already lost any interest he could have in you, because he is already regretting what you did together, or maybe because he is grappling with emotions he doesn't know how to process, and trying to find the words to express them, to ask you...

No. It's impossible. Stop thinking about it and focus on your next assignment. You did everything you could, now you can only pray it worked.

Five minutes, and you're both ready to go; you look at Mihawk as he places Yoru on his back, and you wring your hands, suddenly shier and more unsure than you have ever been in his presence.

"Mihawk?"

He doesn't answer, but he turns, his face slightly tilted on one side in an inquiring manner. He looks so much like a bird when he does that, you think, amused; like a bird of prey... a beautiful, deadly hawk.

"I... I wanted to thank you."

"There is no need..."

"Yes, there is." you quickly interrupt him; you need to tell him, and you need to do it now, otherwise you will lose courage "I... I have been wanting to become a mother for a long time; it's the thing I want the most in the world, and not simply because my island needs an heir for when I'll be dead. It's... it's more important than I could explain, and I've been disappointed so many times and there is nothing I can do but hope and pray, but... call me crazy if you want, but I have a good feeling about this. About you. I... I think we did it, even if it will take time before I know for sure. And I'll be happy to have your child."

Mihawk nods. He is standing right in front of you, close enough he could touch you without even reaching out, but suddenly it is as if you were standing at the opposite points of the Great Line, the unmade bed next to you a suddenly uncomfortable remainder of your nightly activities. "Remember your promise."

"Of course; I will inform you as soon as I have seen the doctor, whatever the result."

"Good."

Pause. "(name)..."

"Yes?" you ask, intimately happy to break that uncomfortable silence, the first in the many years since your first meeting. This is something you have always liked about Mihawk; with him, you never feel the need to talk, but you can feel content with his solitary presence next to you. Still, it has never been so hard to say good-bye... "What is it?"

He hesitates (something you are probably the first to witness, or at least to live to tell) as if unsure about what he wants to say, or about the words to use; he looks at you, and you hold your breath, because for a split second you are sure, you just know, that what he is about to say will change everything, because it is not all in your mind, something has changed, after last night or because that moment of intimacy made you both realize your bond was much deeper than you knew...

"I need to give you my number. To call me."

Disappointment explodes inside you. You feel... mortified, as if you had ended up naked in the middle of the public square; your little infatuation will without a doubt disappear in three days at most, but for now, it hurts as if you had been stabbed. Stupid, romantic girl, an unpleasant voice whispers in your ear; what did you expect? Did you really think he could care about you that way?

"Oh. Oh, right..."

A moment later, a slip of paper with Mihawk's contacts is safe in your pocket, and he is neatly placing his feathered hat on his head.

"It is. Be safe. I mean, I know I don't need to tell you..."

"You don't." he easily recognizes "And I don't need to tell you, but I will; remember that perhaps now you have someone else to think about as well. Good-bye, (name)."

A smile, small but sincere, and a brush of fingers against yours, accompany that greeting a moment before Mihawk leaves, and even though you awoke first and meant to depart before he could notice your absence, you are still there, alone in the sunlit room, suddenly too saddened and wistful to think about the child who might be growing in your womb.

[ken-dom]

∘₊✧ Ryan Gosling ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Masterlist ✧₊∘

All works are x reader unless otherwise stated

I don’t take requests in the traditional sense, but I’m always up for talking about my faves and sometimes it inspires a fic!

Don’t be afraid to ask if you want to see more of a certain character, it’s good for me to know and I’ll try my best!

Relevant warnings are included in the individual fic posts

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KEN ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Ken blurbs, imagines, scenarios etc.

Fluff ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Comfort headcanons

∘₊✧ Lavender Ken worries he’s not good enough (includes original artwork)

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ NSFW headcanons

∘₊✧ Sex On The Beach Ken learns about the cocktail and gets curious

∘₊✧ Ken After Dark Ken has a dirty secret that you’ll only discover if you skip girls night (includes original artwork)

∘₊✧ Ken’s Glitter Ken’s stuff ✧₊∘ is not like other humans

∘₊✧ Ken’s First Orgasm Exactly what it says on the tin!

∘₊✧ Ken Can't Do Flips But He Sure Can Strip Ken wants to put on a little show for you

∘₊✧ Pretty Doll (Lars Lindstrom x Ken) Lars has a new doll

∘₊✧ It's Crazy How I Need Your Friction (Driver x Ken) Driver leaves a gift for Ken

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DRIVER ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Driver blurbs, imagines, scenarios etc.

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Kiss Driver has been fantasising about kissing you so much that when you do, it’s overwhelming

∘₊✧ Gloves Driver keeps his gloves on for you

∘₊✧ Lips You give Driver a blowjob

∘₊✧ Short Stories: Driver Three stories shipping Driver with Julian Thompson, Luke Glanton and Lars Lindstrom

∘₊✧ Bite My Lip ‘Til You Break It solo Driver, kissing kink

∘₊✧ It's Crazy How I Need Your Friction (Driver x Ken) Driver leaves a gift for Ken

∘₊✧ Everything Looks Better When The Sun Goes Down Driver gets hard from a car chase (and breaks into your house)

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HENRY LETHAM ✧₊∘

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∘₊✧ Your Voice Henry thinks he recognises you and finds comfort in your kiss

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∘₊✧ Make You Worse you encourage Henry to be what he considers his worst

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HOLLAND MARCH ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Holland March blurbs, imagines, scenarios etc.

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ NSFW alphabet

∘₊✧ A Long Time Holland wants you, but he's scared to move on

∘₊✧ A Nice House (With Nice Carpets) You mess up the carpet in Holland’s nice house

∘₊✧ Did I Dream That? Holland had a great time last night. You were amazing, apparently.

∘₊✧ Perfect Match Holland’s first time in a long time

∘₊✧ Cumming For Days Holland wants you filled to the brim with him

∘₊✧ I Can Fix Him Holland can’t perform when he’s wasted (part of a triple threat with @hollandstrophyhusband and @webbo0 — fics linked in post)

∘₊✧ Interview With The Mermaid Holland gets curious about mermaid anatomy

∘₊✧ One More Night Holland get horny while you’re away

∘₊✧ Did You Get It? Holland gets horny in the middle of the day. And Healy is waiting right outside

∘₊✧ Forever (Holland March x Jackson Healy) Healy is amused with how much cum Holland can produce

∘₊✧ Dare To Dream (Holland March x Jackson Healy) There’s only one bed! And oops… Holland has a wet dream

∘₊✧ A Few Things About Holland You blindfold Holland

∘₊✧ Accidental Innuendo (Holland March x Jackson Healy) Holland needs to jerk off. Right. Now.

∘₊✧ March Magic Three times Holland couldn’t get it up and one time he did

Angst ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Come Back To Me Nightmare or dream? Why not both. (part one of a two part series with @heresthestorymorningglory — fic linked in post)

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LARS LINDSTROM ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Lars photo collection series

∘₊✧ Lars blurbs, imagines, scenarios, etc.

Fluff ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ K-I-S-S Scrabble night ends with a flustered Lars

∘₊✧ Home Lars has a question for you (includes original artwork)

∘₊✧ Signs Of A Lifetime Lars’s first New Years Eve

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Thank You Lars’s first time

∘₊✧ Possession Lars needs to know you belong to him

∘₊✧ Prioritise Pleasure Lars is nervous about cumming

∘₊✧ Part 2 Lars wants to return the favour

∘₊✧ Pretty Doll (Lars Lindstrom x Ken) Lars has a new doll

∘₊✧ Training Wheels Lars is such a dirty boy, getting hard for you at a party. Only one thing for it: bathroom hand job

∘₊✧ What’s Left In Me (Lars Lindstrom x Bianca) Lars needs Bianca to know she’s his

∘₊✧ Riding Lars Lindstrom’s Thick Thighs Exactly what it says on the tin!

∘₊✧ Wake Up To Me Every Morning Lars gets a taste for you

∘₊✧ Lars and sexual desire thoughts and an imagine about Lars’s sexiness

∘₊✧ Thoughts on eating Lars’s pussy

∘₊✧ Lingered Lips you move in next door. Lars helps you settle in (and warm up)

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

SIERRA SIX ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Sierra Six blurbs, imagines, scenarios etc.

Fluff ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Alone Together you share a carnival date with Six

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Aftercare headcanons

∘₊✧ Sense drabble in which Six can sense what you want

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

STEVEN WINGDINGS ✧₊∘

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Keyboard Smash Steven is not pleased with the font you’ve used. Until you find one he really likes

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

JULIAN THOMPSON ✧₊∘

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Touch Julian needs to learn he’s worthy of being touched

∘₊✧ Comfort Hurt/comfort and smut with Julian after the fight

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

OFFICER K ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ K blurbs, imagines, scenarios etc.

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Take Me Home A sleepy morning with K

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

NOAH CALHOUN ✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Noah blurbs, imagines, scenarios etc.

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

SEBASTIAN WILDER ✧₊∘

Fluff ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Dreams post-canon comfort drabble

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Midnight Thoughts (Sebastian Wilder x Jacob Palmer) they end up sexting

∘₊✧ All of Your Flaws are Aligned with This Mood of Mine Seb goes too far during an argument

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

LUKE GLANTON ✧₊∘

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ I've Got You On My Lips Luke gifts you lipstick. It's for you, and for him

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

COLT SEAVERS ✧₊∘

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ I’ll Do Anything You Say If You Say It With Your Hands Long hair Colt + praise + overstimulation

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

RYLAND GRACE ✧₊∘

NSFW ────────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ The Stars Look Very Different Today Ryland is relieved to carry out what the computer suggests he needs today

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

[girl-next-door-writes]

You Matter To Me

Characters: Steve Harington x reader

Summary: A shared moment before heading into the Upside Down where you and Steve both reflect on what is important.

Word Count: 1000 words

Prompt: You Matter To Me

A/N: I have been going through some ‘real world’ stuff recently and this song showed up on my radar again and despite the million fics I have to write I felt this needed to be written. It isn’t perfect, I couldn’t find all the words, but if you are reading this then I want you to know that you matter.

Nobody should have this much pressure placed on them, and yet he had taken it almost willingly. The role of leader, of protector, it weighed heavy on his shoulders, and although he hid it well, there were flashes of the truth hidden in those beautiful, soulful eyes; eyes you could happily get lost in, even on the worst days, perhaps especially on the worst days. Their warm richness comforting, even though the slivers of profound sadness swam in their depths. Each horror he had witnessed haunted him, words left unsaid and yet screaming as the two of you looked at each other. Insecurity, doubt, the fragility of his carefully crafted self-confident persona swam in those sad eyes, shattering your heart into a million pieces.

There were no words. The painful realization that nothing said could make things any better, caused a deep ache in your soul. Taking a seat beside him, you simply shuffled closer, tucking yourself into his side and slipping your hand into his. Interlacing your fingers, you looked down at your hands, silently vowing to stay right there by his side for as long as he would let you.

This beautiful boy had gotten under your skin, and although your emotions for him were largely undefined, he mattered to you. He was important. He was…irrevocably connected to you. How do you even begin to tell someone that? It isn’t as simple as those three overused words, and it was deeper than a romantic desire. You saw him, just as he truly was, and knew that he was enough, that your life was infinitely improved by his existence. Did he know that? Was he aware of how he touched everyone’s life? You felt an almost overwhelming desire to grip him by the shoulders and shake him until he understood that he was so much more than he believed; that he truly did matter. But instead, the two of you sat in silence, holding hands and watching the others preparing.

Steve stole a glance at you, allowing himself a moment to just be a nineteen-year-old boy, sitting holding hands with someone he cared about. It was a little addictive spending time with you. There was just something about the way you listened to him, like you heard all the parts he didn’t say out loud, and you didn’t think he was stupid or broken.

He had a close friendship with Robin, he adored his best friend, and then there were the ‘kids’, and Nancy; well, the Nancy thing was complicated. Now he also had Eddie… All these people depending on him, needing him to step up and take the lead. There was a part of him that wanted to run, to just get in his car and drive away from this hellhole and start over. If he’d gone to college then he wouldn’t be here for this shit, this would be someone else’s problem. The guilt of that thought gnawed at him and he subconsciously squeezed your hand. He was scared, but he knew he couldn’t turn his back, he would never forgive himself.

There was something different about this fight, a shadow in the back of his mind that said they might not all make it. Looking around at his friends, he felt his heart clench. They all mattered. Dustin would probably go on to cure some deadly disease or figure out a way for everyone to live on the moon or some shit. Lucas, he had a shot at becoming a pro athlete, if he focused. Nancy had a bright future as a journalist maybe, blowing the lid off government corruption and saving people… Each and every one of them had such potential to make a real difference in the world. The only person he could even consider disposable in the grand scheme of things, was himself. This might be the one thing, the moment where he might be of some importance, making sure the rest of them got through.

He was brought out of his thoughts by your head resting on his shoulder. It was such a small gesture but it grounded him, and he found himself leaning down, his cheek pressing against your hair as he closed his eyes.

“Steve?” Your voice was so quiet that he could easily have imagined that you had spoken.

“Yeah?”

“You matter to me. More than all this. More than most people.” Your words hung in the air between the two of you and he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. Don’t go doing anything ‘heroic’, because if something happens to you then I’m just gonna have to make a deal with the devil, or bring you back as a zombie or something, and then you’ll be screwed. You will feel my wrath.”

“Your wrath?” he chuckled, an eyebrow raising in amusement as he opened his eyes again.

“Yes, my wrath. I will be incredibly pissed at you for doing something so stupid, and for leaving me, and then making me learn voodoo so I can bring you back to yell at you.”

“Yeah, that does seem like it might be a bit of a hassle.”

“A major one. So, just promise me you will try your best to see me on the other side of all this because, for some fucked up reason Harrington, you really matter to me.”

“Okay.” He said softly, his fingers playing with yours as he took your words to heart. Turning his head slightly, he placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and let out a deep sigh. “And, for the record, you matter to me too.”

You didn’t reply, you didn’t have to. It was obvious that the feelings between the two of you were simultaneously infinitely complex and so simple. Hopefully there would be time to explore each and every nuance of what it meant to matter to each other, but for now, Steve was content to just sit beside you and feel.

[defrosted69]

"The Unseen Pages of Bridging Time and Hearts"

{This is the longest fic I have ever written and I blame it all on you guys lol. So this fic took a long time to make as I already have it made around when it was just 2k words but you''ll see how long it took. anyway, Here's what I promised, A New Jeans Danielle one shot}

[word count: 12k words]

New Jeans Danielle x Reader.

.

.

"Hey do you think this is a joke? What do you think this is? A fanfiction?"

"But sir I-"

"Enough. I don't like this script. Get out."

"But Sir-"

"Get out!"

He threw the paper that you worked hours on and even loss sleep on. It broke your heart how he just simply threw the paper to the trash bin with no consideration on the effort you exhilarated on. You sighed and just took the crumbled paper at the trashbin and walked away. It has always been like this with you.

Countless times of trying to get into the scriptwriting scene was your lifetime goal but the ultimate dream was to bring that original story of yours to life. But reality keeps slapping you in the face of harsh truth. It's like nobody understands your creativity. Your genre was simple, it was romance. No harem, no love triangle, just pure romance and character development yet director's and companies prefer romance that focuses on toxic relationships and red flags. Sometimes you question how people like this kind of things when in reality, it's pathetic and just straight up self suffering.

Their perception wasn't what you liked but you wouldn't dare to shift your genre to that. You were an old head type of writer but the struggles are real. Your legs made you arrive at your sanctuary, the cafe library of the old maiden. Yup, that was the name of the establishment considering it was the oldest building in the city. As you pushed through the door, you were immediately greeted by the aroma of the books and coffee. But seeing the sign that has been plastered on the walls once again reminded him of how cruel life is.

"Hey, So hows the interview? Did your story got accepted?"

In the counter of the cafe stood one the barista and librarian of the place. She was also a good friend to you as you sat down to your usual seat with a frown on your face.

"Like the usual Yuqi. nothing, they hated it and even crumbled it straight to the trash."

Your devastate look and sadness was evident from a far. Yuqi being the best friend she is, made your favorite drink, a latte as she grabbed it and sat opposite to you handing you your drink.

"You seem like you need a pick-me-up today Y/n, so here's your favorite drink, a steaming hot latte. Don't worry about it, it's on the house."

Your eyes flickered with gratitude as you took a sip from the steamy hot drink. Its flavor never fails to give him a semblance of comfort and calmness.

"So, on a scale of 1 to Yuqi, how bad was it?"

"Umm if Yuqi is the worst then it's Yuqi-"

"Do you wanna get beat up nerd?"

You chuckled as your raised your arms up in defeat at her. Song Yuqi was older than you but she felt like a friend of your age. Despite the opposite of your personalities, both you and her were able to bond together without any problem. If your gonna add helping her get home after getting drunk is not a problem then yeah, no problem at all.

"Say Yuqi"

"Yeah?"

"Is this place really closing down?"

Yuqi saw the sadness and pain in your eyes as she knows how precious this place was to you. It was your second after all. Since elementary, this has always been your go to place to escape reality and it's harsh situation given to you. You basically know this place at the back of your head or even if someone was to give you a blind fold, you'll easily navigate each part of the place without stumbling or even injuring yourself. This place has become a part of you and knowing that the place is closing made you feel like a piece of you was being torn apart forcefully.

"Yeah, Boss JYP said that the talk with that greedy fat ass didn't work out. And now we only have a month left before this place gets demolishes."

Hearing the word demolished really broke your heart. You weren't ready to say goodbye to the place you call home but life has always been like that to you all the time, unfair. Seeing talented people on TV or on the streets, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by their talents. They were gifted to have such talent and what about you? Life didn't give you anything except the ability to keep failing writing a good story. Perhaps it was your talent to keep failing and failing and never succeeding.

"Honestly Speaking Yuqi, I feel tired already."

Yuqi knows what your pertaining to wasn't physical exhaustion but rather emotional and mental exhaustion. Yuqi stood up and sat next to you patting your head. Her presence alone was enough to calm you down as Yuqi just have that touch that keeps you hold it. But imagine a life without her. It was scary but you had to move on. Yuqi has her own life too and You also have a life to venture out too. Nothing last forever after all.

"Y/n, don't ever look down on yourself. You're a great writer and everyone working here knows that. Heck your high school story about the romance of Jisoo Unnie and her husband was such a good story that the couple have your story in a book. That's how talented you are Y/n. Don't ever keep telling yourself that someone is better than this, or that. Everyone is unique Y/n. "

"But being a writer is harder than it looks Yuqi. I always get looked down upon, people keeps telling me that writing will not lead me to success and more importantly, Writing made me feel like the perfect target for bullies and people who has strong connections. Who am I to stop that when I myself is just a piss poor no good writer who-"

Yuqi flickered your forehead with her fingers as a stinging pain ran across your head. You placed a hand on your forehead.

"Ouch…"

"You deserve that cause you're doubting yourself again. How many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn't feel worried about what other think of you. If you happy doing what you love then nothing else matters."

Her words pierced through you. You have always loved writing because your imagination can cover up the reality that you hate. It becomes a gateway to happiness for you but writing haven't really loved you like how much you love it. Sometimes the things that you love really just don't love you back. And this rejection you experience was really the end of writing. Perhap writing wasn't really up for you at all. Maybe your just not cut out for it and you're just what people call as "average joe".

"I don't know Yuqi, this rejection really felt heavy to me honestly speaking. Maybe… Maybe writing really isn't it for me."

Yuqi was really now getting to start feel worried for you. She has never seen you this heartbroken before and worse, you seemed like you're ready to give up wiriting as a whole. The whole thing that made you who are today and you're thinking about quitting. Yuqi sighed as she hugged you. Her embrace was warm and protective of you as you couldn't help but tear up.

"Y/n, life hasn't always been preety fair to everyone for us. But believe me, when shit happens, it happens for a reason. You got rejected not because your a terrible writer but the director just doesn't see your vision. The lines don't connect, you get what I'm saying? "

"Y-Yeah…"

"Y/n, I have known you since you were high school and giving up isn't your thing. You even finished reading a novel worth 780 pages in a month. Some people would have given up by that amount of pages but you didn't. Remember that?"

A small smile appeared on your face recalling the time you finished that book. The memories of Yuqi, Jisoo and Jackson all smiling and celebrating your accomplishment on finishing that book made you smile. The good times was still there and it all happened in this establishment.

"Y-Yeah I do.."

"No can do that except you Y/n. Sometimes, doing what you like and love isn't always a guarantee to be successfull. You have to fall to realize how much you want that goal is. I trust you Y/n, I know, in my heart that you'll get that Story that everyone will talk about for the ages. "

This is the magic of Yuqi. This is what she always do to you. Keeping you motivated and keeping that fire rolling in you but deep down, this was one of the reason why you liked her romantically. But despite that, the fear of rejection and realizing her desire guy was the complete opposite of you. That day was still fresh from your memory as you will never ever forget that day.

You were in highschool that day was the day you were visiting the Cafe like usual. At that point, books and Yuqi was the reason why you keep visiting that place unlike today where the cafe was your second home. During that day, Yuqi decided to do her usual teasing with you as both you watches the TV. The TV was one of the features of the Cafe before to attract customers and your eyes widen in surprise to see your favorite Author on screen. A big smile appeared on your face but then it was suddenly replaced by shock, surprised, and horror.

His once popular image to the public suddenly turned sour immediately after revealing that he was dating someone so young at the age of 20 when he himself is 38 years old. The TV anchors display the dissapointment of his fans showing disgust and anger towards this Action. But what really caught your attention is the disgusted expression of Yuqi on your favorite Author who you considered as your idol. Yuqi clearly show her disgust as she looked at you and asked you a question you weren't prepared to answer.

"Is he one of those authors you admire?"

Honestly speaking, you are a big fan of his but saying that infront of Yuqi, the person that you liked would surely create a bridge between you two. Not only that people all over the café library show their disagreement on this one.

"N-No, Why would I support someone who's dating someone so young."

"Exactly right? Like I wouldn't date anyone younger than me even if it's just one year."

That was the bullet that really shot your heart. Yuqi was 6 years older than you and hearing those words come out of her mouth really made you think if you should continue this kind of admiration. But perhaps the most important here that happened is how you realized that in love, the view of society also plays a part.

Going back to the past was always fun but not this. You sighed and pulled away from Yuqi as you gave her a smile. Despite you smiling, you were still confused and lost on what you need to do now.

"Thank you Yuqi. You really know how to keep me motivated"

Yuqi, feeling proud of herself chuckled as she stood up from your side and returned to the counter as customers began to pile up. With your mind still clouded with so many thoughts, you decided to leave your sanctuary and walk wherever your feet takes you. The rumbling and dark clouds tells you what was next to come. You pulled out your umbrella on your small sling bag as you walked. The rain poured down leaving people in shambles yet you were unbothered as you walked with no goal destination.

.

.

.

.

"Damn it Hanni, you really have to be absent today just when you have my umbrella huh?"

Danielle said to herself as she began to run away from the rain with her red filecase covering her but that wasn't enough to really cover her from the rain. But fortune was on her side as she was able to create a few space before the rain drops on her. Even though with her legs, mother nature proved why she's a force to be wreckon with. The rain poured down all at once suprising Danielle as this caught her off guard.

"Fucking hell! Argh, just why-ah? Is that Sunjun? Thank god he has an umbrella."

Danielle spotted a familiar guy as she rushed towards the guy as she placed an arm around his shoulder. As she smiled happily finally getting cover against the rain.

"Good thing you're here Sunjun-eh?"

Danielle stop midway seeing that her so though friend was you all along. A blush of embarrassment appeared on her face as she realized that she embarrassed herself big time.

"You're so screwed Danielle. You big dumbass! How can you not tell this guy wasn't Sunjun!"

She was cursing herself in her mind as you notice the blush on her cheeks and her weird facial expression that you couldn't describe but was funny. But what caught your eyes are the wetness of her hair and uniform indicating that she was soaked by the rain. Being the timid person, you were the first one to apologize as you wanted to get out of this awkward situation.

"I'm s-sorry."

You said to which Danielle apologized as well.

"N-No, I should be the one apologizing. I mistook you for someone."

You kinda felt sad for the girl since it was raining as it was apparent that she forgot her umbrella. Your heart beat raced in nervousness as you decided to offer your umbrella on her instead.

"Y-You can have my umbrella."

"Huh?"

Using the confusion of Danielle, you gave her your umbrella as both of you looked at each other eye to eye. There, Danielle felt a strange spark that traveled through her eyes and through her brain. You were the same and it was really strange. But not wanting to make things more awkward, you used your shoulder bag to cover your head as you walked away. Danielle felt surprised by your action as there wasn't many people who would do such kindness to a stranger especially her who made a huge embarrassing mistake on you. She felt both a mix of happiness and guilt as before she could lose sight of you, she called you out.

"Hey"

You stopped on your tracks as Danielle approached you covering you with your own umbrella as Danielle said

"Let's share your umbrella instead? I…I feel bad seeing you get soaked because of me."

You weren't really expecting this kind of gesture from a stranger as you haven't encountered people who was actually kind to you Considering your timid nature. But Danielle's sincere smile was honest and declining her offer wouldn't only bring problems for you. So you nodded your head as Danielle closed the gap between you two. Amidst the rain, you were sharing an umbrella with someone and it was quite uncomfortable with you.

But it seems like fate has more plans for you. The drizzle that was happening only got stronger as Danielle immediately noticed this.

"Ah Damn rain. Come on Oppa, let's hurry up and take cover on a shelter."

Danielle grabbed your hand surprising you. You couldn't say a thing as Danielle dragged you quicker than you could react to it. It was quite funny how a High schooler like Danielle, was able to push you around despite you being older. But you brushed that though aside for now as your goal was to find a shelter in the rain. But it wasn't that long when the two of you took shelter on a convince store.

The cashier didn't mind your two entering the store at this kind of weather as it was understandable given by the current situation both you and Danielle had. Danielle, a little soaked in the water couldn't help but chuckle in dismay for her clothes.

"Welp, there goes tomorrow's uniform."

Her accent gave way to you that she wasn't a fully fluent korean speaker but guessing her accent, you were for sure she was Australian.

"Ah, by the way Oppa, I'm grateful for you sharing your umbrella with me"

She bowed towards you to which you just waved off.

"I-It's nothing really. I mean, both of us don't want to get wet right?"

You chuckled awkwardly not knowing if what you said was the correct one but your gaze captured the cashier giving you a weird look. You immediately shook your head at him hoping that he'll realized that you were not doing anything malicious to the girl. After all, You promised yourself that you wouldn't date any girl younger than you as Society wouldn't approve it and you didn't want your reputation, who's already at a bad one, go down further in the drain.

"I mean I guess your right about that Oppa. Hmmm, I am in debt to you after all so….."

Danielle looked around the convinient store and realized that she could pay her debt to you immediately. She wasn't found of being in debt to others as she would rather pay them immediately as soon as possible and right now, she was at the right time and right place.

"So why don't I treat right here Oppa? I don't the rain would stop soon anyway."

You wanted to refuse knowing that the stare of the cashier only got sharper as sweats began to form on your forehead. The words "No" was right infront of your tounge ready to be spoken yet seeing the bright smile and sincerity behind Danielle made your heart battle for what to do. Accepting her offer would only make the Cashier suspicious of you and you don't want anymore weird gazes from people around you, but rejecting her offer wouldnt definitely crush those weird accusations from the cashier but it will definetly crush the poor girls heart in half, or even more.

As you sigh, you made up your mind that Danielle was just too much of a poor soul to make her heart broken in half.

"Sure but let's keep the budg-"

"Yey! Alright, let's grab some cup noodles and some triangle kimbap!"

Danielle energetically went through the aile searching for her favorite Noodles while your trail behind her. Being a college Student, Cup noodles was your go to food with a few occasion of kimbap or Tofu soup but most of the time, it's Cup noodles against the world.

"Sooo.. Oppa, what's your name?"

"Ah, It's Y/n Roh."

"Ohhh, cool name. Mine's Danielle Marsh. Or you can call me Mo Jihye"

"Ah, I see.."

"So what school do you attend to?"

Danielle opened up the conversation between the two of you as you weren't the person to start a converse to begin with.

"Oh, Umm, I study at Tokki University"

"Oh wow My dream University! So what course are you on?"

"Ummm..Business Management.."

"Ohhh, So Oppa wants to run a drug empire?"

You widen your eyes as your mouth hanged open by the words spoken by Danielle. Seeing your face made the girl laigh her ass out.

"Hahaha, Did I leave you 'asking for more?' get it? Cause drug addicts tends to ask more if there's no more drugs. Get it?"

She smiled innocently as your thoughts began to ask if Danielle's humor was the humor of the youth. If so, then a small shiver ran down your spine as imagining the youth to be like this scares you. In fact, in general, teenagers scare the living shit out of you.

"Y-Yeah, I get it."

"Hehehe~"

Danielle happily took 2 cup of noddles with her and 2 triangle kimbap as she hummed her favorite song which you immediately recognize. It was the same song that you listen to when wiriting your storeis. Maybe there is a way where the two of you can connect somehow despite the difference of personality.

"That song. That's the song "Hurt" by New Jeans right?"

Danielle smiled brightly and nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Yup, are you a fellow cultured man too?"

"Oh umm. Well I'm not a big fan and all, but I do listen to them time to time especially when I'm writing my stories."

You gasp as your heart starts to beat quicker after realizing what you just uttered. You anticipate seeing embarrassment and a disgusted expression. You were terrified by the numerous occasions when others looked down on you whenever you mentioned your passion, and the only places where you actually felt safe from everyone were with Yuqi and the library cafe. But now that your tongue slipped and, it will be added to the collection of never-ending disgust-

"Woah, an Author. That's so cool!!"

Danielle's sudden enthusiasm made you suprised as you saw her genuine smile and shine on her eyes. You weren't sure if she was acting to not feel weirded by you but observing that spark in her eyes, she was genuinely amazed.

"I-I'm not an author, just a wannabe one.."

"So? That's still cool! I think writing a story based out of your imagination is cool as it is to other amazing sport out there. It's like your living out your fantasies in a book, I personally like that."

Danielle chuckled before heading into the cashier who has been observing your interaction with her. So far, his suspicions has calmed down after seeing how Danielle was enthusiastic to talking with you. Danielle paid for the food and bought her own umbrella now as the two of you took your seat watching the rain infront of the store. You thanked Danielle by her action towards you as Danielle just shrugged it off. She wanted to just say that it was nothing but then a light bulb entered her head. An idea arrived and she was smiling just by thinking of the idea.

"Well Oppa, You can thank me by, letting me see your story. Hehehe."

Danielle was really the opposite of you and perhaps more evil than you thought. Her bright smile turned to a more mischievous one and if you really want to feel gratitude by her action, you have to comply. But there was a dilemma, your book full of stories was left at your apartment and the only story you have is the one that was crumbled down and throwen to the trash earlier. A sense of dissapointment once again appeared on your face and Danielle immediately noticed this.

"I-I mean if you don't wan to then it's okay-"

"No, I'm sorry, I must have shown a depressed expression just now right?"

Danielle nodded her head as her thoughts began to pick up the pieces for what kind of person you are but she can't really build it just yet. The founds for your character in her mind was completely empty from the inside and she needs to find that out more.

"Y-Yeah, Kinda Oppa."

"It's just today, My story was dumped and was simply set aside by the director. Of course submitting a story will always have consequences like this but being constantly getting rejected left and right. It takes a toll on you."

Danielle was quiet as she observes and listens to your ranting. You took a bite of your cup noddles and the warmness of the food really pluck a string on your heart as you bit your lips avoiding yourself from tearing up.

"Sorry, I sounded weird just now."

"Oppa."

"Yeah?"

"Can I see it?"

Danielle expression changed to a more serious expression which was so different from what she was earlier. Somehow, you were getting the director's vibe from her and whenever you were face to face with a director, it always scares you as cold sweat would form on your forehead and hands. You gulped and despite you not wanting to show it after hearing the feedback earlier, you still pulled out your story on your bag and handed it to Danielle.

"I'll read this for the meantime, Oppa, just eat okay?"

Her words didn't felt like her usual giddy tone and it was more like an authoritarian one. You just nodded your head as you ate your cup noddles and Kimbap as your eyes would glance at Danielle who was seriously reading the script of the story with a visible fire in her eyes. After 10 minutes of finishing your food and her seriously reading it throughly, she placed the script down as she glared at you.

"You…."

You gulped in fear as Danielle's sharp gaze shot through your heart. If looks can kill then you would have died on the spot.

"D-Danielle I-"

"You Writing Genius!! How could you make such a fluffy story! Oh my god. The way you wrote the characthers and their own traits-eh? Oppa, are you… Crying?"

You touched your face, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your cheeks. Perhaps your heart and head joined forces when you realized Danielle had expressed what you had hoped to hear from different directors.

It was so unexpected that you weren't even able to react appropriately before additional tears started to fall and you started to cry with delight. Danielle finally caused the sadness and disappointment that had been building up inside of you to release.

"Ah,umm…what do I do… Think Danielle, Think!"

Danielle was thinking on what she should do to comfort you but her brain ended up giving her two options. One is to give him tissues and let you be or get closer to her you and hug you. Yes, the 2nd option was weird considering that the two of you haven't known each other that long. Going for the first option was the safest option for Danielle but it just didn't sit well with her. She can tell that you have been facing rejection, after rejection, and probably dissapointment too and this just makes her more sadder for you.

"Oh screw it. I'm Danielle Marsh damn it!"

Danielle stood up from her seat as she went to your side pulled you close to her as she hugged you patting your back. You were momentarily surprised by this but the feeling of comfort and warmth from her touch engulf you. You felt safe and protected around her and this somehow calmed you down. Danielle on the other hand couldn't help but feel so sorry for you. Despite you being a college student, in her eyes, you looked like a pure innocent kid who's really genuine with your hobby.

The silence that you two shared was so powerful that you felt a heavy weight off your shoulder dissappear. Danielle on the other hand found you adorable in her embrace as you pulled away wiping a few tears in your eyes. At this point, embarrassment has crept up your mind realizing that you cried into someone's arms without permission as a blush appeared on your cheeks.

"I'm so-sorry Danielle. I didn't mean to suddenly break down infront of you. I just-"

"No need to explain Oppa. It must be hard being a writer huh?"

You nodded your head at her as Danielle chuckled and pulled her chair closer to you with a smile.

"You know Oppa, maybe I can help you create a story that will blow those jerks-I mean directors off the face of the planet."

You blinked your eyes a couple of times after hearing what you just heard from her. Surely she's just telling this to cheer you up-

"And no, I'm not doing this to cheer you up. I genuinely want to help you out Oppa. This is also a way for us to be friends."

"Friends?"

You asked. You genuinely have no friends except Yuqi and the people at the Cafe library. It was hard for you to socialize since nobody was interested in your hobby or you specifically so having someone say they want to be your friend is an experience.

"Umm.. Danielle, I'm not really a good social person and-"

"What are you talking about? We have been literally been talking since earlier. I dont see you being an unsociable person at all."

She was right. You and Danielle were talking for such quite time now and it felt all so natural talking to her. Maybe saying that you were unsociable is just a way to keep people out since Danielle was able to jump her way past that. And perhaps this could be a sign that things would be great moving forward.

"I guess your right Danielle. But, I'm 3 years older than you. Are you sure you wanna be friends with me?"

"What does age have to do with me being your friend? I choose who I wanna be friends with anyway. And I choose you, Y/n Roh Oppa, to be my first College friend. Hehehe~"

Her smile really was full of warmth and if sunshine had a smile, then Danielle have it. Pulling out her phone, she showed her number as you immediately got what she was trying to do. Both of you exchange phone numbers and returned the phone. You checked your contacts and you contact numbers had 1 new one and it's labeled as..

"Danielle the sunshine girl? Why did you write that down?"

"Cause its fun Oppa. Look, I wrote yours as the Y/n Oppa the soon to be star author. See? It's fun cause I believe it."

You chuckled at her as the two of you continued to converse like you two have met in a long time as the rain slowly dissappear. Once it had dissappeared, both you and Danielle left the store as she smiled back at you.

"Well, I'll see you around Oppa. Ah by the way, I might or could possibly send you good morning text or good night text just to make sure your alive. I have a fear that if you don't reply, then that means your dead."

You couldn't help but laugh at her words.

"I don't mind it at all Danielle."

"Great, see you around Oppa, hopefully tomorrow. Bye bye~"

She waved you goodbye as she happily skipped away as you were left confused by the words that came out of her mouth.

"Tommorow? Well, I'm preety much sure I won't meet her until then right?"

.

.

.

.

Danielle really sticked by her word as she would never miss a day messaging you sending Goodnights and Goodmorning text. Honestly speaking, you overwhelmed by this type of behavior as you really don't know what to reply to her after she send those messages. But beside that, Danielle was actually a very good friend to you.

A week has passed since that encounter and you two would occasionally meet at the convenient store discussing a new story and if your being honest, Danielle's suggestion was really out of this world and really a Challenge to write in general. But her ideas were those typical romance stories but it's twist and plot progression was really interesting that can keep any readers intrigued of the story. But staying at the convenient store wasn't really ideal for you because of 2 reasons.

The first reason is that the place was very far away from your University and also your apartment. Staying there longer means walking a long time and making you exhausted. Being exhausted makes your body and mind tired to do anything and that wouldn't help you in writing a new story.

The second reason is that the eyes of the people entering the place. You were already afraid of the weird stare the cashier gave you before so having multiple stares at you only makes your more anxious and it also didn't help that Danielle was wearing her uniform and you were wearing your College ID. It really makes you overthink if you were getting canceled but most importantly, you were afraid of what people would think of Danielle. You weren't afraid of your own image but for Danielle? She has a bright future ahead for her and you didn't want to harm that.

So instead of staying at that store, you instead suggested to meet up in your sanctuary, the Cafe library to which Danielle agreed on. She didn't really know where the place was but using Google maps, she memorized where she should go. During the morning of her typical day, Danielle was approached by her 2 friends, Kim Minji and Pham Hanni who wore a mischievous smile on their face.

"So, Danielle, you didn't told us you were into Older guys?"

"Excuse me?"

Danielle was surprised by the question Hanni said as Minji playful nudge Danielle.

"Oh come on. Don't act like you didn't know."

"I'm sorry. But what are you two talking about?"

Danielle was really confused on what her two friends were talking as Hanni and Minji shared a look before they sigh.

"Well, students say that you were seen talking to a college guy in the nearby store in our school"

"And words spread out saying you were dating him"

Both Minji and Hanni said respectively as Danielle realized that they were pertaining to you to which she laughed out loud confusing her two friends.

"Damn, so that's what they say? He's actually a friend of mine and isn't it cool that I have a college friend? It makes me closer to being an adult!"

Danielle's smile made her two friend sigh realizing how pure hearted Danielle once. But that's the reason why many guys want her. She's just really pure at heart and very kind. Some people would say that foreigners wouldn't be able to blend well with locals but Danielle proved them all wrong.

"Well, I mean is he treating you right?"

Minji asked as Danielle nodded her head. The trio were walking home now leaving past the school gate.

"Yup, He's kind of awkward at times but I think it's because of him being just socially awkward. But he's a good guy who likes writing. Isn't that cool? Hsi stories is actually good too."

Hanni chuckled at her remark as she crossed her arms near her chest.

"Sounds like a nerd to me who's not good with people. Dani, seriously, are you even sure that he's what you think he is? What if he's just lying to you pretending to act like that because he wants something more? Predators are a common thing right now and I'm worried for you. "

The words that Hanni said made Danielle stop on her tracks. Was what she said really true about you? Were you just faking it because you want something from her? She thought about it as she recalled all her memories with you and found absolutly nothing that comes to her mind whenever you act weird. Except when you shy away when saying a story idea as she would notice you blush in embarrassment and a small smile would appear on your face. That scene made her smile a little before facing Hanni.

"Hanni, I understand you worrying for me but I know Y/n Oppa isn't like that. He's a good guy. Perhaps too good for this world because of his soft heart and kind behavior. If I were to assume all what you said was true and act different towards him, wouldn't that make me a terrible friend just because I listened and believed to something fake where I clearly know what's right?"

Minji smirked feeling proud of Danielle as she playfully shoved the shoulder of Hanni as Hanni sigh seeing the smirk on Minji's face. If there was one thing that Hanni couldn't stand is seeing Minji with her smug face.

"I'm just saying Dani, I'm not telling you to act differently at him. Just be cautious, that's all I'm saying."

"Well, Honestly speaking, I would rather trust Y/n Oppa than Johan, the uhhh… Star player of our school. And that says a lot cause I have been friends with Johan since freshmen and I just can't trust him than Y/n Oppa. If you would meet him and spend time with him, you'll realize that being simple is fun."

Danielle smiled before continuing to walk ahead as Minji shook her head at Hanni.

"You know that Danielle is a good judge of character right?"

"Yeah, I know that girl, it's just that I'm worried for her."

Hanni was a great friend with Danielle as the trio would basically would do everything together and their bonds goes beyond friendship. It almost felt like they were real life siblings, taking care of each other, teasing each other, and always loving each other so of course, Hanni would be worried for her friend.

"Hanni, remember that time Danielle warned you about dating Jay Lee or even Theo Song even though she just saw them with one glance?"

"Well yeah, How could I forget that. If I didn't listen to Danielle then I would be doing drugs right now or even worse, a young mother."

"See, Danielle immediately saw those from afar just by seeing those guys. Trust her Hanni, She knows what she's doing and if she trust that Y/n guy, Then we should believe her."

Hanni, sighed as she looked over at Danielle who was a few feet ahead of them walking. She really loves Danielle and want nothing more for her happiness. So if Danielle thinks that your trust worthy then she will too.

"Alright, If Danielle says so then so be it."

"That's the spirit. Alright, let's catch up to Danielle."

The two girls caught up with Danielle as they began to talk about their school experience on this day as their day ended with smiles and laughter but for Danielle, her day ended with thrill and excitement as she was eager to meet you tomorrow on a great relaxing place. As if time was moving fast, the next day quicker than expected.

The duo of Minji and Hanni noticed the bored and exhausted look on Danielle as they approached her during their break time.

"Hey Dani, you seem out if it. You alright?"

Minji said with her soft voice to which Danielle respond with a soft chuckle.

"Yeah I'm fine. It's just that I couldn't sleep last night cause I was excited to meet him to that Cafe library in the city."

Hanni nodded her head but also was curious on why she would meet you there.

"Isn't that place gonna get demolished in a few weeks? Why there anyway?"

"Well it's what he says. Beside, I always wanted to visit that place in a long time now so yeah."

Hanni and Minji nodded their head as they were already familiar with that place anyway. There wasn't any suspicious activity there and it was rather calming there to any supposed any areas around the city.

Danielle wished nothing more for the final bell to ring as her bright smile was plastered on her face ready to beat anyone who leaves the school gate. As the final bell rang, Danielle bursted through the door leaving a few trails of smoke behind her as Hanni and Minji laughed seeing how Danielle acted. Danielle was the first to leave the school gate and as she was out of the gate, she catched her breath and began to walk towards the cafe library. The place wasn't that far from her school but she made sure to call you.

"Oppa, I'm already seeing the place. Where are you?

"Ah, just enter the cafe, you'll immediately see me

"Oh Okay, see you soon Oppa~

"Ah yeah see you-Yah, Yuqi. It's not like that!

The call ended leaving her in a state of confusion as she was able to hear a girl's voice through the phone. She questioned herself if you were with another person besides her but she just brush that off and thought that you had other friends there. But their was an uneasy feeling on her part that she can't clearly explain. Her smile that was present immedietly dissappearred when she heard you say Yuqi. A mix of sadness, dissapointment, curious, and worry was what the feeling was.

She arrived at the place and the first thing that caught her attention was the calming vibe the place had. It's ambience was out of this world as customers and students were in the place discussing something and at the same time reading books.

"Woah, this place is cool!"

"Ah, Danielle, over here."

She heard that familiar voice over and her smile was immediately back on her face as she saw you sitting on your favorite table but this time, there was an extra seat for her as she made her way towards you all smiles.

"Hey Y/n Oppa. Did you wait too long? I'm sorry I took my time it's just that I kinda got lost for a bit."

You chuckled at her words as she took a seat opposite to you. It wasn't your first time having someone to talk to in the cafe but it surely was your first time talking to a friend outside of the cafe infront of you.

"It's fine. I just got here as well. By the way, Do you drink coffee or you're to young for it-"

"Yah, Oppa. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm adult already."

You softly laughed and Danielle found it weird that for the first time, she heard you laugh without any awkwardness in them. It sounded so pure and happy like there was no lie in your laughter as this caught Danielle off guard. She was used to you being all shy and timid even when talking or laughing so being able to hear your true laugh really made her frozen to her feet.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. So what drink would you like?"

"O-oh Ummmm..do they have like a hot chocolate here?"

"Yup they do have. Should I order it to be the special type?"

Danielle turn her head to the side a bit as a look of confusion was written on her face.

"Special type? What's that?"

"Well it's like the drink got upgraded. Instead of a normal hot choco drink, they would add up whip cream, some marshmallows, and finally some crushed oreo cookies."

Just by hearing your words, Danielle's mouth was foaming that she had to gulp down her saliva to control herself.

"Yeah, I would like that."

"Alright, Let me order it real quick. Hold on."

You left your table to order your drink as Danielle looked around the place. She found the place really relaxing an it's aesthethics were really her taste. She really doesn't understand why someone would demolish this place when it's better than any cafe she visited before. But as much as she wants to admire the place, her eyes landed on you talking, smiling and even laughing whole heartedly to a small girl on the counter. That mixture of feelings was once again in the pits of her stomach and she didn't like it one bit.

Her eyes tried to look away from it but it felt like her eyes just keeps on locking gazes with you and that girl. She spent a few good chunks of minutes staring at you and the girl but immediately looked away when you walked back at the table with your orders at hand. You handed Danielle her drink as you sat back on your seat.

"You seem like a regular here Oppa. You seem close with the staff here."

Danielle said as you nodded your head. The proud feeling took over your body knowing this place was your second home and everyone here was like a family to you.

"Yeah, you could say this is my second home and silent sanctuary. I have been here since the start of the place. I'm gonna miss them when this place gets shut down"

"Even the girl?…."

"Huh?"

Danielle widen her eyes realizing that her mouth just went into pilot mode saying that stuff that was on her mind. You on the other hand didn't really hear what she said so were confused on what she was saying.

"What are you talking about Danielle?"

"Oh uh.. Umm.. I.. I was talking about the book! Y-Yeah the book here. T-The girl who missed the book."

"There's a book like that?"

You asked as Danielle gulped a little trying desperately to escaped her situation she placed herself in. She nodded her head but at the same time, stirred the conversation to another direction hoping to bury this one in the dirt.

"A-Anyway Oppa. Any ideas you have for your new story?"

You smiled happily and took out your notebook showing her the titles you had in mind and it's plot. You explained each story and so far, Danielle all loved it but one story is what really got her hooked up.

"This story about a girl in the past and a boy in the present meeting up in the present timeline. I like this one. It's unique, it's interesting and the ending is quite realistic. I love this one. Shall I give you some possible plot Ideas Oppa?"

"I would love to Danielle."

Your genuine smile caught her off guard as she looked down, a small tint of pinkness appearing there as she tries to contain her happiness. This afternoon spending time with you was so different than the times you would meet up with her in the store. She wasn't sure if it was because of your in a familiar territory or if it's because you're really just shining whenever your doing your hobby.

Danielle began writing down her plots as Yuqi arrived smiling and greeting the two of you.

"So how's the drink Y/n?"

"Oh Yuqi, it's the best ever, like always."

Danielle looked up and she saw the girl that you were talking to and she can tell that she was the same girl earlier on the call as her voice has been imprinted on her mind. She noticed how the two of you acted so close and that mix feeling again appeared but this time, it annoyed her.

"Ah, by the way Yuqi, this is Danielle. A friend of mine."

Danielle looked up smiling as usual as Yuqi smiled and greeted her as well.

"Nice to meet you Danielle. A friend of Y/n is also a friend of mine. So make yourself at home okay?"

"Ah, Yes Unnie."

But as soon as the greetings ended, Danielle couldn't help but glance up her notebook seeing how comfortable, happy, and bright you were talking to Yuqi and seeing the response of Yuqi towards you, it made her feel more annoyed and confused. This feeling was such a mystery for her and it also intrigues her. Whenever you would talk about Yuqi, Danielle just stop functioning and her grip on the pen would tighten up and it eventually broke in half snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Oh no my pen…."

"It's alright Danielle, I have mine right here."

You pulled out one of your ballpen towards her but instead of just handing it to her, your hand touched with hers as you gave the ballpen.

"You really need to be careful Danielle, Ballpen lives matter too."

You softly chuckled at your words yet Danielle was lost staring at your hand. It was her first time having someone else hold her hand like this and it send Shockwave all over her Body. That mix feeling she was feeling immediately dissappeared in an instant when you're hand touched hers. She noticed her heart beating faster now and she could feel her cheeks turning hotter by the second.

Was she sick?

Did she get an unknown sickness along the way?

Is she gonna be alright?

These questions appeared on her head making her unable to focus on the plots anymore. It also didn't help that time moved faster as they left the cafe with Danielle dissapointed in herself not being able to be productive with you.

"I'm sorry Y/n Oppa, I couldn't focus much today"

She looked down embarrassed but you just smiled softly and patted her head. Just like how your hand touches hers earlier, her heart began to beat faster and this got her excited somehow.

"It's fine Danielle. What's important is that we were able to start a story together. So I don't think this day was wasted."

Your bright smile really can captive even the strongest warrior's as Danielle was that warrior. Now she was weak towards you. You picked up a taxi for her as she was suprised.

"Oppa, I can walk."

"No can do Danielle, It's night time now and I won't risk you walking away in this time. I would rather want to send you home safe. Don't worry, I already paid the taxi on my phone so just messaged me when you arrive home okay?"

Danielle was now confused. Were you really the same timid Y/n she met a week ago cause right now, you were stirring her heart and thoughts out of control. She thanked you as you wathc her leave the scene with you waving at her goodbye. Today's meeting really left you wondering if Danielle's pick was the best story for you.

"I better review the plot she made tonight."

You trusted Danielle after all so you have full trust that this story of yours will work out in the end. As you walked home, Danielle was at the taxi cab thinking of what feeling her heart was feeling when you offered her a taxi home. It was weird, it was confusing and at the same time, it was a nice feeling to have.

"I gotta ask Minji and Hanni tomorrow, I'm sure they have an answer to that"

.

.

.

.

"You're Jealous."

"What?"

Hanni clarified herself after Danielle described what she felt yesterday on seeing you interacting with Song Yuqi. Minji chocked on her drink after she heard Hanni said those words.

"Hanni, That's impossible. Danielle just met the guy a week ago. There's no way Danielle likes him that quick. Right Danielle?"

"Y-Yeah. Isn't love suppose to take time?"

Hanni sighed and shook her head. If there was someone who has expertise when it comes to love then Hanni was that person.

"Haven't you been spending every afternoon with him since meeting him? Don't tell me that isn't enough time for something to develop? Love sometimes can be unexpected at times and right now, Danielle, Your in love with him."

Danielle gulped down her anxiety. Hanni can be crazy at times but surely, she's wrong right?

"N-No, that's impossible Hanni.."

"Dani, face it. Your in the stage of denial right now. But if you really wanna know. Why don't you go and visit him and see what you feel when he interact with that friend of his."

Danielle is no longer able to talk. Hanni's explanation of her feelings helped her to come to the correct conclusion. Love is a complicated emotion that differs from person to person, and Danielle isn't sure what type of love she is feeling for you right now. Was that love? Pity? Inspiration? Or the most straightforward: She loves you. As the day went by, her thoughts kept returning to those queries. As she walked out of the school, she felt as like she was wandering aimlessly, wondering herself, "Do I really love him?" But as she turned to face the cafe library, she began to feel as though her legs had a consciousness of their own.

"Why am I even here-"

Her words was stopped when she saw you smiling, laughing with Yuqi. The two of you felt like the world was only yours and nothing else mattered. Danielle's gaze was just focused on that one person, You.

She had her palm firmly clutched on the hem of her skirt and her eyes were more alert than usual because she could see how tactile Yuqi was with you, and the worst part was that you seemed to be loving it. Naturally, Yuqi was introduced to her as one of your pals as well, but their bond was worlds apart from hers. In contrast to her, Yuqi seems like a girl who fits you. Danielle, on the other hand, was still a student, young, occasionally immature, and kidding about.

It hurt her to experience this kind of emotion since her heart was being yanked back. It might have hurt earlier to have such a large cut on her, but this was worse. Her mind rang with the earlier remarks of Hanni. She eventually caught a glimpse of you and another girl. She…

"I hate it…."

Danielle softly said as she took a deep breath in. And entered the cafe. She didn't want to lose and she was a competitive girl. Once she focused on something, she won't ever stop until she achieved it. And right now, her goal is have your attention, just for her. Only her.

"Oh Y/n. That plot is really good. But do you-"

"Hey Y/n Oppa~"

Danielle entered their chat as you and Yuqi both turned to see the smiling Danielle. You waved your hand at her while returning her smile. You weren't actually expecting her, but now that you've shown her around, it was only a matter of time until she started coming here more frequently. But this time, something about Danielle was different. She chose to sit next to you rather than across from you, purposely cutting Yuqi off and surprising her.

"O-Oh, Well I gotta do my shift now Y/n. See you two later."

You laughed and nodded your head at Yuqi as she went away with a wink. Danielle was enraged to witness Yuqi flirting with you as her love for you burned hot. She was filled with jealousy and want your undivided attention. Danielle closes the distance between you by doing something unconventional, surprising you in the process.

"W-Woah, is there something on my face Danielle?"

"Clean face, no lipstick on your neck, your perfume seems like your perfume, no female hair on your clothes. Your cleared."

Danielle sat back as you blinked twice not knowing why Danielle suddenly got close to your face. It was weird seeing Danielle up close as she kinda looks preety.

You slapped your mental self just by thinking that thought.

"Have you gone mad Y/n!?! That's Danielle! An 18 year old girl! You're 21 and you shouldn't say those stuff! You disgusting fteak!"

You tormented yourself but even before you can curse yourself up, Danielle once again got closer to you and this time, she grabbed your hand and asked a silly question that got your wondering. What is Danielle doing?

"Oppa, my hand kinda hurts. Can you guide my hand in writing the plot? I really want to finish this chapter 2 summary."

"A-Ah, Su-Sure…"

With your hand above hers, you felt a sense of warmth and softness from her hand and this got you blushing a little. It was your first time holding a girl's hand and it made your heart beat faster. But that was shut down immediately as you again realized that Society will label you as a disgusting bastard since Danielle is still young and you're an adult.

You chose to ignore this, but as the days passed, Danielle's aggressive devotion for you only became more overt. Sometimes Danielle's teasing makes you blush, other times she holds your hand just because she thinks it's cold when it's warm, other times she sends you good morning messages with heart emojis instead of the usual sun set or sunrise, and lastly there are the times she purposefully cuts off Yuqi with her usual antics, which makes you feel both relieved and worried. You were relieved that Yuqi wouldn't have to disturb your writing flow on a regular basis, but you were also concerned about how Danielle's combative behavior may irritate Yuqi. But that wasn't the case at all.

With the sudden change of Behavior from Danielle, you had to ask her why she's being like this because right now, you were touching dangerous waters. You don't want Danielle to do something she will or you will regret. So meeting up with her on the Cafe like usual, You waited for her but you were also anxious about what would happen to your friendship with her. You didn't want it to end here nor do you also want to change the relationship you have now.

It wasn't that long when Danielle arrived and her attire caught you off guard. Something about her made you stare at her as it wasn't just you who were captivated. Multiple guys and girls were also in awe with how Danielle presented herself. Her usual long hair was cut off to a medium length, a small bun was at the back of her hair and her ends were curled abit showcasing her different beauty. A mature concept if what you call it.

"Oppa~"

Danielle with her signature smile went to you as the stare of the people went to you. You gulped in fear as you always don't feel comfortable with many eyes on you and with Danielle's presence, brought audience. She sat opposite to you but you can see how preety and beautiful Danielle is right now and this really got you nervous. Your mind and heart was torn into two sides on what to pick.

"Danielle, did you cut your hair?"

"Oh, yup. My hair was kinda getting too long and now. I look ugly huh?"

Oh ugly was sure in her dictionary of things as she was looking like a princess unworthy of your time. You ended up gazing on her as Danielle smiled softly with a little blush on her cheeks. This was her plan all along after all. She wants to captivate you and make sure that your attention will only be for her. Taking this opportunity, she changed her seat to be with you as your heart began racing faster and your cheeks was turning redder.

"Say Oppa."

"Y-Yeah?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

You shook your head at her question. Having a hard time communicating with other people was already harder and confessing to Yuqi was close to impossible, so why did she think you even have a slight chance to even have a girlfriend.

"Danielle I need to tell you-"

"Oppa can I go first?"

Danielle's expression changed from her usual bright demeanor to a more anxious and worried expression. You haven't seen this side of Danielle before and somehow, this made you feel bad for her.

"Oppa, ever since I met you, I entered a new world that I didn't know that I would enjoy. Honestly speaking, I wasn't into books and all that but you, you Oppa changed my perspective and I realized how much amazing it is. You helped me enter a new world I would cherish forever. "

The words spoken by Danielle touched your heart. It wasn't everyday that you get complimented by your hobby as most people would just look down on you.

"Danielle, that means a lot to me."

Danielle smiled for a few second before she showed her anxious expression once again. Her hands were sweating bullets but she has to say it now and make her plan to action. With a deep breath she stared at your eyes.

"And I found an amazing friend with me who would show me the beauty of stories and with how the imagination can be used so well for amazing scenarios. I'm forever thankful for you Oppa but, there's a bump, well it was my on bump…"

"Danielle…."

"Oppa, the time we spent together, I'm thankful for that. The times where you would motivate me to do my homework, were you would buy me hot choco for my scores, for always reminding me to do my best but also relax, all of this, made me feel…. Loved."

Her eyes soften and her stare at you wasn't anxious or her usual bright aura. It was something new and your eyes widen in realization that what Danielle is showing to you is the climax expression of your character confessing. In your perspective, this was bad. The dangerous water you desperately want avoid has now entered your space.

"Danielle I-"

"I know Oppa. Your scared of what society would say if you date me right?"

Your soul left your body as Danielle immediately caught your intentions. You didn't know how to react as Danielle chuckled and leaned in closer to you. She caressed your cheeks as her look of love was still plastered on her face but you can also see in her eyes that there was sadness in them.

"I know you wouldn't agree with me and I already know that. But at least for now you know what I feel. Just this once, let me feel happiness."

Danielle closed in on you kissing your forehead. Your heart fluttered not because of the sudden kiss but rather by where she kissed you. She knows that kissing your lips was still an x mark for you so kissing your forehead was the best she can give you. After all, she's gonna leave this place and return to Australia and might not even see you anymore.

Despite how difficult it is for her, she felt powerless over her fate because her objective was home rather than here. She initially detested it and want to leave this location. Her friends have become her haven, you have become her lighthouse of joy, and this has become her home. She made the decision to end on a high note since she didn't want to leave with a shattered heart. She gave her hair a more moderately short haircut to demonstrate that she is prepared to let go and embark on a new life. When they realized their time was short, Minji and Hanni sobbed bitterly, but what about you? None of this was known to you.

Danielle pulled away from you as she wore a bittersweet smile hiding her tears from falling. She knows that this was goodbye and the painful thing for her is that, she couldn't even finish the story with you.

"Goodbye, Oppa."

Danielle stood up and began walking away from the door as you were staring at her picking up the pieces together. Something wasn't adding up with this meeting. Danielle left the Cafe as her tears began to form on her eyes but she kept a strong face as she walked away, biting her lips not wanting to cry out loud.

You were left unable to speak and in a precarious situation. Has Danielle just abandoned you? Has your friendship with her ended? And what did she say as she bid goodbye? All of this was going through your mind, with no answer as Yuqi sat opposite to you with a dissapointed face.

"So why did you make Danielle cry?"

You looked perplexed as you looked up and saw Yuqi.

"What?"

While shaking her head, Yuqi sighed. She had a burning want to punch you right now.

"Danielle just confessed to you right? But to me, that felt like a goodbye gift than a confession."

Your heart sanked hearing what Yuqi said. Was that the missing piece on why nothing added up on Danielle's action? But it's still felt like you're missing something. Something that will connecting everything.

"Listen Y/n. I know Danielle is like 3 years younger than you but are you really going to break her heart just because your afraid of what people will say? Is that it?"

Frustration was evident on Yuqi's voice as you couldn't answer properly. Danielle had always brought a smile to your face no matter what and it was because of her that you felt like your were an important person to someone. It felt like someone cared for you wholeheartedly and accepting who you are as a person.

"I have seen it with my eyes how Danielle really loved you. And you also showed how much you cared for her, more than a friend would do."

Yuqi's comments just keep coming while your head is filled with recollections. As soon as Danielle's warmth and smile entered your mind, your heart began to beat more rapidly. The innumerable occasions when Danielle would reassure you, tease you, motivate you, and even show you that she cared. Did Danielle care about what other people thought after showing you all that?

Absolutely not

The memories you shared with her flooded your memory, making your heart beat more quickly and more quickly. You were only fooled by what people would say; that risky river you keep claiming to avoid isn't actually dangerous; yet in love, love isn't just about doing things. It has to do with the language that the two of you used to express your feelings, and that was the story that both of you created. That was the symbol of your love.

Your long-built wall of defense was breached not by force but rather by Danielle's warm presence in your life. Everything fell into place at this point; you, not Danielle, were the missing link. Everything that transpired in this story was due to your actions, and you now have a significant decision to make.

"Yuqi, I'm sorry for being an idiot. But I gotta go."

Standing up, You dashed away from the door as Yuqi smiled proudly and chuckled.

"When did that guy grow up so fast?"

.

.

.

Passing by many people, your eyes were just looking for a specific girl. An Australian sunshine girl. You didn't know where to look for her but your heart believed that she was just close by. You don't want to end the story like this. This wasn't what you want the script to end just like. This was the biggest leap of your life and you were gonna make the most of it.

"Danielle! Where are you-"

An angelic soft voice resonated with your ears as the familiar tone got you walking towards that direction. With every step you took, the more your heart was beating louder and her soft voice has gotten louder. You weren't sure what to say as you stopped on your tracks as you saw the girl who wrote your story, Standing over by the old oak tree observing the sun go down. You were scared, but you were also determined to finish the story so you walked towards her as she was unaware of your presence.

"Goodbye… My sweet home.."

Danielle said as she looked down and finally let her tears fall down her face. She has been holding this emotions since earlier and right now, she couldn't hold on anymore as she cried her heart out.

"Minji, Hanni, I'll miss you… Oppa, I'll still love you-"

A sudden embrace got her suprised but the familiar heartbeat that she has accustomed to was beating loudly for her. Your hand patted her back as Danielle sat there in shock. It felt like a dejavu for her. Before, she was the one that hugged you when you broke down and now, it was you who was comforting her as she broke down in tears.

"There, there Danielle, it must be hard loving an idiot right?"

"O-Oppa?"

Danielle looked up and saw you with warm smile as you wiped away her tears with your thumb. It broke your heart seeing your sunshine look so devastated because of your stupid belief.

"Danielle, I have always been cautious about liking someone older or younger than me because of what society will say. But you, you showed me that walking away from my comfort zone for the sake of love is worth it."

Danielle widen her eyes as you continued.

"I may not be able to say I love you that quick or confidently kiss you or even hug you but I am willing to go to lengths that will make me show how much I appriciate you. And even show why I love you-"

Danielle couldn't hold it anymore as she tackled you to the ground hugging you with her tears but instead of sadness, it was happiness as Danielle wore a bright smile and kept repeating the words

"I love you, I love you."

You just chuckled as you held Danielle on your arms. You felt like a heavy burden out of your chest as Danielle spend a few minutes on your chest before speaking the words that you needed to hear.

"Oppa, I'm leaving Korea and returning to Australia to start my college there and get a job. I-It might take some time for me to return here. Will you still wait for me?"

You smiled and this time, instead of feeling worried, you were confident that she will be in your arms again.

"Danielle, my love for you will remain until how long. Because I know you'll return to my arms."

As she hugged you more tightly, Danielle flushed. Even if it hurts, Danielle has her own life to live and you must temporarily let her go since your hearts still belong to each other.

7 year later.

Countless of reporters have been surrounding a black car as they anticipate the hot and famous author in korea. The young author who took the world by storm with his poetic and amazing books. When the people needed new love stories, he delivered and now his 2nd best selling book become a movie and it has been a hit. His works never failed to miss as countless famous actors want to partake in his story to bringing into life. As the door opened, their cameras showed it's bright flash.

You stepped out of your limousine smiling and waving your hand at the people around. You didn't expect your success to be this huge just because of that story you and Danielle worked on. After you finished that story, a famous director entered the cafe and found your story interesting. From there on, your life went upwards and never slowed down.

"Ah, madame sunshine, did you wait for me?"

You held out to the world's rising and famous actress, Danielle Marsh. As she held your hand out with her astonishing red dress as her beauty showed. Camera's took pictures of you and Danielle. Her life also went to an uprise after returning to Australia. Of course she really missed you a lot and would often call you every night but with the difference of time, it was hard to adjust but both of you had a strong relationship. Danielle entered the college of musical and arts and her acting was spotted by many directors. From there, she started as small roles in drama and movies but she always stood out despite being a minor character. Soon her role was promoted until she was the main lead and her fame sky rocketed.

Hanni and Minji became her personal managers and also her tea friends where Hanni and Minji would share Danielle the latest gossip in town or in the world. Overall, the three of them become successful together. But the world was shook when you and Daniele decided to show the world that both of you were dating. You were ready to face the backlash of society but instead, you were poured with praise.

"It still feels surreal to be walking in the red carpet with my beloved author. Hehehe~"

Danielle poked your cheeks as you couldn't help but smile at her answer.

"Well I wouldn't be here if my Sunshine didn't share an umbrella with me."

"Hehehe~ I love you so much Y/n."

"And I love you where words isn't enough to write it. So I'll do this instead."

"What do you-"

You kissed Danielle by her lips as the reporters didn't hesitate to take the photo of the hottest couple in the world. Danielle giggled as she pulled away from you. Both yours reflected with each other as your story with Danielle was just starting.

[rome-writes21]

What’s Wrong But Feels Right - Part 1

Negan x Reader (Male)

Summary - One of the worst days of y/n’s life turns into meeting the man he would fall for despite his intent to.

Warnings - Swearing, Smoking, Alcohol, Blood, Detailed Gore, Detailed Smut…

A/N - So this is my first story 😅 I’ve written small things before but I’ve never committed to a fanfic let alone posted one. Likes and comments would definitely be appreciated, and if you have any suggestions for short one shots (any character) that you’d like please let me know (especially if you’d like smut in it or not). I don’t know how many parts this is gonna have, and i’ll try to post once a week or more.

Also a shout out to @justsomegdude for helping me through hell with this story. He’s a great writer and you should definitely go check out his fics!

——————————————————————————

The tears slowly ran down y/n’s face, almost feeling frozen in time from the cold air. Every breath he took made his body shudder, even though they were short and shaky. From his peripheral vision, he could map out a picture of the dead man beside him, Abraham. He hadn’t gotten himself to look over yet. How could he? All memories he once had with his dear friend were wiped away in the blink of an eye, or more with the swing of a bat.

After Abraham, it was Glenn, someone else whom he’d loved like a brother during the 2 years they’d known each other in this god awful world. Each time the bat got swung onto Glenn, y/n’s body flinched, his heart feeling like it was getting crushed more and more with every hit. You’d of thought that the sobs and cries coming from Maggie would’ve made any of the Saviors around them feel the slightest bit of guilt in their hearts, but none of them batted an eye.

No one on their knees were safe, and for all y/n knew, he could’ve been next. But, did he really care at this point? If the people he loved the most were going to continue to get killed in front of him, why would he want to make it out?…Maybe for the revenge of it all, because y/n could slowly feel that emotion creep up on him despite the sobs that poured from his body. The hatred he felt was growing, and he felt that he would soon run out of tears to even want to feel sad.

Negan, the man who’d been running this “show”, grabbed Rick by his jacket, dragging him on the ground to the RV for a drive. All that could be heard now was the breathing forced through the sobs of each individual. The wait for Negan to return felt like an eternity, yet no one wanted him to come back.

Y/n’s eyes were hurting, burning in a way from the amount of time he spent crying over his dead friends. He looked over to Maggie on his left, seeing the pain in her eyes, the color drained from her face, and it only made everything hurt more. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t tried to comfort her in any sort of way. Her husband just got beaten to death in front of her, all while he was being mocked. But he was frozen, just like everyone else, not being able to fathom how someone could do this and joke about it……y/n was still sitting up, but was more slouched, his hands digging into the gravel below him, holding him up. There were so many thoughts running through his mind, and not a single one would settle.

The RV slowly rolled into it’s place from before, the gravel crunching underneath it. The door swung open, Rick being thrown through it, onto the ground. He got pulled and dragged just mere feet in front of everyone else, getting absolutely humiliated.

(Time skip to after “that” situation)

Rick was thrown back into line, Carl’s arm still intact thankfully. Negan was rambling while walking back and forth. It felt like he was looking for something, someone, like he wasn’t done yet, and that fueled the fear again. Losing someone else was something they didn’t know they could bare. Y/n kept his eyes on Negan, following his every move. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to do considering Negan took note of this, especially the way y/n was looking at him. The look of pure hatred in his eyes. Negan just did all of what he did to Rick because of the way he was looking at him, and now y/n was looking at him the same way, maybe worse.

Negan turned his attention to the boy, his tone full of annoyance, yet a smile stayed on his face. “Look at you!” He walked closer, his bat swinging in his hand, awfully too close to y/n. “Did you not learn a thing from Rick and what he almost had to do?”

Y/n didn’t respond. Even if he wanted to, what the hell was he going to say? One wrong word and, well maybe there goes his life, or someone else’s. “Nothing to say, huh?….Ballsy.” That’s really all Negan had to say? “Simon, Kenny load him up,” and the two men started to walk towards y/n. Fear struck y/n’s body instantly with those words, knowing there was no way he could resist. He was grabbed forcefully, getting thrown into the back of the truck.

Not too long after, the truck jerked forward. Y/n hadn’t heard any more screams, cries, the beating of the bat since he’d gotten thrown into this thing, and he hoped the remaining people were spared…..Y/n’s mind was blank, all of the thoughts running through his mind before were gone. What was he supposed to think about what just happened?

After what felt like a long time, the vehicle came to a stop, the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut all around. The doors to the truck swung open, three men pulling y/n out, barely giving him time to land on his feet before dragging him inside. The inside of the building was filled with saviors. Y/n realizing how outnumbered they really were was almost laughable.

He got taken to a cell, the door slamming shut, locked. It was pitch black besides the little light coming through the crack at the bottom of the door. The walls, the floor were ice cold. Y/n slowly slid down the wall with his back, sitting down.

He hadn’t gotten sleep for obvious reasons, and although he was exhausted, he couldn’t rest. Every time he’d close his eyes, the image of his friends dead on the ground, blood trickling down their deformed heads took over. He groaned, rubbing his head with his hands.

Jingle * Click

The door creaked open, y/n squinting his eyes a little from the unexpected light. There stood a man in the doorframe, holding a far too familiar object. It was Negan.

[bluestar22x]

Snowed In

Summary: After a freak snowstorm you and your husband were left alone, stranded in the lake house you were vacationing in for the holidays. It wouldn't have been a problem if you hadn't gone into labor.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Pregnant!Reader (mentioned to have thick hair but no physical description otherwise)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Fowl language, descriptions of labor and the birthing process; mentions of bodily fluids. (Tried to not be too descriptive, but it's not exactly that vague either.) Two parents doing their best in a bad situation. Is this medically accurate? Maybe?

Word Count: 3,788

Author’s Note: This fic is so out of season but oh well. I got all up in my head thinking about a Pedro character having to help with the delivery of his child and just had to write it.

xxx

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a holiday vacation to a friend's lake house in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, your last getaway before the baby arrived.

You'd planned to be there from December twenty-three to January second, with only your husband Frankie for company, just relaxing and enjoying the seclusion and peaceful atmosphere. You'd brought a bunch of DVDs to watch and your Christmas gifts, along with your necessities, and your friend Lydia had thoughtfully set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room sometime before your arrival.

Everything had been near perfect. The lake house offering a stellar view of the nearly frozen over lake and its fireplace offering a cozy area to curl up in.

Christmas had been completely uneventful, but the next morning you'd learned from the local television news that an unexpected snowstorm was rapidly approaching, and it was going to be pretty nasty, blinding drivers and dumping at least five feet of snow in the upcoming two days.

You'd considered leaving early to avoid it, but Frankie was nervous about getting caught up in the beginning of the storm with that warning about low visibility.

So, instead, you both made sure the house was well stocked with food and hunkered down. It wasn't like that hadn't been the original plan anyway. By the time you had to leave the storm would be just a memory.

You could've never predicted that you'd wake up at four in the morning on December twenty-seven to a terrible cramp in your stomach. You winced and your hand flew to your massive belly, clutching it. You could feel a hardness to it before something relaxed in you and the pain went away. That was when you knew the dull ache you'd felt earlier in the night was something more.

Your jaw dropped. You were going into labor.

"Oh no, oh no," you chanted, panicked. "This can't be happening. Not now!"

"Not now what?" Frankie mumbled drowsily, stirred awake by your mental meltdown. He rolled over in bed to face you and you pointed to your stomach.

"I'm having contractions," you declared. "And not the fake kind. I had a dull ache earlier, but it got worst. It's progressing."

"Shit." Frankie hissed. "You sure? You're a month early."

You nodded confidently. "I wasn't earlier, but I am now."

He stood immediately and started to dress up, yanking on a green sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans. "I'll go shovel the driveway and see if the plows have cleared the road yet." He paused and turned to you, a hand stretched out. "Are you going to be okay here for a little bit? Do you need anything, at all?"

"Yeah, I'll be alright," you replied surely. "It's not anything I can't handle right now. I'll just stay here, try to catch a little more shut eye."

"I'll start a fire before I head out," he promised you, bending over to kiss you on the lips. "And I'll be back in as soon as I can."

You nodded again and watched as he bolted out of the room like a rabbit. Your heart was thumping hard in your chest.

The storm was ongoing, still had a day left to go and had already delivered over half of the snow that had been predicted. For once the weatherman had been correct, and that was bad news for you. It meant more likely than not the road was blocked by snow. Enough of it to make it impossible for Frankie's beat up old pick-up truck to get out of the driveway. The snowplow drivers never made it a priority to plow the off beaten path roads. Especially when the owners of the lake houses in the area didn't often visit in the winter. They usually only used them in the summer and fall and for a short time period when the ice was thick enough for some winter fishing.

The anxiety building in you made it hard to fall back asleep and you gave up after spending thirty minutes in bed shifting around restlessly until the next contraction hit you.

Had it been a little more painful that time? You had no idea.

You pulled yourself out of bed and waddled over to the couch in the living room so you could sit back on it and watch the fire Frankie had made, hoping that the flickering flames and the warmth would soothe you. And it did for a little while, until Frankie stomped back into the house an hour later, looking like the abominable snowman.

"And?" you prompted.

He tugged off the gloves and the snow hat he was wearing and shook his head. "I got the driveway cleared out enough, but the main road hasn't seen a plow since yesterday afternoon. We're stuck, for now." He scratched at the base of his neck, worry in his eyes. "How are the contractions?"

"Still about the same in strength," you answered. "And around twenty-eight minutes apart. It's still very early, and since I'm a first time mom it should take a long time to really progress."

He ticked his jaw as he hung up his winter coat on the rack by the front door. "I'm going to call 911. The plows will open the road up if they have to get through."

You perked up a bit, not sure why you hadn't thought of it first. "Do it now."

He gave you a quick nod and slipped his cell phone out of his pocket, attempting to dial the emergency number.

Attempting being the word. The call didn't go through, his phone having no signal.

"How are there no fucking working towers nearby?" Frankie exclaimed, tossing his phone onto the kitchen table in frustration, palming his face. "911 calls are supposed to be picked up by any tower, whether we have that service or not."

"The storm," you reminded him quietly, as if he could forget, mouth suddenly going dry. You licked your lips and swallowed hard.

You and Frankie were alone for the foreseeable future. You could tell he had come to the same horrifying conclusion as you had because you saw your own fear reflected in his eyes in the firelight.

Your stomach dropped. "Fuck no." You rocked yourself a little where you sat. "Fuck. Why did I let Lydia convince me this was a good fucking idea? I mean, who takes a vacation so close to their due date? Where there's snow? And shitty cell reception? She doesn't even have a landline for back up. I am going to fucking kill her."

"No you won't," Frankie said with a sigh, plopping down on the couch next to you and rubbing your upper thigh, trying to comfort you. "Emma was in labor for nineteen hours, surely before then a plow will come around, and as soon as it does, I'll take you to the nearest hospital. It'll be okay."

Emma was his ex-girlfriend, and co-parent to Frankie's six year old son, Nic.

Emma had been much smarter than you. She'd stayed in Florida during her whole pregnancy. She'd delivered her son in the hospital she'd picked out, just like she had planned. You might not even get to a hospital.

As if on cue, another contraction rippled through you, and you bit your lip and pressed your hand back against your baby bump. Luckily it was still brief, and when your muscles relaxed you could feel your little one shifting inside you. Feeling the movement calmed you - slightly.

When you glanced up from looking at your belly, your eyes found Frankie's again. They were full of sympathy. "Anything I can do, baby?" he inquired again earnestly.

You had a feeling you were going to hear those words a lot that day and you were grateful.

"I'm starving," you told him. "I can't have too much food, but do you mind making toast?"

The electricity had gone out while Frankie had been out shoveling, but you could hear the backup generator running and the kitchen was one of the rooms it covered. You might as well have a bite to eat before it got too hard to keep food down, you’d figured.

He closed the gap between you and pressed a feathery light kiss to your forehead. "Course not. Coming right up."

With that, he was on his feet, headed for the kitchen like a man on a mission.

xxx

“Okay, it's okay," you said trying to calm yourself, pep talk yourself as you held on tightly to the back of the couch, mid contraction. "You almost completed nursing school, women have done this for thousands of years, you can do this."

It was many hours later, mid afternoon, and your contractions were much more intense. They were fifteen minutes apart and getting even closer at an alarming rate. The storm was still raging outside, the road was still blocked, and neither your phone nor Frankie's could catch a tower.

It had all become very real to you that you were probably going to be giving birth in the lake house, with only Frankie to assist.

Frankie, who was at your side, helping you to remain standing as you endured it, sucked in a sharp breath. "You really don't think the plow will show up before then?"

"I don't have the experience to say for sure," you replied, gasping, "But - urgh! - something in my gut is telling me we don't have much time left. We're going to have to prepare."

"Sit down on the couch," he ordered you as you slumped forward, another contraction over with. "I'll get you whatever you need."

You may have flunked out of the last few courses before you’d have graduated college, and you may have not refreshed your memory since, but you did still remember a thing or two, and you'd watched a lot of medical YouTube videos about pregnancy and birth after you'd found out you were pregnant, so it wasn't like you were totally clueless, but you were clueless enough to make your anxiety skyrocket.

You stepped around to the couch’s front and collapsed onto it, resting your head in your hands and taking a moment to collect yourself before you started to list everything you could think of that would be needed before and after you gave birth.

He swiped all the clean towels and washcloths out of the bathroom, a few pillows from the bedroom, a water bottle out of the fridge, and a trash bin from the bedroom. You had him set all the items up in the living room, even though the bed probably would've been comfier to lay back in during the last few hours of your labor.

You wouldn't have been able to explain it, but something about being in the living room, in a more open space, made you feel better. You didn't need to though. Frankie yes ma'am-ed you the entire time.

"Is that everything?" he inquired, eyes scanning the towel covered floor in front of the couch and the other items that littered the pushed aside coffee table.

"Need you to boil some water," you answered as you clutched at your aching lower back. "Lydia has some sewing string in the kitchen junk drawer. Throw a roll in the water and a pair of scissors, and let it sterilize them."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's to tie off the cord," you explained. "It can stay attached, but after five minutes we're going to need to cut off the blood flow so the baby doesn't get jaundice. The sewing string is all I can think of in here that could do that."

Frankie left the room to start his task and within the hour the sewing string and scissors were ready, laid out on a clean hand towel on the living room side table.

He returned to your side as another, more powerful wave hit you. You closed your eyes and grimaced, nails digging into the couch's fabric beneath you. You felt him gently stroking your arm as it dissipated.

"You're going to have to catch the baby and dry them off when the time comes," you told him, opening your eyes back up.

He pursed his lips. "I figured that much."

"You'll do fine," you assured him, and he chuckled.

"I should be telling you that."

You flashed him a small, tired smile. "Exactly."

If everything went right, that and tying the cord was all he'd have to do.

If.

Something you recalled from your nursing classes had you chewing on your lower lip.

"What is it?" Frankie asked warily, recognizing your troubled expression.

"Nothing," you said, shaking your head. There was going to be a lot of risk in giving birth in the lake house, but there was also no use worrying about it at this point. You had no choice and thinking about it was just going to stress you out even more than you already were.

Eventually the pain got so intense you couldn't think about it anymore, both a blessing and a curse.

When the contractions weren't making you freeze up, you were pacing like a wild animal trapped in a tiny cage, trying to walk off the pain that was starting to feel unbearable.

Why was something so natural so painful? You wondered.

You were sweating buckets, so you stripped down, almost entirely, to nothing but your sports bra. You were getting close to being in active labor anyway, the contractions seven minutes apart.

Frankie sat quietly on the couch with you sitting in front of him, massaging your lower back, trying to ease a stitch your labor had caused.

He'd been pretty quiet for a while, seemingly not sure what to say and probably all up in his head about what he would need to do.

You weren't worried he'd pass out from the sight of your blood, but you knew all the military training in the world wouldn't be able to keep him as cool as a cucumber when the time came. Internally he was probably panicking.

When he stood and tried dialing 911 again your suspicions were confirmed.

Unbelievably, the call finally went through. You knew immediately when his eyes widened, and he frantically rattled off the lake house address and explained your situation. The 911 operator had him put his phone on speaker, with the intention of guiding you and him through the process if needed, but then the phone cut off again.

"Damn it!" Frankie yelled in frustration as he chucked his, once again, useless phone onto the couch. "We might as well be on a homestead in northern Alaska."

"At least they're on their way," you said. It made you feel a little better even if they wouldn't likely make it in time.

You were sure they wouldn't when, moments later, a contraction sent you to your knees on the towels by the front of the couch. There was a gush of fluid and, your water broken, the pain intensified by a factor of ten.

"Fuck!" you shouted, groaning as an overwhelmingly weighted sensation overtook you. "Oh god, I have to push, I have to, I have to."

You muttered those words on loop as you turned your back to the couch for support and spread your legs, bending your knees after. Fear bloomed in your chest, but it was easy to knock aside by that point.

Frankie was quickly on his knees in front of you, eyes on your face.

"Then push, honey," he said softly. "I got you." His large hands found your thighs, and the warmth radiating off them grounded you, reassuring you more than words ever could.

You looked into his eyes for a moment and there was a brief calm in them, a determination, before he swallowed hard and nodded at you.

You did the same, and with the next contraction you bore down as hard as you could, panting out heavy breaths when you remembered to breath.

It hurt, so much, but it also felt good to push. To be able to do something about it.

Through your efforts, you caught quick glimpses of Frankie's eyes darting from your face to between your legs, and the worry etched on his own face pulled at your heartstrings, but you were in no shape of mind to return the assurance his words and touch had given you earlier.

"You're doing so well, baby; the head's out," he informed you just as you were becoming concerned that you might not be making much progress, despite having been pushing for at least twenty minutes. He managed a brief smile, even though he was the definition of a bundle of nerves. "Got a ton of hair. Just like you."

His comment, and your quick glance down to confirm it, renewed your determination to get your baby out. You wanted to hold them so bad. After the hours of labor you'd endured, you more than deserved it.

You cried out with your next heave and was rewarded with another update from Frankie. "The shoulders are out," he stated, voice laced with subtle excitement. "Come on, sweetheart, I think you can do it in one more big push. Okay? Push!"

You squeezed your eyes shut, screamed with effort, and suddenly there was a sweet release as your baby slipped out of you, into Frankie's waiting hands, another gush of fluid following, spilling onto the already soaked towels beneath you.

"It's a girl!" you heard Frankie announce distantly.

You fell back briefly when his words registered in your mind, relieved that the worst part was over, before your brain switched into mom mode. Your eyes snapped open and you angled your head so you could see your baby. Frankie was cradling her half-dried body in his arms, attempting to clear fluid out of her delicate little mouth with one of his pinkie fingers. His eyebrows knitted with concern as he tried to encourage her to breath, and your heart tightened as you felt the same dread he was likely feeling because your baby hadn't taken a breath yet. Had it been ten seconds yet?

Ten seconds was typically how long it took for a newborn to take their first breath, but you were pretty sure that time frame had already passed.

Please be okay, you silently begged.

A few more agonizing seconds passed, then she released a tiny gasp as her little chest rose, and you and Frankie found yourselves both sobbing in relief, tears streaming down your faces.

"Hello, beautiful," Frankie whispered to his daughter, awe written on his face as he gently placed her on top of a clean towel so he could finish cleaning her up. Afterwards he bundled her into a fresh one as best as he could with the umbilical cord still attached to her (and you).

Once he was finished all his tasks, he passed her to you, over your stomach, laying her belly down on your chest, before getting up so he could sit down beside you against the couch. He tugged you against his side for warmth and comfort. "Are you okay? Do you feel lightheaded at all? Weak?"

You shook your head. "Just tired, and obviously, sore."

You were staring down at your daughter, studying every little feature of her that you could see. You weren't good at guessing which parts of a baby's face were shared with one of their parents, but there was no mistaking that her hair was as thick as yours, and her eyes were the same shade of brown as Frankie's.

"God, she is beautiful. We did that, Frankie." You brushed your palm under her minuscule fingers as you examined them, then lifted the entirety of her smooth, dainty hand to press it to your lips.

"You did the most work," he said pointedly, a smile on his face.

"And don't you forget it," you joked, beaming up at him, laying a hand against the center of his chest.

His smile grew wider, and he kissed your temple before resting his forehead against it. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, the feelings you had for him somehow even stronger than before, after having witnessed the unspoken love he had for the daughter you shared. Most of your memories of this day would likely blur, but you couldn't imagine the image of Frankie trying desperately to clear out her airway ever fading. The moment had been terrifying, but seeing him doing whatever he could think of to help his baby breathe had altered your brain chemistry nearly as much as her existence had.

It had impressed you too. "How'd you know to put your finger in her mouth?"

With no way to suction the liquid out of your baby's mouth and nose, he'd done the next best thing, you figured, without having to be told. It confused you. Where had he learned that?

The tips of his ears turned a little red. "We might have had a stray dog on base one time, and she might have given birth in my tent."

You grinned. You couldn't believe he'd withheld that story from you the entire three years you'd known each other. "So, this isn't your first time playing midwife after all."

"It's nowhere near the same," he told you firmly.

You nodded. "I'm sure."

"So, what are we naming her?" he asked, stroking your baby's cheek with the back of his hand. Her face was angled his way, her other cheek pressed against your right breast through the fabric of your soft cotton sports bra.

You'd narrowed the names down to two boy ones and two girl ones last week, having no idea you wouldn't have more time to choose one for each.

"I still like Mia best," you informed him.

"Then Mia it is," Frankie decided without hesitance, bending to kiss her forehead.

You smiled at them both as he pulled away, and you began rubbing her back gently, instinctively, when she started whimpering, getting ready to cry. "Mia it is."

Frankie had mind to check his watch. "It's been five minutes. Probably more. Time to tie off the cord?"

You nodded, and he was reaching for the roll of string when you both stilled at the sound of sirens.

An ambulance was coming. The knowledge that a pair of paramedics had been so close to arriving in time to assist you and Frankie with your daughter's birth drew annoyance from you.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Now they show up."

Frankie couldn't help but laugh loudly at your comment, and Mia, in turn, started crying.

xxx

Main Masterlist

[danielfuckingricciardo]

Love Actually - George Russell x Reader

Pairing - Prime Minister!George Russell x Reader

Word Count - 3.8k

Content Warnings - Swearing, an overwhelming amount of biscuit-related metaphors and jokes, awkward British flirting, sickeningly sweet fluff, very slight angst, Christian Horner is the bad guy, happy ending.

Synopsis - You are the new catering manager at number 10 Downing Street, starting your job on the same day as newly-elected Prime Minister George Russell. What you don’t expect, is to fall for him so quickly, and for him to reciprocate your feelings.

Author’s Note - If you can’t tell, this is totally based on the love story between Hugh Grant’s character and Martine McCutcheon’s character in the film Love Actually, which is one of the best Christmas films ever made! Sorry for getting off track with these, I will be writing the fics I didn’t post before Christmas between now and new year, so I should hopefully be able to catch up with what I’ve missed! I felt like this was perfect for George, I think he’d be a good prime minister, though honestly, with the state the country is in right now under the fucking tories, I’ll take anyone with their head screwed on right lol 😂 Anyway, without further ado, let’s go!

You stand in the grand hallway of 10 Downing Street, your hands shaking slightly by your sides as you hear the shouting of journalists and the clicking of camera shutters from outside the door.

Honestly, you hadn’t expected to get the job when you had applied, only going for it on a whim. Your mother always said ‘the worst thing they can say is no’ but at this very moment you realised she wasn’t exactly right. The worst thing they could say is yes, and then you’d be stood, shaking like a leaf, as you wait for the new Prime Minister to enter his new home and greet you.

George Russell had barely won the election. From what you’d overheard during your induction shift, it had been almost too close to call, and the party were already scouting out coalition partners to affirm their position as heads of state. But the final constituency clinched it, a historic Conservative stronghold turned red for the first time in years, giving the party enough of a majority to lead the government alone.

You were happy, after all, you weren’t sure that you’d be able to serve tea and biscuits to a Tory. It wasn’t something you’d really considered when you applied for the job, but you were overjoyed to see the man you voted for celebrate onscreen as you finalised your contracts for your new position.

The door to Number 10 creaks open, and a serious looking man walks through the door with Larry the cat at his heels. Larry immediately runs over to you, taking a seat beside your feet and meowing up at you.

You bend to stroke him between the ears, and he immediately begins purring at your touch. The cat sprawls out at your feet, revealing his fluffy belly to you which you stroke gently.

The housekeeper, a kindly woman in her late fifties, gives you a tap on the shoulder and you look up, to see Prime Minister George Russell stood before you.

You shoot up, smoothing down your skirt with an awkward smile. George holds his hand out for you to shake.

“I’m sorry sir, I never could resist the urge to pet a cat.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

“It’s okay, I heard Larry is quite the judge of character, so it’s a good sign, I assure you.” George says, offering you a nervous smile.

“(Y/n) is new here too, sir, she’s to be your catering manager.” The man stood beside George says.

“Ah, so it’s your first day here too? The first day in a job is always quite scary.” George says, and you nod your head.

“I was absolutely shitting myself when I first got here sir.” You say, immediately wincing at the fact you had just sworn in front of the new Prime Minister.

“Oh god, I’m mortified, I really just said ‘shit’ to you, didn’t I?” You say, your cheeks instantly turning red. “And I just said it again, I’m so sorry, sir!”

“It’s alright, I believe what you said was ‘shitting’ actually, but you could have said fuck or some variation of fuck which would have been much worse.” George says, offering you a small smile.

“Well, thank fuck for that, eh?” You say, your eyes immediately going wide, your cheeks burning even more as you urge your brain to do something about the situation you had found yourself in.

“Thank fuck for that indeed.” George says, chuckling slightly as he is pulled away by the man beside him towards the large staircase in the centre of the grand hallway.

The housekeeper places her hand on her shoulder, and you exhale a shaky breath.

“I was so nervous I didn’t know what to say and then all these words just came tumbling out of my mouth. I’m going to get fired, aren’t I?” You say, and she gives you a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t worry dear, we all get nervous, and he doesn’t seem the type to fire someone over something as silly as a swear word or two.” She says, and you sigh.

“I hope so. I think Larry the cat has already gotten attached.” You say, looking down at the feline who was circling your legs, brushing against them gently to urge you to pet him some more.

Everyone clears the hallway and you bend down to pet Larry once again.

“I bet you don’t have this problem, do you?” You say to the cat as you scratch between his ears, and he lets out a satisfied meow.

“I thought not.” You say, before standing and walking over to the kitchen, with Larry following you every step of the way.

-

Not long after your first meeting, you find yourself walking up the staircase of Number 10 towards the office of the Prime Minister himself, a tray in your hands containing a China cup and saucer, and a plate of chocolate biscuits.

Larry had refused to leave your side since first meeting him, and now followed you up the stairs a little too closely. You stumble slightly as he steps between your feet, and you fight to find your balance without the aid of your hands which were occupied by the Prime Minister’s refreshments.

“I can see you’re going to be trouble.” You say to the cat as you find your footing at the top of the stairs, and Larry meows at you, stopping to lick his paws in the middle of the hallway.

You reach the door to the office, balancing the tray on one hand to knock lightly on the door.

“Come in.” George shouts from behind the door and you twist the handle, stepping into the office.

George offers you a warm smile when he spots you, and you offer him the same smile in return, a light blush dusting your cheeks.

You set down the tray before him on his desk, and he immediately takes the cup in his hands, swallowing a large gulp of hot tea.

You turn on your heels to exit, but quickly reconsider and whirl back around.

“I’m sorry, about earlier. I didn’t mean to be so… crude with my language. I’d understand if you’d want to hire someone else instead.” You say, and George looks up at you over his cup.

“Crikey, no, it’s not a problem. Everyone gets nervous, especially on their first day on the job. Between you and me, I’m shitting it too. First thing on my agenda is ‘fix the country’ which, based on the state my predecessor left it in, isn’t going to be an easy job. But it will be made considerably easier if you keep making perfect cups of tea like this one.” George says, and you smile.

“I’m glad you won. I would have done the job if the other guy had won, but it was you I voted for, sir. I just wouldn’t have made him good tea, I’d have used the cheap tea bags and skimmed milk.” You chuckle, and George laughs too.

“Call me George, please. It feels a bit weird having people call me sir when really my job is to serve the people. That’s what we’re supposed to do, anyway, as Prime Ministers, but most of them end up cocking that part up and just serving themselves instead.” George says, before taking another sip of tea.

“You’re right there, sir, I mean, George.” You say, leaning forwards slightly to lift the plate of biscuits off of the tray and set them down on his desk.

You glance up at him for a moment, and realise his eyes are very much not on your face but are instead looking much lower, and you blush.

George notices you looking at him and his eyes immediately find the wall, his own face decorated with a light blush.

You lift the tray and tuck it beneath your arm.

“Is there anything else you need, si- George?” You ask, and George’s eyes finally find your own again.

“No, this is perfect, I mean, the tea is perfect, thank you.” George sputters, and you smile at him, before turning on your heels to walk back towards the door.

What you didn’t realise, was that Larry had followed you into George’s office, and had sat himself beside your feet once again. You trip over his fluffy body, managing to regain your footing just about and avoiding the embarrassment of falling onto the floor.

You rush over to the door, almost disappearing behind it before popping your head through once again.

“Let me know if you need anything at all, more tea perhaps? I imagine fixing the country is going to take a little longer than that cup will last.” You say, before shutting the door behind you.

You exhale a shaky breath and rest your head in your spare hand, your back pressed up against the door.

“You’re going to be a real problem for me, aren’t you? You fluffy little thing.” You say, looking down at Larry who was once again pressed up against your leg.

Larry meows happily before running away down the staircase of Number 10 as you roll your eyes.

-

You had quickly settled in to your role as catering manager at 10 Downing Street. Just two weeks into the job, you found that you were able to predict when George would be wanting a cup of tea or a snack brought up to his office, often you would be on your way up the staircase before he had even called you to make his request.

After being told not to bother knocking anymore, you push your way into George’s office to find him stood before the fireplace, one hand resting against the mantelpiece while the other contained a half-empty glass of scotch.

“Are you okay, George?” You ask, setting down the plate of jammy dodgers on his desk before taking a tentative step toward him.

“I know I wanted this job, but fuck, it’s hard.” George says, turning to face you.

You offer him a sympathetic smile as he downs the rest of his scotch.

“I brought you some jammy dodgers, but I don’t think they pair so well with scotch. Maybe a bourbon biscuit instead?” You chuckle, and George smiles, exhaling slightly through his nose.

“What would you do, if you were me?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I genuinely wouldn’t have a clue. That’s why you’re the one running the country and I’m the one bringing you biscuits.” You say with a smile.

“I don’t have a clue either. You know, I thought that being Prime Minister I could do some good, undo all the shit that ten years of Conservative bollocks sprayed across the country. But I’m just being pulled from pillar to post by my party members who all want different things. How can the people of one party all have such different opinions?” George says, setting his glass down on the mantelpiece and throwing himself down in his armchair.

“They may all want different things, but they chose you to lead them, George. They all feel that you were the best choice for the country, and all of us, the voters, we agreed. Some people like custard creams, some people like jammy dodgers, and there are even weirdos out there who like rich tea biscuits despite how boring and bland they are. But you’re the one at the shop looking at the biscuit aisle and you get to choose what to buy. You may know which biscuits people like and which ones they don’t, and that’ll help you to make your choice, but ultimately it’s about choosing the right biscuit that will satisfy the most people, even if it isn’t their favourite.” You say, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Somehow you biscuit-themed analogy makes more sense politically than anything I’ve been told by my cabinet in days. Thank you.” He says, placing his hand on top of yours.

You feel your cheeks heating up at the sudden contact, and instinctively want to pull away, but decide against it. The feeling of his soft hand on your sends shivers through your body.

“I also really want a biscuit now after that, you brought jammy dodgers, right?” George says, jumping up from his seat, your hand sliding off his shoulder and immediately missing the contact with him.

He runs over to the desk and grabs the plate, sliding one into his mouth before offering them to you. You oblige, taking one and crunching away half of the biscuit.

“I just have to find my political jammy dodger, a policy that will satisfy the most people in the best way, but will also satisfy me and my policies too. Thank you, (y/n), you’re wonderful, as always.” George says through as mouthful of biscuit, and you smile.

“No, you’re wonderful. I heard that the last guy forced everyone to eat rich teas all the time because they were his favourite, despite knowing that only he and his rich friends were the only ones that liked them.” You say, and George laughs.

“You know, I think I heard the same rumour.” He chuckles, and you turn to walk towards the door.

“Enjoy your biscuits George, I’ll see you later with your evening cup of tea.” You say, and George furrows his brows.

“Evening? What about dinner?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a meeting with the Japanese ambassador at five so you won’t be around.” You say, and George nods.

“You’re honestly a better PA than my actual PA, he never tells me half of these things. I’ll be looking forward to my evening tea, then.” He says, giving you a warm smile as you disappear behind the door, closing it with a click behind you.

-

Larry runs beside you as you take brisk steps towards the door of George’s office, meowing loudly for your attention.

“Not now, Larry, I’m busy! I’m sure Lewis will be more than happy to rub your tummy if you ask him nicely!” You say, and the cat looks up at you, becoming quiet for a moment before resuming his meows.

“Someone wants attention.” You hear a voice say behind you and you turn to see a man you do not recognise stood behind you.

“Larry spends more time watching me make tea and sandwiches than he does catching mice these days.” You say, giving in to the cat and scratching him behind his ears.

“He’s a smart boy. I too would rather spend my time following a beautiful woman like you around, rather than catching those filthy creatures.” He says, taking a step towards you.

You flinch slightly as his hand reaches out to tuck away a stray strand of hair behind your ear. It’s at this point you recognise him, the leader of the opposition, Christian Horner. The man you probably would have been making tea and biscuits for had the votes swung in the opposite direction.

“I’m sorry, sir, I really should get going, I have a lot to organise for the meal with the French President tomorrow.” You say, pulling away from his touch which lingered slightly too long at the side of your face.

“Oh, so soon? Well, maybe come election time you’ll be working for me instead, and we can have more fun together then, hm?” He says, and you take a deep breath to hide the disgusted look on your face. You knew for a fact that the bastard already had a wife and kids, and yet he was so shamelessly trying to flirt with you out in the open like this.

Even if he wasn’t married, you would never be interested. You’d realised only a week into the job you’d only ever have eyes for one man, the man whose schedule you knew off by heart, who always complimented you on your tea-making skills, and valued you as a human being, and didn’t just see you as some pretty young thing in a skirt. You knew you were in love with George, and you didn’t want anyone else, especially not some smarmy git in an ill-fitting suit like Christian Horner.

You hear someone clear their throat a few metres away, and your head snaps to face them, your face dropping instantly when your eyes meet his.

“Okay, right, you, um, left this on my desk.” George says, holding out a folder marked confidential towards Christian.

You look up at George, your eyes now glassy as you see his are devoid of emotion. Oh god, you hope he hadn’t gotten the wrong impression after Christian’s advances.

“Thanks George, I’ll see you in the House of Commons tomorrow for the debate. Maybe this time you won’t embarrass yourself, hm?” Christian says, before walking away down the staircase.

“George, that wasn’t what it looked like, I promise, he just… I didn’t…” You begin, but you’re not entirely sure of what to say.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says nonchalantly, before walking past you and into his office, slamming the door behind him.

You jump at the loud noise, and Larry cowers behind your legs.

“Oh god, I’ve cocked this all up big time, haven’t I?” You say, and Larry meows at you, almost as if to say ‘yes, yes you have.”

-

The time comes for you to bring George his afternoon tea. Following the earlier events with Christian, you decide to knock rather than just walking into George’s office.

“Enter.” He says, and you tentatively turn the doorknob, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you with a soft click.

“I brought you your afternoon tea.” You say, taking a few steps towards George who was scanning some important documents, a pen in his hand following along with every word as he reads.

“Just leave it on my desk, thanks.” He says, not even looking up at you as he speaks.

You place the cup and saucer down gently next to the many documents that littered the desk with a clatter.

“George, please, let me explain.” You say, fidgeting with your hands before you, feeling almost as nervous as you had done on your first day.

“You don’t have to explain anything. It’s fine.” George says rather firmly.

“I do, I do. It’s all Larry’s fault, he was meowing for attention and then he appeared and before I could stop him his hand was on my face and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted him to stop but I’m just the girl who brings the biscuits and he’s the leader of the bloody opposition. But I knew I wanted him to stop because there’s only one man I’d let touch me like that and it certainly isn’t him.” You say, speaking faster than your brain could think.

George looks up from his papers, making eye contact with you over his glasses.

“He didn’t ask you before touching you?” George asks, and you shake your head.

“No, it happened too fast and I hadn’t even had time to ask him to stop once I realised what was happening.” You say, and George stands from his desk, taking a few steps toward you.

“It’s okay. You shouldn’t let him, or anyone else for that matter, get away with that sort of thing. You’re not just the girl who brings the biscuits, you’re a damn human being and you deserve better. And if they threaten you, well, they’ve got me to answer to.” George says, offering you a small smile.

“Thank You George, you’re a real gentleman.” You say, mirroring his smile back at him.

“You said there’s only one man you’d let touch you like that, I’m sorry, I never asked, do you have a partner? Boyfriend? Husband?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“No, there’s just this guy that I know, he’s really sweet and kind and funny. I haven’t known him long, but I’ve found myself falling for him rather quickly, even though I know it would never work out.” You say, your cheeks blushing red.

“Why wouldn’t it work out?” George asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“He has a really important job, but I’m just a caterer. I don’t think he’d ever give me a second glance.” You say, and George’s hand finds your own, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Oh really? Well, if I was him, I’d snap you up before some other guy had the chance to.” George says, and you chuckle.

“Okay then, so what would you do, if you were me? If you fancied a very important man but were too nervous to tell him you fancied him?” You ask, your eyebrow raised.

“I genuinely wouldn’t have a clue. That’s why you fancy an important man, and I fancy a girl who’s metaphors are almost entirely biscuit-related, but we’re both still single.” George says, taking your other hand and intertwining your fingers together.

“I don’t have a clue either.” You chuckle, before George’s lips find your own in a sweet kiss.

Your lips are only together for the briefest of moments, but the contact sends an electric sensation throughout your body, and you instantly want more.

George releases your hands and wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer, and you throw your now-freed hands around his neck, pressing your lips together once again in a deeper, more passionate kiss.

At that moment, the door swings open and Lewis looks over at the two of you, his mouth agape.

You immediately pull away from George, and the two of you begin to chuckle.

“I’ll, uh, come back later?” Lewis says, before closing the door behind him.

“He won’t say anything, I trust him with my life.” George says, and you nod, pressing the tip of your nose against George’s own.

“He might not, but our fluffy friend here has a real loud mouth on him, and loves to gossip.” You say, gesturing down at Larry the cat who must have entered the room when Lewis had opened the door.

Larry weaves between yours and George’s feet, meowing excitedly at the two of you.

“It’s a good job none of my cabinet knows how to speak cat, then!” George says, and you shake your head while chuckling slightly.

“I love you, George.” You say, pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you too, (y/n)” George says, before claiming your lips once again in a sweet kiss.

[scribespirare]

So I'm considering starting a Miguel O'Hara x Reader on AO3 and was just wondering if you may have some ideas and tips, considering you masterfully capture Miguel's character in your flowerbite/flowerfang oneshots and whatnot. I've read them all, don't worry. I wouldn't say I'm new to the idea of writing fanfiction, but it's more or less finally putting myself out there as my primary audience has been my friends and, you know, could use some minor pointers, if you will. You don't have to answer. I'm just wondering because you're the main Spider-Man Across The Spiderverse Tumblr account I follow, so... idk.

Hey! I don't mind answering at all. X reader fics are very much not my thing but they have their place in fandom as much as any ship material. I'm gonna put this under a readmore cause it might get a little long!

First I'm gonna talk about some general stuff about adapting just about any character for fic! You might not need this anon since you sound like you already do some writing, but I figured I'd include it anyways

The best advice I can give is to spend time learning a character's voice and mannerisms. Even if you're not writing from their perspective, getting dialogue and movement down accurately can allow you loooots of leeway for being out of character in other areas, either on purpose or unintentionally. This can look like speech patterns, intonation, word choices, and accent, as well as when a character speaks up (are they a chatterbox? Are they the silent type? Do they have a tendency to butt in?). Physical mannerisms can look like nervous tics or habits (hair pulling, biting a lip, shifting weight), ways a character might move when they're speaking, or things like how they walk, run, sit, or fight.

OKAY so onto Miguel. The thing about Miguel is that...I actually don't know him as a character all that well. I'm just pretty good at doing all the above stuff and extrapolating what I can from atsv and fandom posts to fill in the rest. What I've put together so far is that he's a hero at heart, but one who's been pushed past the point of having hope in the world or future. He has resigned himself to doing the dirty work that no one else wants to because it's the only way he can imagine a future at all. This manifests in him being terse, angry, and difficult to be around or work with. When writing him I try to picture what could be the absolute worst case scenario of his current situation, and have him react as if that scenario is inevitable. That means disregarding his own emotions over every little thing and bitterly accepting losses or defeat in situations that aren't literally world ending, such as being broken up with or an having an argument (this makes him highly susceptible to manipulation btw if u like angst).

I don't always write him as miserable as his movie version tho, b/c I'm a softie and like fluff lmao. So for softer stuff I just kinda follow a tsundere archetype. He's gruff and rude but he will always always always support anyone he cares for, even if he'd never admit to it. With a lover I picture him as a little overbearing and possessive but squishy once you get to the core of him. The kind of guy who knocks out someone who slapped his partner on the ass and also cooks regularly for them and remembers important dates. But at the same time gripes at/about said partner, maybe shoves them around a little, and threatens them semi-regularly if they're tough or outgoing. For a softer love interest id imagine him as being overly careful with them instead, worried about hurting them with his size or strength or general shit attitude constantly.

As for the speech and physical aspects I was talking about, it's key to remember that he's quite literally part spider. Like has spider dna, not just magic spider powers like the others. He's faster, stronger, and has sharper instincts and reflexes. He moves and behaves like it. Like a predator in an overstimulating environment.

Speech wise, I find I like to have him slip into Spanish for particularly emotional or impactful statements, as well as for those little common expressions people use without thinking about them (hello, goodbye, how are you, curse words, stuff you say on auto pilot). He also mumbles a little and has a very casual speech pattern like any day to day American but not so casual as to use slang often or slip into AAVE the way Miles does. Very rude too, cutting people off or talking over them.

Okay I have prattled on for fucking ages now fjejdjsnsd I hope some of this helps???

[leofrith]

FINALLYYYY okay assassin’s creed + 1, 8, 16, 18

1. the character everyone gets wrong

answered here!

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

valhalla is not the worst ac game ever, just as odyssey was not the worst ac game ever before valhalla came along, just as origins was not the worst ac game ever before odyssey, and syndicate was not the worst before origins, and unity was not the worst game before s—[GUNSHOTS]

this happens literally every time a new ac title gets released. everyone hates the newest game until a newer one comes along for people to hate even more, and then proceeds to look back on the game they previously hated with fondness a few years later. rinse and repeat forever and ever. stop expecting the new games to give you what the ezio trilogy gave you. if you want unity, then go fucking replay unity. if you want black flag, then go fucking replay black flag. if you want the original, then go fucking replay the original. stop rating the games based on what they aren't and instead, rate them based on what they are. of course, none of this is to say that people aren't entitled to their own personal preferences, but the constant complaining makes me wonder if most of these people even like ac at all and in fact, just makes you sound like an insufferable, pedantic asshole.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

reader inserts. not only would I Not Fucking Say That, most of the time the subject of the reader insert also Would Not Fucking Say That. they're almost always made to be so painfully out of character in order to fit into whatever story or preconceived au is being written, to the point where i often wonder if the author even likes or cares about the character they're writing for. personally, if i'm writing a character—especially one i like— i want to make sure i'm doing them justice, which is why i cannot fathom essentially borrowing a character's face and name and nothing else for the purpose of wish fulfillment. it's feels like these authors see all these characters as being completely interchangeable with one another and it drives me fucking crazyyyy.

the only reason i can really think of for not just writing an original work at that point is that using a pre-existing character also provides a pre-existing fandom for your work. but then you're also annoying the shit out of anyone, like me, who is going into a character tag because they want to see content about the actual character, not a 5k ooc smut fic that you couldn't even bother to put under a read-more!!! i cannot stress enough how much i literally would not give a single shit what people are doing with their own free time if the proliferation of those works didn't make every single character tag (and often actor tags as well, because some people will tag every character an actor has ever played in their fics as well, which qualifies as spam btw!!) on this site completely unusable. if i ever wanted to see x reader fics i would search for them specifically, but unfortunately there's also no blanket tag for me to blacklist. so i guess i'll just keep blocking new users until i die.

(yes, i know you said specifically ac and this is a bit more general but this relates to every fandom :/)

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

shut up!!!!! you know i'm gonna say leofrith. 😭 he is the It Girl he is the moment he's got everything!! he's got the kind of religious trauma that only being a christian with a martyr complex could give you. he's got dead parent trauma and a horribly one-sided relationship with his adopted father. he loves ceolbert like a son. the best friendism with hytham. he's literally a sister brother. the dog motif. he is so so deeply unwell. i know he's barely got a character arc to speak of in the game but consider: what if he did? he is everything to me i need to be able to beam the version of him that exists in my head directly into the people's brains or i'll die.

send me a number!

[reluctant-mandalore]

choose violence asks - numbers 6 and 17 👀

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

anon you're out here trying to get me crucified smh (lol)

but anyway its obviously the r*ylo shippers. They are by far the worst and most annoying shippers to ever be apart of this fandom.

I also find bo katan/din shippers to be very annoying too. I personally hate the ship, and I find a lot of the people who ship it just blatantly ignore who din and bo-katan both are as characters. Anything i see of them together just seems so ooc. I also find that there are a lot people who ship this who also tend to be "bo katan actually did nothing wrong ever you just hate woman" defenders and yall who know me know exactly how I feel about those people lol. Not all of them of course, but its def a large enough overlap that I’ve noticed it and consider them to be annoying.

Also people who ship like r*xsoka, cl*neships, o*ikin and etc I find to be very annoying because I think those ships are gross and nasty :)

Honourable mention are also dinluke shippers. I actually like dinluke but why are so many of y’all acting the way that y’all do. Smh

But yeah r*ylo def takes the cake as having the most annoying ship fans.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

I always think there should be more oc fic and Fan art. I like seeing people explore sw with their own ocs. It’s very sweet and I hate whoever decided ocs were cringy. Ocs are cool and fun and deserve more love.

I would also love more fluffy boba content. I know ship fics and/or x reader stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. However one look at my blog tells you I do personally really enjoy it, but I have found that so much of the ship fics and x Reader fics for boba is very nsfw based. Which i don’t think is terrible, I don’t hate nsfw content and I’m not here to say I think there shouldnt be any of it, but my man deserves more fluffy times :(.

Also more fennec stuff in general. My wife gets slept on so often. And when she is included in things a lot of it focuses on a different character. Pls give me more fennec content. Fics, art, anything-

Also Kanhera art and fics. I feel like I rarely ever see stuff for them?? Even though they’re like the best sw couple ever (in my opinion lol)

[enchantedblackrose]

I posted 430 times in 2022

That's 35 more posts than 2021!

85 posts created (20%)

345 posts reblogged (80%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@resanoona

@enchantedblackrose

@bullet-prooflove

@xofeno

@infatuatedharleys

I tagged 379 of my posts in 2022

Only 12% of my posts had no tags

#fic rec - 65 posts

#jay halstead - 60 posts

#jay halstead x reader - 45 posts

#beautiful man - 39 posts

#chicago pd - 38 posts

#kelly severide - 22 posts

#stellaride - 21 posts

#antonio dawson x reader - 18 posts

#jesse lee soffer - 17 posts

#chicago fire - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 56 characters

#seeing friendships and everyone dressed in game clothing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

We Need You Part 2

We Need You Pt 2: Together

Kelly Severide/ Fem Reader

Summary: Upon returning home, Kelly's mood drastically changes.

Warnings: none?? Unedited.

A/N: I am so sorry @theatrenerd101601 I know this isn't at all what you expected when you asked if I would consider writing more. But this will be at least 4 parts so please hang on and we will get there. 🙏

Part 1 || Part 2|| Part 3

Together

There's a comfortable silence as Kelly drives back to the loft, lacing his fingers through yours. Occasionally, he glances over at you, catches your eye, and beams. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to it. You smile, content. And let your eyes flutter shut; the excitement from moments ago has taken its toll. A nap is in your future. You can hardly wait to crawl into bed perfectly curled into Kelly until you fall asleep.

Unfortunately sometime between the drive and arriving at the apartment, the father to be no longer seems happy. He wordlessly dropped your hand upon parking. He held the building door open for you, but didn't meet your eyes. Even now he won't look at you. From his profile you can tell his brows are furrowed. The sudden shift of moods throws you. You stand at the doorway, starting to slip off your shoes when Kelly speaks.

“When are you due?” His tone almost  brusque. 

“...in about nine months,” you tease, but when you glance up at him, you see that he is unamused. You stop fidgeting out of your shoes.  “I’m not sure. I go to the doctor’s in two weeks. They’ll tell me more then.” Kelly seems satisfied with your answer for now, but his expression never truly softens. He starts to walk away, but turns back firing another question at you.

“When do you find out the baby’s gender?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“How don’t you know?”

“Kelly! I’ve never been pregnant before. This is new to me too.” You don’t yell, but your voice is raised as you suddenly feel the need to defend yourself.

He’s unabashed. He sighs. “We should get married.��

“What?”

“We should get married. And buy a house.” You stand speechless. Kelly stares at you. “Well, what do you say?”

“No. I say no. That’s not what a proposal should be, Kelly.”

For the first time since being home, he looks you in the eyes. A mix of worry and sadness washes over him, as he licks his lips before opening his mouth to speak. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I have to go.” You grab your keys before turning on your heel and walking out the door. Kelly never sees the tears forming in your eyes.

Once outside, you bypass your car, opting to walk. You wipe at your face, chasing the tears away, then shove your hands into your pockets. There’s no place you need, or even want to go, but you don’t want to be at home, so you keep walking along the sidewalk.

Confusion, hurt, anger all hit you with every step. How had it been only less than a few hours since you stood in front of your office building fully ablaze with the very real fear of losing Kelly coursing through you? Even more recent than that had been Kelly’s unfeigned happiness about the pregnancy.; he referred to today as his best day. And yet something changed. For unknown reasons his excitement about the baby, his baby, dissipated rather abruptly. At best Kelly had almost appeared indifferent, at worst, angry. Then he proposed. With an audible sigh and without any warmth, as if it was a solution to a problem.

Kelly’s proposal felt wrong, but, you realize, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, you may have been wrong, too, leaving him instead of telling him how you were feeling.. You sigh, knowing you need to return home to have a difficult conversation. How did you get here, you wonder? After the fire and telling Kelly you’re pregnant, all you wanted was cuddles and a nap. Maybe some food. Instead all you got was a headache and a pity marriage proposal.

Before you turn  to start your walk back to the loft, you spy only a few feet from you, a familiar face. Chloe Cruz, the wife of one of the guys on Squad with Kelly, and someone you are slowly becoming close with. You plaster on a smile as she heads your way.

“Hi, Chloe. How are you?”

“I’m great. Just grabbing a few things from the store before I pick up Otis from the sitter. How are you? You look a little preoccupied?”

You fight the urge to snort. Preoccupied was only half of it. You debate giving her the standard ‘I’m fine’ reply, but Chloe is a friend. You decide to confide in her.

“Kelly proposed.”

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138 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

#4

Could Be

not my gif, full credit to the maker. Please lmk if it's you!

Pairing: Jay Halstead/ fem Reader

Warnings: None? Unedited. Mistakes are all mine

Summary: After witnessing y/n date all the wrong guys, Jay decides to do something about it

Could Be

Jay walked into a very crowded Molly's, but that didn't stop him from noticing you right away. You were tucked back in a corner with only your drink for company. As he studied you it became evident that something was bothering you. Brows furrowed, mouth tightly drawn into a frown he watched as you  placed your phone down and fidget with the straw of your drink but never taking a sip as if you were preoccupied. He saw your shoulders heave with what had to be a heavy sigh.

"Hey Jay, get you a drink?" Stella called out from behind the bar, breaking him from studying you more.

"Uh," he stammered. Stella followed his gaze to you. She smiled knowingly to herself and just shook her head before Jay looked over at her. "Yeah, I'll take a beer, please," he said slipping out of his jacket and sitting at the bar. Stella placed a bottle down in front of him and he murmured a thanks and shot another glance in your direction before looking back at Stella. "Hey, uh, do you know what's wrong with y/n?" He asked nonchalantly but without looking Stella in the eyes.

Stella hesitated. "It's not really my place to tell, but since you're asking...that loser she's been seeing dumped her."  Disdain dripped her voice.

"Really?" Jay asked, smiling despite himself. Stella even detected a sparkled in his eyes.

"Jay..." she said warningly out of protectiveness for you, her friend. But she stopped, knowing beyond doubt Jay was a good guy and didn't need a lecture about treating you right. Besides, she had watched Jay pine for months over you.

"Get me another of whatever she's drinking. Please?"

"Up for company?" Jay asked approaching your table and holding out your drink of choice as an offering. You looked up and Jay thought he saw your face light up, even for just a moment.

"Please," you indicated for him to sit.

"You want to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever it is that has you upset?"

You smile humorlessly "How do you know I'm upset?"

"I'm a detective, y/n. A good one at that."

This time, you give a genuine smile before sighing. "I can't seem to meet a good guy. Ever. Even in high school. I dated this guy who still had photographs of his ex girlfriend hanging on his bedroom wall. Said he had them still hanging up because he was in the pictures, too. But I knew it was because he was still in love with her. Then there was this other guy who had his sister call me and break up with me."

Jay let out a low whistle, "Yikes,"

"And in college-" you abruptly stop talking. "I'm so sorry. You don't want to hear all this. I got caught up feeling bad for myself."

"It's okay. I asked you what was wrong, remember?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No, buts." Jay interrupts you, flashing a smile before he takes a long sip of his beer. You return his smile with one of your own. A brief and comfortable silence falls on you both as you enjoy your drinks. Jay clears his throat, "We should-"

"Thanks for-" You laugh as you the two of you started to speak at the same time.

"You first, y/n," Jay says.

"I just wanted to thank you for listening to me. And for knowing something was wrong. You're very easy to talk to. I'm glad to know you, Jay.'

"Easy to talk to and easy on the eyes," he gives you a flirtatious wink.

See the full post

288 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

#3

Not Pretty

Gif credit @haileyupstead

Jay Halstead/ Fem Reader Partner, mentions of Kim and Erin.

Summary: You and the other girls from Intelligence are sent to a nightclub, but the bouncer won't let you in.

Warnings: No canon timeline. Some swearing, feelings of not being pretty. A dude calls you ugly. Largely unedited but I'm tired of looking at it.

Author's note: I really thought I had such a good idea. Then I sat down to write this and omg this is just...idek. I'm sorry? It's nothing like I thought it would be. And I'm seriously doubting posting it. Huge thanks to Resa for talking it out with me otherwise I'd still be stuck hahaha

A contribution to @resanoona 's 3k Fiesta bingo! Square filled: Hurt Feelings

Not Pretty

"Not you," dripping with disdain and a sneer while the onlookers snicker, echoes in your mind as you sit on the bench in the locker room at the precinct, momentarily sidetracked from gathering your belongings.

You shouldn't be feeling like this. Sad. Defeated. The sense of utter failure lingering over you. You and the team made the bust. And yet all you hear is that bouncer's voice. 

‐

Of course it's a frigid Chicago night as you stand outside the nightclub with members of your team undercover and underdressed. Your knee high boots help conceal your credentials as well as your backup piece, but your left little toe is already numb with pain and you're positive your heels are going to blister. You tug the bottom of your dress as if that will magically make it grow longer.

Kim playfully swats your hand. "Stop fidgeting."

"This dress is tiny and it's freezing," you stick your tongue out and she laughs at you.

"Yes, well in lieu of making your dress longer or warmer, try to relax," she offers you a tentative smile.

Through your earpiece, your partner's voice rings out, "She's right, y/n. You look...fine. just concentrate on the task." Feeling chastised, you scowl in Jay's general direction. He's somewhere in the crowd of people in line for the club in case there's trouble before you even get in. He somehow manages to catch your eye, before you plaster on the fakest of smiles.You turn to Kim just as Erin bounces up to you both, hooking her arms through Kim's elbow and yours. "Ladies! Let's get this started."

Laughing with each step, feigning flippant attitudes, you and the girls walk past the line, straight to the bouncer by the door. He barely glances up from his clipboard.

"Name?"

"You won't find our names on your list, but-"

"End of the line," he barks.

"Please," Erin pouts.

"He's just doing his job," Kim says. He looks up, appreciating the recognition. "We'll go," but none of you make to move. His eyes rake over your bodies. Erin acts as if she's about to move, but then tilts her head slightly.

"Are you Rob? Because my friend, Cassidy, was here two or three nights ago and she said you had all the right moves," she says, dropping the name of her CI.

He laughs, "You lot know Cass? That girl is wild. You party like her?"

"Harder," you say with a cheeky smile. 

"And longer," Kim winks.

She and Erin giggle. You laugh a little late and very awkwardly. Rob moves finally granting entry. 

You all move to go in, but he stops you.

"Not you," He sneers.  Erin and Kim halt. "You two can go in. She has to wait." They scoff and protest, but he's unwilling. 

"Sorry no uglies." You feel your heart plummet; his words sting no matter how badly you wish they didn't. But even though you're hurt and angry, your face remains neutral. A group of smug girls on the other side of Rob snicker and point in your direction. Another wave of dejection hits you and you shove your emotions down again.

See the full post

295 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

#2

We Need You

Pairing: Kelly Severide/Fem Reader

Summary: Kelly responds to a fire at your workplace

Warnings: ? lmk if I'm forgetting something

A contribution to One Chicago Week 2002. Prompt used: chills. Huge shout out to @resanoona for helping this actually get edited. I thought I had a cute idea and this was a pain to write so I hope ya"ll like it.

Part 1|| Part 2

We Need You Part 1

It should have been a day like any other. But being a squad lieutenant at one of the busiest firehouses in Chicago didn't exactly promise Kelly Severide "normal" days. Or maybe what made this day worse than others was that Kelly was in love with you.

Bells rang at Firehouse 51. A building fire demanded truck, squad, and ambo. There was a slight hesitation in Kelly's pace as he kept going over the address in his head. Then, he felt his heart sink to his stomach; that address was your workplace.

For Kelly, the ride felt like it took an eternity. In reality, squad arrived at the scene in under three minutes.  

The ten story building appeared to be engulfed by flames from all sides.  Dark, heavy smoke poured out of windows. People were still exiting the building, but many were gathered just outside coughing, crying. Paramedics ushered everyone they could and began triage nearby. Kelly, hoping against hope, scanned the crowd for your face.

"Severide. Severide!”

Kelly's attention was pulled from the group of unknown faces to the man that just hollered his name. Casey gave him a quick 'what's the matter with you?' look. 

"Y/n works here. Seventh floor."

Understanding and worry washed over Casey. "We'll find her, Kelly. She'll be okay." Kelly, not trusting his voice, only nodded in response. Casey resumed speaking to a man about the fire. Kelly listened while his eyes focused on the door, willing you to walk through it unharmed. 

“Any way of knowing how many people were present?” 

The man shook his head no. 

“Know how the fire started? Did you smell anything, see anything?”

“I’m sorry, no. I can tell you the ground floor is just washrooms now and custodian closets. And the top two floors are completely vacant since-” The man erupted into a coughing fit.

“Thank you, sir for that information. Let’s get you checked out.” Sylvie appeared at the man’s side and escorted him to the ambo for a quick assessment.  

Civilians stopped exiting.and Casey started giving out orders. Kelly instructed squad to gear up when a sudden blast of flames overtook the entire eastside of the building.

Kelly could not let any more time pass. His first instinct had been to run into the building, straight for your office. He tried to remain calm, assess the fire with Chief and Casey, and stayed outside as long as he could. Kelly would not wait any longer.  He raced towards the building ignoring the protests of both Boden and Casey.

"Y/n could be in there!" he yelled back to them before disappearing into the smoke.

“Severide!” Boden barked. 

“I’ll get him, Chief!” Cruz appeared on the other side of Casey, mask ready.

“No.” His voice made it clear there was to be no arguing. “We stick to the plan.”

“Copy that.”

“Excuse me? Are you in charge?” A woman in her late 40’s approached Boden and Casey.

“Yes, ma’am. I am,” Boden nodded.

“I spoke to all the other office managers and shift supervisors from the entire building. Everyone is accounted for except a woman…a y/ln from the seventh floor.”

See the full post

308 notes - Posted September 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Perfect

Jay Halstead/ Fem Reader

Summary: Jay's going to be a daddy

Tw: pregnancy, no graphic details of pregnancy or childbirth

Author's note: gif credit @xofeno Song Lady by Brett Young. Lyrics are in italics/not mine.

Perfect

You stand in your bathroom, waiting for the time to pass. You need a distraction. Slowly, you wash your hands again. After drying them quickly on the closest hand towel, you start to untie your hair from its messy bun. You didn't mean to, but you glance and see it. A wave of nausea hits for an entirely different reason now, a twinge of excitement creeps into your stomach. Your heartbeat quickens and you think you may cry.

"Jay," you call out, leaving the bathroom. Your own voice sounds foreign to you. Jay peers out from the kitchen. After a long day turned into a longer night at work for you both, he was fixing a frozen pizza for you two to split.

"Babe?" He asks after a moment of you not saying anything. He looks at you questioningly as you stand wordlessly in front of him, wearing only an oversized t-shirt.

You've dreamt of this day for a while and now that it's here, this is so far from how you ever imagined telling him, but you can't keep it to yourself; you'll surely burst if you try.

"I'm pregnant." You watch Jay anxiously as the realization of your words hit. A large, but cautious smile fills his face. There's hope reflecting in his light eyes.

"Are you sure?"

You nod. Suddenly you feel his arms wrapping you in a tight embrace. He kisses the top of your head. Then your cheek, followed by your other cheek. He pecks your lips. His excitement seems to grow with every kiss.

"A baby, y/n," Jay stops to look at you. "We're having a baby." Gingerly he places a hand on your tummy, though there's no physical signs of life growing inside of you just yet. "My baby's in there."

"Our baby," you gently correct as you smile up at the soon to be father.

I remember when I first heard your heartbeat It had only been eight weeks Standing there, starin' at that screen Was the first time you ever scared me

"I'm here! I'm here! What'd I miss?" A very manic Jay bursts into your exam room where you're having your first ultrasound.

Your tech looks at you bemused. "This must be the father?"

You nod. "That’s my husband." You refrain from laughing, because as crazy as Jay appears right now, the worry he missed something is both evident and adorable. You reassure him that nothing has happened yet.

He relaxes and takes a seat near your table and the screen. 

Warm gel is applied to your exposed abdomen and within a few seconds the fast thump thump thump fills the otherwise quiet room. You and Jay lock eyes. 

"That’s your baby's heartbeat," the tech reassures you both. 

"It sounds like galloping horses," you murmur, already in love with the sound.

"It's so fast," comments Jay, clearly concerned. "Is that normal?"

"Yep. It's exactly what you want to hear and is measuring great." Jay lets out an audible breath relieved. Your tech continues with the ultrasound, captures images and measurements, confirms you're growing only one baby, gives you an estimated due date, before finally concluding. A few images have been printed off for you two to take home. The tech leaves the room for you to dress. When you're done, you can't help but notice Jay still staring at the ultrasound pictures. A smile is on his face.

I hope you look just like your momma And love her like I do

"I just really want a milkshake if you don't mind," you say, a hand resting on your growing belly. "And maybe a steak please? With a baked sweet potato for the side." You grin sheepishly. 

Jay only chuckles as he continues to rub your bare feet. "Are we going out, or…?"

You groan. "I'm just so tired.'

He laughs again. "Not a problem, babe. I'll go bring it home." He lifts your feet from his lap to stand.

See the full post

373 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[fleuraimer]

Could You Live With Just a Taste*

“We’re going on a date, get dressed.”

Excited pitter patters sound on hardwood floors, Moose waddling up to his mummy to sniff at her feet and circle around her ankles in a greeting before trudging back off to his doggy bed in the living room. Y/N closes her front door, kicking off her heels in the direction of the shoe mat to the left of the door while she halfheartedly mumbles, “Hi, Y/N, how was your day? Aw, it was fine, Evangeline, thanks so much for asking, how was yours?”

Evangeline (Gigi for short) rolls her eyes at her best friend’s dramatics, her perfectly manicured hand coming to rest pointedly on her hip, the shine of her pearl shimmer, almond acrylic nails glinting in the orange glow of their shared apartment.

“Hi, Y/N, how was your day?” She sighs, as if the question is so taxing, so exerting, that it’s almost too troublesome to ask in the first place.

Y/N smiles at her shitty attempt of amendment.

“What’s this date you’re on about? Because I’ve got a date with our tub in about thirty seconds if you don’t start explaining yourself.”

Gigi takes a step toward Y/N, reaching out for her hand, which Y/N takes, and pulling her into the living room as she begins. “So, you know that guy I was telling you about? Niall? Anyway, went for drinks, things went great, you already know all that.” Y/N nods her head in agreement. “Well, what I didn’t tell you, is that we actually started talking about you.”

She arches a curious brow, “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Or

Y/N always takes care of everyone, and her best friend takes her on a blind double date.

NSFW. Minors DNI. 17+ Descriptions of assault. Not proofread.

Pairing: CEO!Harry Styles x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 28.6k

A/N: she's arrived she's arrived she's arrived!!! i'm so happy and excited to finally share this with u guys, it's been a long time coming 😭 😭 i've put so much time into creating this piece and i rlly rlly hope u lot like it <33. please note that this fic will be heavily smutty, and therefore not for the eyes of anyone under the age of 17, seeing as my blog is 17+. the plot was definitely lost a lil bit at the end, but the plot was p*rn anyway 😁🥸 n e who thank you so so much for your patience and kindness throughout my writring process and if you enjoy pls pls pls consider reblogging, notes are gold but reblogs are diamonds, and diamonds are a girl's best friend ;) 🩷💐.

Flashing fluorescent lights. Small, suffocating cubicles with blaring blue light from the desktop computer. Stacks upon stacks of paperwork and plain manila folders. The smell of burnt coffee, stale baked goods, and pathetic longing for freedom swirling around the air, creating a scent so nauseating, it’s difficult to keep your thoughts from pounding against the inside of your skull and the acidic bile from rising up your throat.

This place is a prison, Y/N knows it. And yet, she continues to show up for her shifts, every week day, from 7:15 am to 6:20 pm, without fail. In fact, she doesn’t think she’s missed a single day of work (not including vacation days), seeing as she hasn’t been sick in so long.

Mindlessly does she dig her fingers into her keyboard, calculating numbers and ratios, finalizing assignments, looking over statements. Her eyes follow each character along the screen, trailing downward as paragraphs grow, shifting backward when errors are made. Tediously, she reviews agreements and contracts, looks for loopholes—tries to find the biggest profit possible, for the worst people possible.

If her mother didn’t live outside of New England, and, subsequently, nowhere near Y/N, she’d physically—violently—rip her a new one for forcing her to attend law school. Working at a law firm at the prime age of twenty-two is never how she envisioned herself as a child (to be fair, she never envisioned herself anywhere particularly realistic as a child, but that meant it was always far better than this).

This reality—this dull, gray, meaningless reality—is what her mother wanted for her. A stable income, a sturdy roof over her head, unexciting, boring days, filled with boring tasks, boring people, and a boring job. She wanted for her daughter what she had for herself, because she was content with her life. Liked it, even. And Y/N was far too sweet to make decisions for herself, always trying to please others, always fixing everyone else’s problems for them, her mother’s words (and maybe her thoughts, too). How could she even begin to think of herself and her goals when she was so busy helping everyone else? So, her mother decided for her, with no prior warning.

At the time, Y/N saw no harm. She’d make her mother happy, find herself in a rich industry that keeps many comfortable throughout their entire lives, and got to help people for a living. It didn’t sound like such a nightmare at first. She hadn’t thought of how tight her “office” space would be, hadn’t thought she’d be defending the guilty instead of the innocent, hadn’t thought that the men and women fighting for justice, to better their communities, were actually the ones who committed most of the crimes.

She hadn’t accounted for their cruelty; their snobby attitudes, and obnoxious, boastful conversations. She hand’t thought the women would be so mean, so belittling, and the men so sleazy and degrading. She hadn’t thought the building she’d be working in would be so dingy, didn’t know that if she turned down a dark corner, she could see something she wasn’t supposed to see, that her heart would stop and soul crack as she watched the shadows fuss about aggressively. She didn’t know she’d see such an important person like that getting cornered, assaulted, and that when she’d go to help, to try and make it better like she always does, she’d be pushed away. Shunned.

“Mind your business, little girl,” the mean lady had spat at her. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

That was just twenty minutes ago. Since then, Y/N had been quiet, stoic. She knew she wasn’t at fault—she didn’t even do anything, let alone something wrong! And she tries to understand that it’s difficult to let someone else see something like that happening, to have a stranger witness such a defiling act. Even still, the back of her eyes hold a faint sting and her throat bobs periodically, the thick lump moving up and down, too.

All she wants is to go home, run herself a warm bath, and then cuddle up close to Moose, her brown labrador, and fall asleep for twelve hours straight.

Christ, she’s so fucking happy it’s Friday.

———

“We’re going on a date, get dressed.”

Excited pitter patters sound on hardwood floors, Moose waddling up to his mummy to sniff at her feet and circle around her ankles in a greeting before trudging back off to his doggy bed in the living room. Y/N closes her front door, kicking off her heels in the direction of the shoe mat to the left of the door while she halfheartedly mumbles, “Hi, Y/N, how was your day? Aw, it was fine, Evangeline, thanks so much for asking, how was yours?”

Evangeline (Gigi for short) rolls her eyes at her best friend’s dramatics, her perfectly manicured hand coming to rest pointedly on her hip, the shine of her pearl shimmer, almond acrylic nails glinting in the orange glow of their shared apartment.

“Hi, Y/N, how was your day?” She sighs, as if the question is so taxing, so exerting, that it’s almost too troublesome to ask in the first place.

Y/N smiles at her shitty attempt of amendment.

“What’s this date you’re on about? Because I’ve got a date with our tub in about thirty seconds if you don’t start explaining yourself.”

Gigi takes a step toward Y/N, reaching out for her hand, which she takes, and pulling her into the living room as she begins. “So, you know that guy I was telling you about? Niall? Anyway, went for drinks, things went great, you already know all that.” Y/N nods her head in agreement. “Well, what I didn’t tell you, is that we actually started talking about you.”

She arches a curious brow, “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

They both settle onto the couch, momentarily taking a silent second to themselves to get comfortable in their spots.

Gigi pushes back wild bundles of golden curls from her face before continuing, “He’d brought up that he had a friend who is like, fucking miserable. Like, drinks scotch regularly, call girls, lonely, rich guy miserable. So, I told him I had a friend who was also miserable. Like, chronic overthinker, people pleasing, overly kind, pathetic miserable.”

Y/N scoffs, “Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, hush,” Gigi shushes, grinning like a mad woman. And in that very moment, Y/N knows she’s absolutely fucked. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen next; you’re gonna freshen up, get changed, and then you’re driving us to Oki Sushi House so you can go on a double date with me, Naill, and his super rich, CEO, miserable best friend.”

“Excuse me, I’m driving us where?”

Gigi soughs excessively, “Don’t act slow, Honey, it’s not cute on you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow into glaring slits, which only serves to make Gigi glow with pride, the confrontational little shit.

“Gigi, Oki Sushi House isn’t in your pay grade, let alone mine, what makes you think-”

Gigi sighs, again, loudly and obnoxiously, “You’ve never dated a man before, and it shows.”

“You literally know my ex boyfriend, fucking lived with him for a year and three- that doesn’t even make any sense, Evangeline!” Y/N stresses, eyeing Gigi carefully, seeing if maybe her eyelids look a bit heavy, or if the whites of her eyes are red, because she’s gotta be smashed to be saying they’re going on a date at Oki fucking Sushi House, right?

“He who shall not be named is not a man, he’s a whiny child who likes to whore himself out even though he can’t last longer than ten minutes.” Gigi lifts her right hand up to her line of view, inspecting her smooth cuticles and shimmery nails, the soft narce of them contrasting against her warm, caramel brown skin elegantly. She blinks a few times before looking back to Y/N, her expression now deadly serious. “That’s not the point, the point is, I’m fucking sick of seeing my best friend mope around like a sad puppy all the time. And if you insist on being miserable, I think you should at least be miserable with someone else. Frankly, Niall’s friend seems like the perfect candidate.” She pauses to take a breath, make sure she’s not pushing too many buttons. She sighs out, “So, I’m taking you out, and you can’t say no.” Pausing once more, she rethinks her words. “Well, not that you would ever to begin with, but- Whatever! You’re coming, so, go get ready.”

Y/N watches with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as Gigi stands from the couch and heads toward her bedroom. She racks through her brain for an excuse, fumbles for any single thing that could possibly get her out of this, but she already feels so guilty even thinking about flaking on Gigi. Evangeline is right, she would’ve never said no to begin with.

Still, it doesn’t stop her from blurting, “Gigi, there’s a dress code! What the fuck am I supposed to wear?”

Gigi stops in her doorway with a huff, placing a hand on the door frame as she looks back over her shoulder and croons, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about another thing, Babe, I’ve got it all covered.”

Before Y/N can sputter out anymore protest, the soft click of Gigi’s door shutting echos throughout the apartment. She desperately looks to Moose, who’s lying lazily across his plush bed, having silently watched their entire discussion, which only gets her a head tilt and soft whine of confusion. She sighs and falls back into her spot on the couch.

Well isn’t this just fucking great.

———

Y/N takes her time in the shower (if it makes them late, Gigi can only blame herself for it. She never gave Y/N a time to be ready by, after all). She soaps up her entire body in gentle, caring strokes, allowing herself this time to be alone and settle into her own being. She’d felt so burnt out lately, moments in the shower, like this, seemed to be the only time she could relax, decompress from all the stress of the day. From all the stress of her life—of everyone else’s life—that she carries on her too very small, very shaky shoulders. They ache to the touch, as if she’s truly carrying heavy boxes on her back, but she knows it’s just the stress.

It’s just the stress.

She washes her face and hair, shaves away the prickly hairs that tickle her fingertips, and exfoliates the newly smooth skin. When she’s out of the shower, she grabs the cotton t-shirt lying on her drying rack and wraps her hair in it (the softness of the material is better for your hair than a rough towel), finds her place in front of the sink, and pulls out her face moisturizer, toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, and mouthwash.

She pads into her bedroom when she’s finished smearing cream into her face and brushing her teeth (which was really to make sure she didn’t have bad breath), and nearly misses the darling gown draped across her fluffy duvet, a pair of green strappy heels and a shinning set of jewels to match.

The note that rests on top of the dress ultimately grabs her full attention. Her eyes scan the flimsy piece of paper quickly.

Dear Y/N,

don’t worry about where I got it from, I’m not gonna get in trouble. Be ready by 9:20.

— Gigi xx

The note more than likely meant Gigi had stolen this dress from the set of her last photoshoot, but models had pretty privilege, and people with pretty privilege can do whatever the fuck they want.

She sets the note back on top of the dress she’s positive costs more than their rent, checks the time to find that it’s 8:45, which gives her the perfect amount of time to prepare herself (turn herself into a picture perfect porcelain doll) before her date.

She starts with dotting serums to her freshly cleaned skin, then moves to her vanity, priming her face before splotching areas with makeup. She blends her foundation in tentative strokes, treating her face as a canvas, handling her blank space with the care of an esteemed artist. Strategic with placement, intentional with color, subtle in some places, enchanting in others, but glowy, soft, overall; a dewy, warm look that makes her look sort of ethereal if she’s honest. She ends with a final swipe of strawberry flavored clear lip-gloss across her lips and a thin layer over her eyelids, then moves on to hair.

She removes the t-shirt from around her hair, huffing as it falls into a messy heap she’s not keen on dealing with. She quickly settles on an up-do, brushing through strands thoroughly before tying and pinning groups into place until she’s satisfied, a few precisely placed wisps framing her face.

She stands swiftly, unfurls the towel wrapped around her body, and picks up the pearl satin dress lying on her bed. She’s delicate with her touch as she slips into the silky material, quickly moving onto her shoes when she catches the time out of the corner of her eyes, lacing up the beautiful ribbons as fast as she could. She rushes to hook her dangle-y earrings into place before snapping the smaller studs into her various other ear piercings. She settles on two rings for one finger, a gold band and another with a hefty gem sparkling in the center. She slips both on before snatching the diamond bracelet and necklace off her bed and putting them on. She steps in front of her full length mirror to give herself a quick once over, before realizing that the necklace must be on backwards (either that, or she just knows how to style this outfit better than it originally was). She twists the jewels around so the longest part of the necklace in hanging down the center of her back, turns back to her bed to grab her tote, and then rushes out her bedroom door.

When she steps out, she sees Gigi with her hand on the wall, leaning down with her left foot kicked up to put on a red heel. Said heel matches her corset and skirt duo, with a string of pearls sitting nicely along her collarbone, and gold jewelry resting in other places. She’d opted to leave her hair down, her aureus curls fall in gorgeous bundles around her head, large like a lions mane, beautiful like the petals of a flower.

“’Bout time,” Gigi mumbles, snapping Y/N out of her reverie. “Change of plans, the boys sent a car, and it’s here… So, c’mon.”

Y/N isn’t given the time to process that these boys (Men. Y/N doesn’t understand how Gigi can call them boys but also grill her for never having “never been with a man”, but she’s too lazy to push) are rich enough to send a car all the way out to Brooklyn to Oki Sushi House, out in NoHo, not that she expected it, she’d just come to take Gigi’s ridiculousness in graceful stride.

Y/N tags behind Gigi as they make their way down the hallway and to the elevators. Corny music serenades them on their ride down, pulling unbelieving snickers and giggles from the two women inside, just like always (who still used fucking elevator music?).

Y/N isn’t sure why she was expecting some grand reveal, she knows that the doors leading into her apartment building are glass, and surrounded by large windows. Even still, she’s utterly taken aback by the site of a sparkling, clean black Rolls Royce sitting in front of the awning, a man dressed in a perfectly pressed navy suit and chauffeurs hat standing next to the backseat door.

She looks to Gigi with wide, disbelieving eyes, but she’s only met with a coy smile and dangerous flicker in her best friend’s eye.

“Lead the way, Babe,” Gigi offers, though, if Y/N were to decline, she’s sure Gigi would put up a fight.

For this reason, she takes the first step forward, and continues until she’s in front of the chauffeur, breathing bated, skin warm, thoughts swirling.

“Evening, Miss Moretti, Miss Y/L/N.” He addresses both of them with curt but welcoming nods. “My name is Levi Dover, I’ll be your driver for the night.” He opens the door, momentarily shocking Y/N before she remembers the back door is supposed to open in the opposite direction of the front, and gestures for them to step inside with a white gloved hand before offering it to Y/N for assistance.

She sheepishly places her palm into his, and he guides her thoughtfully into vehicle, moving on to Gigi when Y/N lets go of his hand to settle herself into the back.

She hadn’t expected their to be a partition separating the front of the car from the back, nor so much space, but she supposes the night will just be full of surprises.

“Would you calm down?” She suddenly hears Gigi chuckle softly, her pretty hand coming to grab her own. Their fingers intertwine, and Gigi stares at Y/N with such care and intensity she doesn’t dare look away. Gigi’s second hand grabs Y/N’s as well, before bring both their joined hand together to rest in the middle of Y/N’s lap. She exhales softly.

“I know I was kinda, like, forcing this on you earlier, but if you really don’t wanna go, we don’t have to.” She smiles reassuringly, warming her best friend’s heart, and sending platonic zips of gooey love to her soul. “I don’t want you to think you have to do this, but… I do think you should. You and Mace—” she squeezes Y/N’s hands at the use of his name, and she squeezes back as her throat closes up slightly. “—have been done for months now, and I’m not saying you should throw yourself back into something serious, but messin’ with some hot, rich CEO couldn’t hurt, right?”

Her words make a smile tug at the corners of Y/N’s mouth, and she fails terribly to suppress it.

“Doesn’t sound awful…” she finally admits, and Gigi huffs out a laugh because of it.

“So, you’re okay? You do actually want to go?”

“I do,” Y/N nods immediately, because it’s true. She does wanna go, she’s just— “Nervous, I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be, there’s no need,” Gigi soothes, squeezing her hands once more. “If things go to shit, you know I’ll be there to protect you, yeah? I’ll never leave you alone.”

If the circumstances were any different, Y/N would’ve started crying by now.

“Thank you, Evangeline.” It’s all she can manage, she’s not good at accepting help. But she’ll accept Gigi’s, she’s not sure she’ll make it through the night without it.

Fuck.

———

Harry had a headache. His back hurt, too, and his tummy was upset from too much coffee and too little food. But there was no time for a nap to soothe his pounding head, surely no time for a back massage, and absolutely no time for fucking dinner of all things. He had a business to run. Or, businesses. Styles Magazine, Pleasing, TPWK Foundation, H.E.S. He was fucking stressed. He needed a drink but he didn’t have time.

There was never any fucking time.

His glasses do little to stop the blue light of his computer screen from irritating his sensitive eyes, they feel strained and heavy the longer he forces them to keep reading emails and correcting spelling errors for his own. He’d taken four Tylenol twenty minutes ago, but they did dick all to ease his never ending pain.

He sighs from deep in his chest, leaning back in his large desk chair as he removes his glasses from his face and pinches at the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut.

He shouldn’t call her. He should not fucking call Cami.

…Shit.

Harry snatches his phone off of his desk with a grunt, his face set in a scowl as his face ID unlocks, and then he’s scrolling down his list of recent calls until he finds who he’s looking for. His thumb hovers over her contact for a long moment. This is stupid, they broke up for a reason—she broke his fucking heart. His thumb cramps up the longer it stays put, the longer he wonders if this benefits him or her, if it ever actually makes him feel good, or if she just tricks him into thinking it always feels so fucking good he can never stay away, like the bloody siren she is.

Who cares?

Harry will deal with the repercussions of his actions after the fact, being so tactful all the time is fucking draining.

He lets his thumb fall onto the screen. This is dumb.

The first ring.

This is really, really dumb.

The second.

Really fucking dumb.

Third.

So fucking-

“Coucou.”

Oh.

Oh. Oh, fuck. Shit, fucking shit!

“Amour?”

Amour.

Harry let’s out a shaky breath, “Cami-”

“Mate, what the fuc-”

Niall halts in his spot in the door when Harry’s eyes lock on him immediately, something dark behind the seafoam green. His nostrils flare as the muscles in his neck protrude.

“I have to call you back,” he mumbles stoically into the receiver.

He can hear the confusion in her voice—the irritation—as she begins to protest, “Harry, you can’t-”

“Chéri,” he warns coolly, and the line suddenly goes quiet. “I’ll call you back, later.” He swiftly hangs up the call.

Niall eyes him suspiciously, finally entering the room. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Harry grumbles back.

“Was it Camille?’

“Niall.”

“Harry.”

They eye each other for a long while, silent, brooding on one end—miserable—caring, concerned on the other—empathetic.

They both decide to avoid the conversation.

“Get ready, we’re gonna be late,” Niall finally announces, slipping into the suit jacket that had previously been draped over his arm.

“Late? Late for what?” Harry asks, his eyebrow raising.

“For a date, idiot.”

“What fucking date, Niall?” He sighs.

“The one I told you about two weeks ago, you know? The night I came back from the golf range and told you that I met the love of my life? Nah? No bells ringing? Well, I’m happy to tell you that the double date we planned for us, you, and her friend is happening, tonight, in, specifically—” he raises his wrist to check the time. “—thirty two minutes.”

Harry’s face scrunches in discomfort. “I’ll pass.”

Niall smiles, laughing sarcastically. “Ha, ha, very funny. Get up, you sad fucking man.” He walks to the couch sitting off to the side of Harry’s office, grabs the emerald green suit jacket that’s lying across it and tosses the expensive suede material at Harry. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”

He leaves before Harry can find a rebuttal. He groans and his head falls back against his chair, his headache now ten times worse. He rises from his seat and slides on his suit jack, pulling both sides together before buttoning the jacket and fixing his sleeves. He sighs heavily as he makes his way to his office doors.

It’s gonna be a long fucking night.

———

“Welcome to Oki Sushi House, do you have a reservation?”

Y/N lets Gigi take the lead on answering any questions, taking this time to get familiar with her surroundings.

The restaurant is set in low lighting, adding significantly to the elegant, luxurious ambiance of the establishment. Long hanging lights lining the dark wood beam ceilings, large floor to ceiling, tinted windows along almost every wall. An orchid and a candle set upon the center of each table, cutlery that looked more expensive than her finest pair of diamond earrings. She felt out of place, like a fraud. She didn’t do these things, these extravagant, lavish nights out to spend audacious amounts of money. Y/N is an introvert a best, and home-body (hermit) at worst. She doesn’t try new things unless someone else wants to, because her friends always have something new to do, so she’s okay not doing anything when she’s alone. She just wishes most of her alone time wasn’t spent in a small 8 by 8 cubicle that got hot and made her sticky within the first hour of sitting down.

She wishes she could stay home in her alone time, file through her thoughts, figure out what she truly wants for herself, because after living for everyone else her entire life, she has zero fucking clue what she wants for herself.

Funny, her mom was right.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Gigi mutters, nodding for Y/N to follow her and the hostess to their table. Y/N takes careful steps, aware that the heels she usually wears are not this tall and she could easily slip and break an ankle at any moment. One foot in front of the other, thoughtfully placed steps to counteract her inherit clumsiness.

Y/N’s so focused on making sure she doesn’t slip on the pristine tiles beneath her and eat shit that she doesn’t notice they’ve gotten much closer to their table. She doesn’t notice the two grown men dressed in perfectly tailored suits slow their conversation until their mouths are shut and their staring ahead of them. One at Gigi, and one at her.

She doesn’t see the way his jaw clenches, doesn’t see the way he shifts in his seat, or how his hand twitches on the table. But she certainly feels his eyes on her. She feels them trail over her shadowy face that’s slightly blocked because she’s looking down. She feels them fall to her collarbone, taking in the glitter she’d intentionally placed there as it sparkles in the light. She feels them trace down to wear she’s clutching the sides of her dress delicately, cinching it mindlessly at her waist. She feels them bore into her figure, feels the heat of his gaze sear through her, as if he’s trying to find out what she could possibly be hiding under that lush gown.

When she lifts her head, she finds she standing in front of a table, two men standing before her, the one to her left a light haired brunette with light, ocean blue eyes, wearing a soft rosé colored suit, that compliments Gigi’s set exquisitely. The other man, to her right, or, directly in front of her, rather, is a dark haired brunette with enchanting, captivating seafoam green beauties, wearing an emerald suit that makes the seafoam of his eyes pop gorgeously. He’s gorgeous, so gorgeous, in fact, that Y/N finds she’s having a hard time breathing all of a sudden.

The man to her left speaks up first, “Y/N, it’s nice to finally meet y’love, heard lots of stories.”

“All good things, I hope,” she laughs softly, mustering up the best smile she can.

“Course,” he nods back, offering a smile of his own, and the pearly white flash of his teeth is enough to ease some of Y/N’s nerves.

“Ahem,” Gigi clears her throat, garnering the attention of the table.

“Evangeline,” Niall greets, something flashing in his eye at the sight of her. He rounds the table almost carelessly, a hand that was once stuffed in his pocket into his pocket reaching out for Gigi’s.

Before Y/N could distract herself any further, a deep, soft drawl grabs her attention.

“Evening, Darlin’.”

Y/N’s head twists to find the person addressing her, and she finds the the man who was once stand in front of her was now standing beside her.

“Name’s Harry.” He offers her his hand, which she hesitantly takes. She knows exactly who this man is, it’s hard not to! Being a world famous designer and business man didn’t call for much privacy, as it turns out, and it’s hard to mistake the guy who was caught making out (very, very messily she might add) with Em-fucking-Rata in Tokyo, Japan, after his runway show, for anyone but the man himself.

She was going to maim Evangeline.

“Y/N, s’nice to meet you,” she mumbles back, her cheeks flushing the longer he cradles her hand in his. She hopes to all things good and holy in the world that he doesn’t notice.

Harry smirks charmingly, his eyes never leaving hers as he replies, “Pleasure’s all mine, Sweetheart,” and brings the hand he’s been holding in his up to his mouth to press his lips delicately against the back of it. Y/N’s breath hitches, and she’s just now realizing how pretty and pink his lips are, let alone how soft they feel grazing against the back of her hand. He’s got a cross tattoo in the juncture between his thumb and forefinger, and it makes Y/N wonder if there’s anymore tattoos hidden underneath that delicious suit of his.

“I- um,” she flounders for words, and Harry basks in her adorable speechlessness. “Has, um, Niall? Has he told you anything about me?”

“M’gonna be completely honest,” Harry starts, the puff of his chest and tone of his voice making Y/N brace for the worst. But, it never comes. No, instead he pulls her to his side and placing his hand on the small of her bare back as he guides her to her chair, dragging it out for her as he confesses, “I tend to block out whatever that dim bloke says, because, more often than not, it’s complete rubbish.”

Y/N giggles softly before she can stop herself. Her cheeks flush, and Harry’s eyes light up. Her laugh could quite possibly be the most beautifully enchanting thing he’s heard in his entire life. Now that he’s heard it, he can’t be certain if he’ll ever be able to go without hearing it again.

“He can’t be all bad, if you keep him around,” Y/N jests in return as Harry makes his way back to his seat, unbuttoning his suit with one hand, the hand with the cross tattoo, while settling into the chair.

He shrugs, “He has his moments, but he’s been so…him the last few years.”

Y/N raises a curious brow, placing her clutch on the table, “How long have you two known each other?”

“Since junior high,” he utters, as if friendships last so long all the time.

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” Harry nods, his eyes flicking to Niall and the heart eyes he’s sending Gigi. He subtly rolls his eyes in amusement before looking back to Y/N. “I only keep him around because he knows so much, otherwise I’d have to kill him.”

“Ah, yes, murder cos’a secrets, that seems just,” Y/N hums, leaning back in her chair. Harry catches the way her shoulders relax a bit, the way her brows don’t immediately furrow at his prolonged silence. She’s in her element.

He cants his head to the side, “’That seems just’, you a lawyer, Darlin’?”

“I have a law degree, and I passed the bar, but no, I just work at a law firm,” she sighs, tone suddenly dejected.

“You don’t sound so pleased,” he presses on.

“Well, I never said I wanted to get a law degree, or pass the bar, or work at a law firm, did I?”

Harry smirks down at his lap softly before he looks back at her, “Touché.” He signals for a waiter, waits all of fifteen seconds, and the hostess comes rushing toward the table.

“Mr. Styles, what can I get for you?” The hostess, Tiffany, asks kindly, a warm, inviting smile gracing her lips that Y/N knows is a practiced perfection, but she still appreciates it.

“Start us off with a bottle of Freixenet Prosecco, please and thank you, Tiffany,” Harry instructs, his tone respectful but authoritative, not mean, but confident and assertive, leaving no room for miscommunication.

“Of course, Mr. Styles, I’ll be back with your wine shortly.” Tiffany spins around and quickly makes her way to the kitchen, leaving mainly in fear of somehow upsetting the man asking for prosecco.

“What do you want to do?” Harry continues right where they left off, as if he hadn’t requested them a beverage mere seconds ago, and it’s confusing, but mainly endearing, charming, that he’s so interested in her, or at least good a pretending he is.

However, she finds herself at a loss of words. She doesn’t know what she wants, she just knows she doesn’t want what she has. And, when you put it like that it sounds really fucking stupid and selfish, but it’s true! She’s so bored with her life, and maybe for once she wants to live for herself instead of somebody else. She just isn’t sure how the fuck she’s supposed to do that.

“I’m, well, I’m not sure,” she utters softly after a few quiet moments, looking down at the tablecloth to distract herself.

No, Harry thinks, look at me.

“I guess I’m so busy I’ve never really thought about it,” she shrugs, perking back up at the sound of Tiffany returning with their wine.

Harry knows that part of that is true. Despite what he may think, he does remember Niall telling him about Gigi, their date, and her friend, Y/N. He remembers he said she worked long hours five days out of the week, that she woke up early and went to bed late, and that she rarely did anything but work on weekdays. He also remembers he said she was a people pleaser or— Well, doormat, more like. Told him how so many people at her job were cruel and snobby, how her friends always asked her to pay for them, or how she spoiled them with sweet gifts for no reason only to get nothing in return. He remembers he’d said she was the type of person to take care of a sick friend, to buy a meal for a homeless person she passes on the street, to run into a burning building, risk her life, if it meant she could save someone she loved. He remembers he’d said she sounded like a right sweetheart; a pretty flower, surrounded by a garden of big, nasty weeds.

Harry didn’t care to take the date seriously when he was first told about it, but know that he’s here, he thinks he’d like to get the chance to pick out some of those weeds.

The bottle has been set on the table in a chilled metal bucket for a few minutes now, and Y/N has found herself mixed into Niall and Gigi’s conversation, though she’s not entirely sure how she became apart of it in the first place.

“Golf is romantic!” Niall whines.

“S’not… like, at all, Niall,” Gigi repeats for the umpteenth time , shaking her head. “You’re as cute as you are stupid,” she mutters.

“Hey!”

Y/N bites back a smile, “Gigi, play nice.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” she pouts mockingly.

Niall huffs childishly, “I do run multiple companies, you know?”

“No, I run multiple companies,” Harry snorts, finally adding his two cents. “You’re COO for a reason.”

“Fuck you,” Niall grumbles, and Harry and Gigi share a knowing smirk.

“He’s a baby,” Harry whispers to Y/N once Gigi’s easily lead Niall into a new topic of discussion (the fucking lovesick idiot).

“He’s a character, definitely,” she laughs softly. Harry goes for the wine, pouring each flute with the perfect amount before settling the bottle back in the ice bucket.

“You ever had prosecco?” He queries genuinely.

“I don’t recall, no,” Y/N frowns, her brows furrowing and nose scrunching softly as she tries to remember a time she’d had prosecco. In all honesty, she very well could have, but most of her alcohol exposure came from frat parties with hard liquor, so she seriously doubts she has. “What’s it like?”

“Smooth,” Harry starts, eyeing his flute carefully, like he’s observing a piece of art, and, for the price, it may as well have been. “S’crisp, an’ fresh, not too bubbly, but certainly not flat either.” He raises to glass to his lips, and Y/N follows the sight, dazed, as the pink of his tongue peak out from between his plush lips. He hums at the first taste of its sweetness, taking a thoughtful sip before setting his glass back on the table. “Go ‘head, try it, Sweetheart.”

Y/N wants to try it, she does, she just wants him to keep speaking to her like that more.

“S’it yummy?” She questions. Harry doesn’t think she realizes she’s pouting, and he could fucking kill her for it.

“S’so yummy, Darlin’,” he drawls, a hint of something filthy in his tone that you’d only notice if you were listening carefully, and Y/N was listening very carefully. “Tastes like peach, and apple; pear, and honeysuckle. Y’gonna love it, Sweet girl, promise, just try some f’me, yeah?”

Y/N could fucking melt. She’s never had someone treat her this way before, never felt coddled in a way that was good and not constricting, desirable and not suffocating. And, while it’s scary and groundbreaking to think about, she’s too intoxicated by him and his golden aura to overthink it. His presence, the comfort and calm he radiates like a furnace makes her weak—defenseless—and she has no choice but to fall into his rose hued, sunshine scented trap.

She takes an experimental sip from her flute, and when the first drops of wine hit her tongue, spring blooms inside of her.

Harry hadn’t been lying, the prosecco is smooth. It glides down Y/N’s throat like warm cider would, even if it’s chilled. The bubbles fizzle and pop on her tongue in a way that almost makes her want to giggle, but she can’t when peach is slicking across her lips and pear is coating her mouth. She can’t possibly do anything else but enjoy the way honeysuckle warms her tummy and apple drips down her throat, just as he’d said. She’s in heaven, Y/N is absolutely certain. She’s never been much of a wine girl, but now she’s starting to believe she just didn’t know enough about it.

This prosecco is good, so good, that she’s sipping away more contents than she should be. Harry doesn’t mind, though. He thinks it’s sweet, cute, even, how she likes it so much—how she’s so desperate to get more she’s about to start dripping it down her chest.

Harry stands from his seat subtly, grabbing a cloth napkin from the table before side-stepping closer to Y/N, placing the napkin under her chin just as prosecco begins to spill from her cup and miss her pouty lips.

“Easy, Darlin’,” he croons.

She gasps softly at the feeling of cold liquid and pressure against her chin, and Harry’s free hand comes to take the flute away from her.

“Messy thing,” he mumbles, wiping away drops of sweet honeysuckle and peach. “Gonna have to drip feed you from my cup, Sweetheart.” He smirks above her, the hand beneath her chin nudging her to look up. He chuckles at the sight of her moony doe eyes. “Hmm, you hungry?” Y/N nods. “Hmm?”

“Yeah,” she soughs, voice dreamy.

“Yeah? What’re y’hungry for, Sweet girl?”

You, she thinks.

Harry quirks an amused brow, “What was that, Baby?”

Baby.

Oh fuck.

“Menu!” She squeaks out through a whimper, unconsciously leaning into his touch. God, what is happening to her?

Harry snickers at her weak attempt of cover, but he’ll let it slide this once.

“Oh, you want the menu, why didn’t you just say, Darlin’?” He teases (so maybe he didn’t let it slide completely).

Harry drops the napkin back on the table, and lets his thumb shift up to her jaw, trailing up, up, up, until it gently brushes against the plump flesh of her glossy, pouty lips. He signals for another waiter with his free hand, but he doesn’t look away from Y/N, nor does he speak, and she does the same. Lost in those eyes, in the painting of ocean waves, the foam that washes up on the shore, sand that looks dewy and soft to the touch, waves that look kind and friendly. Lost in such an intense beauty the words he utters to Tiffany when she finally arrives are muffled to the point Y/N can’t make out a single word. She doesn’t care to, doesn’t want to, if she’s honest. She’s much more content staring into the eyes of the most captivating man she’s ever met.

He pulls down on her bottom lip, watching closely as it snaps back into place when he releases it.

Her breath hitches.

“Anyone tell you, you look beautiful tonight?” Harry mumbles, eyes flitting between her eyes and down to her lips, then back up again.

“No,” she whispers back, because it feels wrong to speak any louder than a gentle wisp of wind in this moment.

“You look beautiful tonight, Y/N,” Harry declares smoothly, his eyes falling down to her sitting figure. “Fucking breathtaking, Darlin’.”

Y/N feels her cheeks at the compliment, and she has to look away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Thank you, Harry, you’re very sweet,” Y/N says, voice low and un-accepting of his words.

Harry doesn’t like that. He hates that she feels like she has to find a reason for his compliment, hates that she only thinks he’s said to be sweet, not because it’s true.

He knocks at her chin once more, forcing her eyes to him.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he insists. “You’re captivating, don’t let people make you feel any different, ever.” Even if she doesn’t hear his words right now, he hopes that if he gets the chance to keep telling her, she’ll hear his words someday.

Y/N’s never felt so adored. So seen. She never thought anyone would see through her facade and satisfy her forever unspoken needs, wants, and desires, never thought someone would ever care enough to try. And here Harry was, looking at her like she’s something precious, cradling her jaw like she’s the sweetest creature he’s laid his eyes on. And when he says stuff like that, that she’s beautiful, fucking breathtaking, captivating… she thinks she just might be.

Harry Styles was going to be the death of her, she’s sure of it.

———

Y/N eventually settles on—after a long 15 minute internal debate that ended with Harry finally suggesting her two of his favorite dishes—the Mackerel Sashimi and Tamago Sushi Platter, paired with a bottle of Chateau Margaux 2009 for the table to share (Harry said something about the cherry and raspberry notes being mouthwatering, and Y/N thinks it’d be foolish to doubt him after her first dance with Freixenet Prosecco). She didn’t bother herself with focusing on prices, knowing it would completely sour her mood (she saw that at least three wines were over one grand in her frantic scanning of her menu). Her wine flute is empty, only golden droplets of prosecco left behind, and an equally empty, perfectly dry bordeaux glass waiting to be filled to the brim with ruby red liquid.

She’s only half aware of the conversation swirling around her, body too loose and brain too floaty, a warm tickle in the pit of her tummy, keeping her distracted.

Maybe she’s already had a bit too much to drink…

She thinks she hears Niall inquiring about her job—or maybe it was how Gigi and her first came to meet each other?—and she wills herself to respond as polished plates covered in luxurious cuisine are placed in front of herself and the rest of the table.

“M’sorry,” she hums, placing a hand across her collarbone in earnest. “Could you repeat the question?”

Niall shifts in his seat, making a move to grab his chopsticks as he repeats, “Asked how you liked livin’ here, in the city, love.” He offers a slight smile to the busboy who fills his glass with rouge before cradling his sushi between his chopsticks and lifting the dish up to his open mouth, chewing as he waits for Y/N’s answer.

“Oh,” she chirps, smiling down at her plate of food. “It’s lovely, honestly. I mean, the sirens and rats aren’t ideal, not to mention the subway—” she shudders slightly at the thought of her last adventure down there. “—but, I… I really do love it.” Niall chuckles softly, nodding through her response. “Plus, it’s not too different from where I grew up, so…”

“Where’re you from?”

“Pittsburgh,” she says smoothly, a lilt of comfort to her voice.

The naivety of her tone reminds Harry of a time when he felt the same way about this city, fresh out of Oxford, ambitious and a cocky little son of a bitch who thought he’d conquer the world of businessmen. He’d gotten what he wanted, but sometimes he wonders if any of it was worth it.

Were the six years of Uni level schooling worth it?

Were the sleepless nights filled with shite whiskey, dull Marlboro Golden’s, and faceless bodies worth it?

Were the cherished kisses, and hushed promises, and endless hours of love and devotion; loyalty and adoration; sacrifice and kindness…

Right now, sitting in front of Y/N, listening to the way she speaks about her love for New York City, telling stories of the little trips she’s taken with friends, watching the way her eyes glimmer in the low light of the restaurant, and hearing the passion and sincerity in her tone, Harry’s starting to wonder how he ever thought any of this wasn’t worth it.

She’s got him wrapped around her pretty little finger like some pussy-whipped bitch, and the most skin he’s seen is her fucking back. Christ, he feels like Niall. He’s known Y/N for all of two and a half hours, was forced to hang up on his ex-girlfriend not three hours ago because of this date in the first place. If Camille is a siren, then Y/N is a deity. She’s an otherworldly, enchanted goddess who’s been sent down from Olympus to lure Harry into a honey sweet, sticky altercation, Harry’s convinced. There’s no other explanation for why he feels so hooked on her soft-looking skin and pink glossy lips so early on. No reason he should already be so addicted to the way she looks at him, the way she silently pleads for more, without even knowing. Without even fucking trying.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, he thought he’d have more resolve than this, thought he had more self-control than this. But every flutter of her lashes and flicker of her pupils proves Harry wrong. So wrong.

He needs to get a fucking grip, settle his nerves and muzzle the thoughts swirling through his head—pleasant streams now filthy swamps—before he says something that’ll get him in trouble. In deep, warm, velvety trouble that smells of daffodils and waterlilies, and tastes of rich caramel and the sweetest milk.

Lord have mercy.

Harry’s so caught up in his head he nearly misses the ladies excusing themselves to the restroom, sliding out of their seats before pushing them in and turning away from the table, muttering amongst themselves as they saunter toward the loo. His eyes follow Y/N until she’s out of sight, borderline glaring at the way her bare back shines in the lighting, smooth looking, sparkling diamonds trickling down the middle of her spine, and Harry can’t stop himself from imagining what it’d be like to press his hand into the small of her back as he—

“I’m so fucked, mate,” Niall groans into his hands, and Harry knows what he means.

“Yeah,” he nods once, finally looking at the untouched plate of food in front of him.

Me fucking too, Niall.

———

“I’m so fucked, Y/N,” Gigi groans into her hands once she’s finished gushing over Niall, leaning her tailbone against the sink behind her as she caves in on herself.

“There are worse guys to fall for,” Y/N snickers from her place beside her, but she keeps the part about how she knows exactly how she feels to herself. “Just take things slow, the rest will fall into place.”

Gigi peeks out from behind her hands to glance at her best friend, playfully jabbing, “It’s a wonder you’re not six years into marriage with how prudish you are.”

Y/N feels her eyes roll, “Well, excuse me for wanting to settle down with someone instead of ask strangers if they’re clean or not for the rest of my life.”

“Touché,” Gigi smirks, pushing off the sink to stride to the bathroom door. “C’mon, need to get back so I can make sure you don’t ruin your chances of getting laid tonight.”

Y/N wipes up some smeared gloss from the corner of her mouth before turning to face Gigi, her face pointedly flat. “Hilarious,” she chortles sarcastically before her face drops and she’s exiting the bathroom while Gigi basks in the aftermath of her playful, unnecessary confrontation.

“You love me,” she mumbles to Y/N as they make their way back to the table.

“I tolerate you,” she corrects, shivering when she locks eyes with Harry from a few feet away. His expression is enticingly dark, and it makes her thighs clench beneath her dress. Her tone is breathy as she continues, “There’s a difference,” her feet carrying her toward the table without instruction from her mind, like there was a pull between her and Harry she’s helpless to deny.

For once, Gigi keeps her mouth shut.

“Glad you’re back,” Harry spouts, his words both mindless and perfectly calculated, slippery, easy to slip off his tongue, and the cringe he’s bracing himself for (from her and himself) never comes. Instead, Y/N pauses where she stands, her lips slightly pouting and her eyes rounding out, and she looks so cute it hurts. Her brows pinch together, lashes fluttering over the apples of her cheeks, reacting as if he’d just professed his undying love for her, not expressed that he’s pleased she’s returned from the toilet.

Y/N never thought she could be this easy. She wouldn’t say she’s particularly hard to get, but she likes to think it takes more than someone telling her they’re happy with her presence to get her to want to fall to her goddamn knees.

Yet here she is.

“Missed me that bad?” She teases when she finally recovers, but it’s too late, Harry knows what he does to her.

“Niall’s not the best company, Darlin’.”

“Sod off, Styles,” Niall scoffs, shoving Harry, but he doesn’t budge. He sulks, and Harry smirks all sexy and charming when he starts complaining to Gigi.

“Do you two ever stop bickering?” Y/N picks up a piece of sushi as she waits for Harry’s answer, not bothering with the chopsticks. She knows she’ll only serve to make a fool of herself.

Harry bites back a smile as he watches her eat, amused by her choice of medium. “We haven’t stopped bickering since sophomore year, high school, and we probably won’t until we retire.”

“You’re silly.” She lets out a tiny peal of laughter, flitting a tendril of wispy hair away from her line of view.

“I’m silly?” He echoes, a perfect brow arched in curiosity.

“No— I mean—” Y/N stammers, tripping over her words to find an explanation. “You’re not silly, I just… It seems silly to waist such a valuable friendship fighting all the time, that’s all.” Her voice is low, timid, scared at the possibility of upsetting him.

“That’s sweet, Darlin’,” Harry soughs gently, bordering a coo. “Don’t have to worry, though, s’all fun an’ games ‘til one of us gets fuckin’ slammed.” He’s not sure if he means with alcohol or work, but either way, Harry briefly thinks of how Niall reminded him of this date, then visibly shakes the thought from his head. “He knows I care about him,” he states firmly.

The conviction of his words makes the pool of admiration filling Y/N’s glossy eyes overflow, spilling hints of fuzzy warmth down her body, joints feeling pliable and soft. “I don’t doubt it,” she whispers in return, eyes falling back to her plate as she starts on her next piece of sushi.

Harry inhales sharply, his eyes focusing in on her plate of food. He kicks his chin in its direction “How’s y’food?”

She glances up at Harry, her eyes sparkling with delight. She chews with a new haste, eager to keep him from waiting.

“S’delicious, Harry, thank you,” she smiles once she’s gulped down her mouthful, cheeks tinting when Harry’s eyes chase after hers the moment they flicker away from him.

“What for, Sweet girl?” He seems to croon, nearly pulling a raspy, needy whine from Y/N’s throat.

“You told me what to order?” Her tone suggests she’s unsure of herself, like she’d been mistaken somehow.

Harry chuckles, “S’nice of you, Sweetheart, but I barely did a thing. Should be thankin’ the chef, I reckon.”

Y/N shrugs, unconvinced. “Still,” she mumbles.

Harry can’t help but feel endeared by her persistence.

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere between them, and, for better or for worse, they both feel it. And they both take it in stride.

“May I be frank, Y/N?” Harry suddenly asks.

Her spine straightens in her seat, “Of course…”

“I’m wondering what made you come out here to night,” he tells her, face scrunched in intrigue.

“How do you mean?”

He nibbles thoughtfully on his bottom lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Please forgive me if this offends you, but you don’t strike me as the… lavish type, Sweetheart.”

Her face of realization is probably cuter than a baby panda, Harry thinks, but she manages to make just about everything so goddamn cute.

She’s silent for a few moments, contemplative, before blurting, “Do you want the truth, or the ideal?” She looks up, into his seafoam eyes, her own wary. When Harry’s eyes soften just the tiniest bit, rounding out in the familiar way hers so often do, and gently mutters The truth, please, Darlin’, she sighs out a breath through her nose before pushing on. “I’m not the lavish type. I’m not any type, really. All I do is work, there’s no time for anything else.” Harry schools his features into staying the same, but his heart swells and breaks in two all at once at her words, because he understands. “I haven’t been on a date since I broke up with my ex—” she pauses to give herself a second to recoup. “—and he— w-we broke up months ago.” She exhales a shaky breath, that sounds strikingly like a sad little whimper, her eyes are welling up, stingy, she thinks she feels her fingers start to tremble, and…and Y/N doesn’t understand why she’s getting so emotional! Harry’s got some sort of truth serum swimming in his irises, there’s no other reason why Y/N would be spilling her very heart and soul out onto the table. She’d expected a dinner, not a therapy session.

“Gigi dragged me here, but I would’ve come if she forced me to or not,” she continues after a few composing breaths. Her eyes meet Harry’s, tingles zipping through her spine when she sees how intently he’s listening to her, hanging off her every word. “And I’m…pleased I did come,” she admits, feeling her cheeks warm. “I’m glad the date was with you—that I met you—instead of some creep because I— I’m positive I never would’ve left the house again if this went sideways,” she sighs dramatically, aware her statement is wildly untrue, but unsure of how else to convey the significance this night holds—the significance that Harry holds.

The silence that follows weighs down on Y/N the same way a bad grade loomed over her head when she was in UNI; ever-present and crippling. It hangs in the air for what feels like decades, but can only be two minutes, maximum. And just as she’s scrambling to apologize—just as she opens her mouth to spew out words she can only hope salvage what she’s ruined—Harry finally gives up a response.

“That sounds pretty ideal to me, Y/N.” He speaks gently, reassuring her of all her internal worries in one simple phrase. She shouldn’t be surprised, Harry’s proven to be a kind gentleman throughout the entire night, but that doesn’t stop her. It doesn’t deter the shock value any as he smiles at her, not smirks, but smiles. Her stomach twists at the sight of two dimples denting his full cheeks, winking sweetly at her. And it’s gone as quick as it’s there, like his muscles haven’t moved in such a way in so long that it feels unnatural, but it stays in her mind, as beautiful and dazzling as the real moment, not faded and foggy like other memories.

Y/N can’t really explain why she says what she says next, perhaps a demon possess her being for less than thirty seconds because even with the phrase swimming in her brain they know she won’t say it on her own, not without a little push. All she knows is that she does say it, with too much apprehension, her voice shy.

“I— I really wanna kiss you, Harry.”

Her cheeks heat and her eyes go wide as she says it, like she can’t believe she really has. She waits for Harry to scoff, to let her down easy, tell her he was only being polite and that it would do her some good to be a little more subtle in the future. None of this happens.

Upon hearing Y/N’s full disclosure, Harry does virtually nothing. Virtually being the operative word here; his eyes, seafoam green in color—something Y/N is slowly coming to adore—and deliciously vivid, shift. Expand. His pupils shoot out wide, blackening a generous space in the very middle of his eyes. And while Y/N undoubtedly misses the soft green creeks she’s becoming so familiar with, she can’t deny that this is perfectly enticing.

“Yeah?” He mutters, so soft, before clenching his jaw so slightly Y/N is almost inclined not to notice, but the simultaneous heave of his chest gives him away. “Are you?”

Is she?

Y/N looks to the side, weak from the way Harry stares straight through her and straight into her soul. She exhales, answering like she’s forgotten she’s the one who started this. “Pardon..?”

Harry smirks, she can hear it as he asks, “Are you going to kiss me, Sweetheart?”

Fuck him for making it sound so goddamn black and white.

Thighs clench under the dining table, shaky hands coming to clutch the beige tablecloth hanging from the edge. Y/N feels slightly dizzy, maybe it’s from the reality of the question, or maybe it’s from the thought of his bubblegum pink, pillow-plush lips pressed tightly to hers, molding them together until they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“I—I,” her breath hitches, tripping up her tongue as it tries to form words. “Yes.”

When she looks back at Harry, she finds that he’s shifted from his original position, now leaning back in his seat as opposed to in close to the table, his left arm crossed over his chest, the fingers of his right hand plucking thoughtfully at his full bottom lip, looking right at her, and—

He knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

She can see it, in the glint of his eyes, in the way he’s fighting back an arrogant, condescending smirk.

“Yea—”

“But not h-here!” She rushes to stammer, to regain some control of the situation. She feels like she’s unknowingly given it all to Harry. And it scares her.

Harry lets the smirk he’d been halfheartedly trying to hide bloom at full force, so pleased that his dimples pop out with this one, and Y/N’s positive she could com—

“Where then, Darlin’?” His tongue wraps the words up in a tantalizing caress, the sound of his voice holding a lilt of deep, charismatic rasp.

“Take me— I— Harry.” The plea feels heavy as it slips off her tongue, and something dark glimmers in the center of Harry’s eye.

“Take you where? C’mon, talk to me, Sweet girl.”

She gazes at him, looks into his eyes and begs him not to make her do it, not to make her say something so suggestively dirty. She hopes that she’s being obvious enough. For once, she hopes that the way her emotions betray her and smear loudly over her expressions is painstakingly clear. But the only thing she sees is sick, cruel enjoyment of her embarrassment.

She chokes down a whine through slurring, “Takemetoyourhouseharry.”

“What was that?” He purrs, eyelids heavy. “Stop mumblin’, Sweetheart.”

Y/N’s grip on the tablecloth tightens, slick pooling in her panties, forming an uncomfortable wet patch that she slides through with every shift of her hips. And she can’t stop squirming.

“Take me to your house, Harry,” she repeats slowly, delicately, and the implication of her request makes her feel dirty, as expected. But, unexpectedly she can’t find it in herself to give two shits. In fact, she thinks she’d be absolutely, ridiculously, disgustingly filthy if it meant making Harry happy. “Please.”

“Oh, Baby,” he coos, condescending and coddling in the most tummy twisting way. It makes a heat pool there, spreading throughout her body, heavenly sparks and splashes of divine warmth traveling up to her heart and down between her legs, quickening the pace of both beats. “Beggin’ f’me in a sushi house,” he tsks, biting his bottom lip when the flush of her cheeks grows worse. “What m’I g’na do with you..?”

Y/N is unsure if the question is rhetorical or not, her mouth opening and closing around phantom responses, her eyes clear with lust, and confusion, and fear. A fear that she’s never known, one that stirs in her soul with the promise of something… something. A fear of what kissing Harry means, of what it can lead to. Fear of what being with him can do to her. Fear of what he can give her, fear that she won’t be able to live with just a taste, that her heart will never be full without it.

Fear, that Harry fucking eats up.

It tickles him pink with amusement because, honestly, there’s nothing to be scared about (right?). What a silly thing, scared over absolutely nothing—Harry would rather kill himself than lay a hand on most people, let alone her—it makes Harry that much more excited to see her relax, decompress, unfurl, for him, when he—

“Let’s go, Darlin’,” Harry eventually exhales, buttoning his suit jacket before he stands from his seat, side-stepping to push the chair under the table. “No time to waste.”

Y/N straightens up in her chair, shoulders opening and chin lifting, her eyes frantic. “What about the bill?”

He nods to Niall, “He’s got us, don’t worry.”

Her gaze hesitantly finds Niall, but only for a moment, far too embarrassed to linger for him catching her stare. “Are you sure?”

“Go on, love,” Niall says suddenly, as if he’d been privy to their discussion the whole time. The thought makes Y/N’s stomach churn. “More than happy to cover your meal, and if it means I have to cover his, too, then so be it.”

She musters up a smile, mildly unconvincing, before offering Niall a small nod and standing from her seat. Harry outstretches a hand to her, and she gingerly places her palm in his, her other hand reaching for the table to grab her tote. She stands up straight, and is once again met with the knowledge that Harry is possibly a whole foot taller than her, her neck craning to allow their eyes to meet, waiting patiently for his next instruction.

Instead of vocalizing his request, Harry opts for tugging on the silky-soft hand in his, gently urging Y/N out the fancy double doors they’d entered not three hours ago and onto the sidewalk outside. Her body curls into his, desperate for warmth as the chill of the night air nips at her bare back. She shivers, which Harry seems to notice. When he lets go of her hand, Y/N nearly deflates, the beginnings of something cold and shadowing settling over her fragile heart. But that warmth that’s so easily becoming associated with Harry creeps back up and melts away all the icky cold that’s made her face drop and emotions muddy when he slips his arm around her waist, tucking her tightly into his side.

“Shakin’ like a leaf, Baby,” he whispers into the crown of her head, and she shivers again, though she’s unsure if the cause is the cold or his voice.

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, meek.

Harry seems to snort out, “What’re y’apologizin’ for, Darlin’?” When she offers up zero response, he chuckles, giving her waist a sure squeeze. “Aish, you’re silly, y’know that?”

Y/N only smiles into his chest, her cheeks tinting, and very briefly does it strike her that maybe things are moving a little quickly. The thought gets buried under a mountain of nonsense immediately.

He pulls her to the valet and (presumably) calls for his vehicle. They wait a measly two minutes, filled with fleeting looks and wayward smiles, before his car is pulling up. The 1972 Ferrari Dino is bright yellow and tiny; if Y/N weren’t aware that the car probably cost more than the two large minivans she had growing up, she’d have half a mind to awe and coo at its adorable size.

Harry pulls her toward the passenger seat before she can allow herself to gawk inappropriately any longer, and she feels kind of…weightless as he escorts her. She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know how, and she doesn’t know what has caused this pleasant feeling (though she has a sneaking suspicion it’s Harry), but it’s comforting enough that it makes that fear she had at the dinner table lick at her spine, reminding her to be careful, to never be too trusting.

Because anyone can hurt you, but the only people who can break you, are the people you trust.

Harry’s free hand comes to open up the car door, and he dutifully guides her into her seat. Y/N ducks under the roof and slides in, settling into the expensive leather of her chair, cold but smooth against the expanse of her back. She expects Harry to close the door and mosey over to the driver’s side, but, instead, he leans inside, too. His left hand grabs her seat belt, and as his warm breath puffs out, sweeping delicately over her collarbone, he pulls the belt over Y/N and buckles it into place. His left hand moves from the belt to the frame of the door, his right settling on the center console, and then he’s close, so close. So close that their noses graze. So close that their lips a mere inches apart. So close that they’re breathing the same air. It makes her dizzy in the head, eyes frantically flitting from his own seafoam green pair and his bubblegum pink, plushy, oh-so-kissable lips.

Y/N is silly enough to believe Harry’s gonna kiss her. She knows she’s impatient and she knows she’s the one who asked to wait until they got to his house, but Christ, she wants to feel his lips on hers, she wants it so bad. And he’s so close, it’s difficult not to think about his lips when they’re right there. But when she leans in, shoots out to seal their mouths together, Harry shoots back, away from her advance.

He tsks, “Greedy.” The utterance is so soft you could miss it, but Y/N hears, and it makes her brows pinch and bottom lip jut out (and thighs clench, but, she’d never admit that to Harry). His nose nudges hers, and she’s positive it’s intentional, but the second she goes in, Harry, once again, pulls away, smirking at the way her once practiced pout turns into one of true defeat. Call him a sadist, but he likes watching her get so desperate for him. “Be good,” he mumbles condescendingly.

Y/N huffs—she hasn’t done anything wrong! But, nevertheless, she doesn’t try kissing him again, not even when he inches in closer. Close, close, close, close enough to brush his lips over hers, cruel enough to suckle on her bottom lip and make her sit there and whimper like some pathetic damsel, scared of the big bad wolf here to gobble her up. His lips are softer than she could’ve ever imagined, but she sits there a lets Harry torture her with nothing but whines and whimpers to vocalize her displeasure, determined to be good for him.

He hums contentedly, pulling back slowly. “Taste sweet, Baby.”

The admittance is enough to make Y/N’s eyes cross in the middle, and she just barely refrains, opting to whine something delicate from her chest instead. Harry huffs out a deep breath in return, staring intently in her eyes. Or maybe, he’s just lost in them, he’s not too sure.

“You’re a fuckin’ temptress,” he grunts, his grip on the center console tightening to the point that veins pop, the green and blue in stark contrast to his beautifully ivory skin. Y/N holds her breath, and doesn’t dare look away from Harry, infinitely curious as to his next move. Though it brings her some disappointment to find that it’s to back away, completely. He ducks out of the passenger side and stands up straight as he shuts her door, and even though he’s only going to the driver’s side, she still misses the warmth of his proximity.

He’s back inside the car, on the opposite side, in less than five seconds (literally, Y/N counts). He wastes no time starting the car and merging onto the street, and if Y/N sees the meter of speed increase far past the limit when they reach the highway, she supposes their going so fast nobody will catch up.

———

The car ride to Harry’s home is silent. Y/N spends her time wondering what Harry could possibly be thinking about, and Harry spends his time wondering if his original plan of action is the best way to go.

He had a way of…breaking his partners in. When Harry finds himself in compromising situations, he follows a simple set of steps. He’ll assess the person of interest, determine if they’re worth his time or not. Then, he pushes buttons, tries to get an understanding of what turns them on and off, and if it’s compatible with his specific skill set. He can only infer so much, however; the only time Harry really gets to understand his partner, is in the moment, between the sheets. That’s when Harry began to push boundaries, not just buttons. And his partner’d either crumble or submit.

Harry is eager to find out how Y/N will behave, but he holds certain apprehensions. Playing with such a delicate creature—imposing on a still meadow that’s been undisturbed forever—it’s a dangerous thing. He wouldn’t mind watching her crumble or submit, but seeing her shatter is what he’s scared of.

Big buildings and little bodegas pass them by in blurs, and Y/N stares absently out of the window as they pull closer to a skyscraper. Lights blend in iridescent swirls and loops until they finally come to a stop beside an awning similar to the one over the entrance of her own apartment. Though, the red velvet of the carpet leading into the building and the stark royal blue of the awning give away that Harry’s residence is a tad more affluent than her own.

She refrains from gasping mawkishly as the car is put in park and Harry exits the vehicle and makes his way toward the passenger side door. He opens it, leans inside to unbuckle Y/N’s seat belt (without the added dramatics of before), and then holds out a hand for her as he stands up straight. Y/N sheepishly takes Harry’s hand, and he guides her out of his Ferrari and onto the sidewalk. He hands his keys to the valet, and then pulls Y/N into the lavish lobby—it seems more like a hotel than an apartment building—leading her straight to the gold two door elevators. He pushes the shiny button to call for a lift, and the elevator to the left dings immediately (unsurprisingly, seeing as it was nearly midnight). They step inside, Y/N desperately trying to settle into the silence. To not jump to any conclusions and be okay with standing in silence. Yet, as soon as the doors close, her mouth is opening to spew nonsense.

“Harry, I—”

“Shut up.”

Y/N shuts her mouth quickly, and although there is no bite or malice to his words, she still stiffens at the phrase. Harry notices, his eyes softening, and he steps in front of her, pushing her into the wall behind her and crowding her space.

“Excuse my bluntness, Darlin’; I’m not used to dealin’ with such a precious thing like you.” His free hand moves to cradle her cheek, his thumb going to stroke sweetly right under her bottom lashes and over the apple of her cheek, making her eyes flutter and mind go fuzzy. Her eyes round out and she sags into his hold. Harry smiles at her, the craters in his cheeks sending a happy spark through Y/N. “Precious thing…” he repeats, somewhat mindlessly, leaning in to graze the very tips of their noses together in a puppy’s kiss.

Her hands find purchase on his firm belly, fingers curling into the soft, expensive polyester-silk blend of his suit jacket. She pulls him closer by her grip and moans out something soft that makes Harry feel light and giddy and dopey and— No, no, no he needs to stay focused! He’s got a plan that he needs to follow, he needs to be in control, at least for tonight.

The hand once fondly holding her cheek goes to grip roughly at her jaw, his fingers denting the soft skin of her face. The pink of his tongue peaks out as he licks his bottom lip tentatively, eyeing her fervently.

“Minx,” he whispers to himself, but Y/N still hears, and her grip on his jacket tightens because of it. “Gonna have to start behaving yourself from here on out, start followin’ some rules…” he pauses, searching her gaze for any objections, but continues when he spots none. “Gonna be good for me, right?” Y/N nods, disregarding the fact that the first part of Harry’s speech accused her of being bad somehow, because she’d done nothing wrong. “Gonna do as your told?” He asks, and she nods again. “Gonna let me do what I want t’you?”

“Anything you want.” Her lips part and the words rush up her throat and spill out of her mouth before she can stop them, but they affect Harry in a way she wouldn’t have thought even if she did plan on saying them. He nuzzles into her neck, nipping, sucking, biting areas of soft skin before tonguing over the wounds to soothe them. He leaves two marks where her neck and collarbone meet, and one more behind her ear, before the elevator dings and he’s tugging Y/N off of the wall and into…his penthouse. The only reason she knows right away is because the elevator literally leads into the fucking penthouse, there’s no lobby or front door.

Y/N almost trips over her feet trying to take it all in, but Harry’s hand is around her waist before anything serious can happen. He pulls her into his chest, eyes her, the way she’s breathing so hard from having almost fell, how she looks around like she doesn’t remember where she is with bambi like eyes. Her chest rises temptingly with every breath she takes, and when her eyes finally stop on him, the once frantic optics now calm and rounded out, Harry’s knees threaten to buckle. The sight of her, so pleasant and pretty and soft, in his arms, it does things to him. Warm, lasting, giddy things Harry forgot he knew how to feel. So many things that looking into her captivating eyes is overwhelming, too overwhelming, and the next thing he knows he’s leaning in to finally kiss her.

But, for once, Y/N is the one to pull back, her eyes seemingly having left his and found purchase gazing somewhere off behind him. Harry’s brows cinch in the middle (he’s positive he looks the spitting image of Y/N when he’d done the same thing to her) but the second protests form on his tongue, Y/N is slipping out of his grasp and walking almost mindlessly to his vast floor to ceiling windows.

Out the clear glass is a sky high view of Northern Manhattan, the buildings and city streets buzzing with life. Smoke and laughter, heard even all the way up there, swirl through the air, building lights twinkling like the stars that look so real from up here. So bright and close, like if the window weren’t there, Y/N could reach out and grab one. She’s tempted to, getting unreasonably close to the glass of the large window, but she doesn’t touch. The only indication she’s so close is her breath hitting the glass, fogging it over, but she doesn’t notice, too entranced with the view before her.

Harry has half a mind to keep being pouty, but watching the wondrous curiosity spread across her face at seeing the vastness of New York City at such a large scale for the first time, it makes pride puff at Harry’s chest, and he’s too cheeky about it to stay upset. He follows after her, noting the way her hands wave in front of the glass, close to touching but not quite, like she’s looking through the glass of an exhibit, not a window. He creeps up behind her as she heaves out a big sigh, her breath fogging the window, and his right hand comes up to the glass, fingers tracing in the shape of a pretty heart.

Y/N jumps at the sudden presence behind her, but the image drawn in front of her, though quickly fading because of the AC, makes her own heart flutter, warm with affection and anticipation. Harry keeps moving closer until his front is firmly pressed against her back, his free hand falling to find purchase on her hip. He takes the hand on the glass and instead grabs her jaw, tilting her head to the side harshly. His teeth dig into his bottom lip when Y/N lets out a small whine because of his light manhandling—she’s aware she shouldn’t make it so easy, but it’s been a while—but before he can distract himself any further, his lips slide across the column of her neck, sucking delicate purple and pink and red splotches all over, going over the ones he’d made in the elevator. And, honestly, he’s feeling a bit mean, so he decides to bite over some of them too, getting the cutest fucking squeaks out of sweet Y/N. He doesn’t soothe any of the wounds with his tongue, instead kissing a sloppy trail up to ear, nibbling gently at the lobe. His fingers grip at her jaw tighter, turning her face to meet his and finally, finally connect their lips in a tongue-twirling, spit-smearing kiss.

Y/N mewls startlingly at the press of his mouth to hers, her top lip cradled between the soft pillows of his two. His lips are softer than she could’ve ever imagined, the plush a soft cushion with every click and smack they share. Their noses bump as the kiss grows with ferocity, breathes turning heavy and hands pawing at any chunk of flesh they can reach. When her tongue just barley slips past the seal of her lips to lick over his gingerly, tainted with great care, Harry just about loses it.

Something deep rises from his chest and out of his throat, perhaps a grunt—fucking growl more like—slips out, then the hand around her jaw is dropping down to her hip and he’s spinning her around to face him. She’s getting pushed into the window, and his lips are back on hers the instant her back hits the glass, the cold of it a stark contrast to her flushed, burning skin, and it causes a shiver to run down her spine. Harry’s arms snake around her waist, yanking her body into his until their fronts practically mold into one, chest to chest, the silk of Y/N’s gown brushing her just enough to make her cry out softly from the stimulation, her hands flying from where they once sat limply at her side to the lapels of Harry’s suit jacket. Her fingers curl into the expensive material, nails scratching harshly against it while he laves the flat of his tongue over hers, indulging completely in the taste of her and letting out a whimpery groan because of it.

Y/N is unsure if she’s ever heard something so beautiful in her life. She wants to hear it again, really badly.

As the kiss goes on—shortened, heavy breathes through noses that bump with every little shift and tilt, desperate to get the perfect angle, to get deeper, to feel more slick warmth, to taste more heavenly sin—Y/N gradually starts to slip into Harry’s hold. Her weight sags into his, arms looping around his thick neck to tug him down closer (he’s obnoxiously tall compared to poor little Y/N, her back sure to be sore in the morning with the way he’s got her bent backward for his kisses, and if her head weren’t so fuzzy, she’d muster up the strength to complain about it—she absolutely would not—but she can’t deny it’s something she likes about him, a lot), soughing all dreamy into his mouth when he pulls back with a soft click to start nipping at her lips, mainly for the benefit of giving her a breather. Harry’s hands slide down her hips to her thighs, lifting one leg after the other around his waist so he’s holding her up, the window behind them aiding in support.

With Harry holding her up, Y/N is just his height, barely, but she appreciates the relief of pressure to her back. Heavy pants from both ends bleed into one, the very air they breathe one in the same; chests bump together faintly with each heave. Harry doesn’t shut his eyes when he leans in this time, too enthralled with the sight of her. His eyes, heavy-lidded and blown wide with lust and curiosity, remain directly on her as he brings his mouth back to hers, lips barely grazing in a tantalizing, forbidden liaison she can hardly resist.

She should fucking expect it, Harry’s cocky, son of a bitch smirk as he shrinks back from her advance to seal their lips. She’s tempted to roll her eyes and say something a little snappy (not as if she could say something more offending than ‘fuck you’—which she also just wouldn’t do), but something in her gut tells her Harry wouldn’t take kindly to that, and she’s trying hard to be good for him.

“Harry—”

“Rule number one,” Harry begins, swiftly cutting off the needy whine sure to come from the girl clinging to him like a lifeline, and finally further elaborating on the ominous rules he’d briefly mentioned in the elevator. “When we’re playin’, you call me ‘Sir,’ and you don’t call me anything else unless I say you can, is that understood?” Y/N nods, big bambi eyes boring into Harry’s with a level of trust that should be concerning seeing as they’ve just met tonight, but she can’t find it in herself to have any aversions or apprehensions when it comes to Harry. “Use y’words, Baby, y’gotta talk t’me.”

“I understand,” she says immediately—like a puppet getting its strings tugged and pulled on—the assurance falling out of her mouth before she’s really thought it through, but it doesn’t matter, because when she does process it she’d still come up with the same answer.

A perfectly plucked brow arches up on Harry’s forehead, eyeing her expectantly, and the longer he waits, the more she can physically see his patience wearing thin. She’d be happy to quell his discomfort, but she doesn’t know what he wants from her! God, give a girl a hint before you—

“Sir.” The word slips from her mouth in a single breath, airy and light as it wafts into Harry’s face. “I understand, Sir.”

Harry’s relaxed brows and easy smirk give away that he’s pleased with her, and Y/N basks gratefully in that knowledge.

Christ, she feels like a puppy who’s been given a dog treat.

“There, knew you could be good for me.” His smile is easy, glowing, even, and his gaze fond. “Rule number two, we use the color system when we play, and you have to respond when ask what you color is.” Y/N nods in understanding, the action jerky but adorable, challenging Harry to fight off heart-shaped irises. “Green means good, yellow means we need to take a little break and talk things out, and red means stop, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” With that, Harry’s hooking his arms in the bend on Y/N’s knees and hoisting her up so her drippy thighs are cushioning his ears. “Pull up your dress,” he speaks coolly, leisurely but demanding, like he’s got all the time in the world and he’s certainly not unwilling to make them use all of it up. Her fingers bunch against the soft silk of her dress, the dainty rings—a single gold band on her pinky and a gold band with a heart shaped pink jewel in the center on her ring finger—complimenting the pearl fabric of her gown. Harry watches impatiently as the skirt scrunches up, up, up until all of her is revealed. His nostrils flare when he sees nothing covering the smooth skin of her pelvis, his seafoam eyes trailing low enough to catch her poor clit swollen peaking from between her folds. His eyes nearly roll to the very back of his skull, and something akin to a frustrated grunt rips from his chest before his head is stuffed between the two plush cushions on either side of his head, his chocolate curls tickling her tensing tummy as he fits the whole of his mouth over her drooling cunt, his tongue slipping and sliding through her with a fervor Y/N has never experienced.

“Holy shit!” She cries loudly, one hand shooting out to fist at Harry’s hair and the other up to cover her mouth. He grunts gruffly into her—her nails digging into his scalp and leaving a delicious sting behind—the vibrations causing a shudder to sliver up her spine. She whines, her eyes crossing slightly as she bites fruitlessly into the back of her hand while Harry claws at her outer thighs and focuses his ministrations on her clit. He glides his tongue teasingly over the delicate pearl, short, grazing swipes that leave the back of her eyes stinging and her hand hurting from how hard she’s biting into it. Her breathing is far past the point of bated and bordering concerning as his lips lock around her little bundle of nerves to suckle gently. Her head knocks back into the window, she swallows thickly and her chest heaves when the pressure of his mouth against her only begins to grow more prominent.

Her belly feels warm, the coils and twists within tighter than she recalls them ever being before, and yet, somehow, it’s still not enough. The hand between her teeth falls to grip Harry’s bulging bicep, and only now does she allow herself to observe to sheer amount of strength Harry must have to be able to hold her above him so effortlessly. Her legs dangle uselessly over his shoulders, his thick, beefy, veiny arms wrapped tightly over the thick of Y/N’s thighs, his grasp allowing him to tug her back to his mouth any time she tries to squirm away from the stimulation.

“S-sir,” she stammers shakily as Harry’s mouth moves down, his tongue dipping inside to taste her fully. The groan Harry lets out when her essence hits his tongue is downright nasty, pushing himself closer, until his tongue is stuffed as deep as it can go and his nose his pressed firmly to her sensitive clit. Her head rolls to the side, like the weight of it is too heavy to keep upright, her lashes fluttering and pants audible. “Fuck, feels s’fucking—” She chokes violently on the rest of her words when Harry flattens his tongue against her, running it up to her clit so tortuously slowly the constant sting behind Y/N’s eyes finally turns to real tears. Real, fat, pathetic tears that roll down her puffy, rosy cheeks in waves; pleasurable, insatiable waves. When his tongue finally reaches her achy clit, Harry’s tightens his grip around her thighs and pulls her into him roughly, popping of very briefly to demand, Look at me, Baby, before he’s flattening his tongue back out and nodding his head up and down. His tongue, wet and soft and thoughtful as it glides over her cunt, stays gentle with its strokes, building to the crescendo of their symphony suspensfully, smugly.

Y/N feels Harry’s smirk before she sees it, her sense of touch hyper aware compared to her sense of sight, blurry around the edges and speckled with dazzling stars. When her vision does even out, however, the sight of the bottom half of Harry’s face covered in his spit and her arousal, stuffed between her thighs, almost shuts it right back down. She’s entirely unsure of how she manages to not faint with the sight and feel of him combined, but she does, even as his hand slides up her front, over her tummy and sternum before tugging at the neckline of her gown, her tits spilling over, nipples pebbling instantly as the cool air washes over her newly exposed skin. Harry hums appreciatively at the sight from between her thighs, his hand coming to massage and grope the soft mounds of flesh. His fingers dance across her chest and his tongue twirls along her pussy, deft, calloused palms dropping down roughly against her perky breasts, the loud resounding smack! echoing loudly throughout the corridor.

“Ah! Sir!” she whimpers, the sad cry going straight to Harry’s cock. He grumbles into her, moving to stuff his tongue back inside of her while he delivers a sharp pinch to each of her pouty nipples, before delivering equally as sharp slaps to both her tits. The pain tickles a part of Y/N’s conscious she wasn’t aware she had. It licks deliciously at her spine, and nags her thoughts until it’s all she can think about. Until the tears are falling harder and her bottom lips is bitten cherry red and she’s whining out, “Ngh— More! I wan— Please.”

Harry, happy to see her voicing her desires without being prompted, easily obliges to her request, giving out three more viscous slaps to her burning tits. The harsh contact has the desired affect, slick gushing out of her clenching hole and into Harry’s mouth tenfold with every hit he delivers. The reaction makes Harry’s cock twitch, his length plump and leaky, neglected.

Harry’s mouth moves to trial kisses and love bites along her inner thighs, pulling halfhearted soughs and obscene whines from the precious thing held above him. “Y’taste s’good, Darlin’,” he groans into her flesh, nipping at the soft plush and letting out a satisfied rumble when he sees the purple-ish, pink mark left behind. His eyes find hers, hair mussed atop his head, eyes wild and vibrant and lust-swamped. Y/N can barely make out the greens of his eyes, but she can’t tell if it’s because his pupils are blown wide or her eyes are just too bleary. “Think I’m g’na eat this pretty cunt ‘til I’ve had my fill,” he mumbles to her, biting back a smirk when her breath audibly hitches. He tilts his head to the side, looking far too boyish and smug for Y/N’s heart (or pussy) to handle. “Y’like that idea, Sweetheart?” His voice holds a rasp it hadn’t just seconds prior, and she envies Harry for being able to control and contort the mood in such a way. “Like the idea of my tongue in your pretty pussy ‘til I’m fuckin’ drenched in you?”

“Yes,” she exhales heavily, the single word rushed out, like Harry would retract the offer if she didn’t agree quick enough (highly unlikely). “Yes, please. Please, Sir.”

“Good girl, such good manners,” he croons, mouthing over her thigh from the bend of her knee to the juncture between her leg and pelvis. And then his tongue is laving over her again, slurping and sucking and licking and kissing. He submerges himself into her until she’s the only thing he can see, feel, hear, taste. Until the only thought in his brain is the taste on his tongue and the woman it came from. “God, I wanna fuckin’ ruin you…”

Harry’s admittance is so gentle, Y/N is positive she wasn’t truly meant to hear it, but she does, and the “Christ,” she sobs out softly because of it is somehow raunchy and delicate at the same time. She curls into Harry, her hands gripping tightly onto his curls once more. Her hips start to move on their own accord, swiveling and grinding down against Harry’s tongue in frantic, needy juts and bucks, but Harry doesn’t mind. In fact, he quiet enjoys the feel of her humping into his tongue, all caution thrown to the wind, the worst of her depraved, whorish fantasies come to life. And as much as he does enjoy it—her clit bumping his nose perfectly over and over, his tongue covered in her juices, face soaking in it; her pretty, unfairly divine pussy smothering him into breathlessness—he does have a plan that he’d hoped to follow tonight.

Harry grips her thighs tight enough to still her hips, dipping his tongue inside of her twice before licking up and swirling his tongue around her puffy clit, achy and throbbing and begging for relief. She whines something nasty and incoherent at the feel, and he sucks for one, two, three seconds; waits for her breath to halt and body to tense; for her legs to start sharking and mouth to fall open in the perfect ‘o’, for her walls to clench desperately around nothing and her eyes to cross violently through the middle; waits for the last second before the peak of their symphony… and noisily pops off of her clit with a smirk. The pained gasp Y/N lets out is loud and slightly startling, and Harry enjoys it way too fucking much.

She’s slipping down the window and landing on hardwood floors before she has the chance to even think of protests, let alone get them out. Her legs wobble when her feet meet the ground, and she keeps her eyes to the floor to spare herself from the seeing the cocky smirk she knows Harry is sporting. Her cheeks burn as she tries to steady herself, righting her dress over her thighs and chest, but Harry’s arm is hooking behind her knees and back, and he’s lifting her bridal style. She squeals cutely and tucks herself into his chest as he lifts her up, her arms instinctively wrapping tightly around Harry’s neck. His eyes land on her, her fucked out, dreamy expression that sends a desperate twitch to his cock. His jaw ticks slightly as he begins to walk to what Y/N assumes is the bedroom, fingers digging deep into her soft flesh, but Y/N knows that by this time tomorrow she’ll be standing in front of the mirror, admiring each mark tainted on her skin like strokes from Van Gough’s brush.

Her suspicions are confirmed when Harry uses his foot to kick in a door at the end of the corridor to the right. The bedroom they enter is massive, with a huge California king sized bed in the center of the room, a large flat screen television mounted above a brick fireplace, two night stands with stand alone lamps atop each, and an en suite. The windows are floor to ceiling like the front of the penthouse, with some fancy remote hooked off to the side that controls the electronic blinds. The tones, much like what she���d briefly gazed at before, remain ominous; dark, charcoals and black, dusty browns and grays that Y/N would never, ever choose for her own home, but finds herself not minding in Harry’s home.

She’s thrown onto the bed before she has any more time to take in her surroundings, huffing gently as her body bounces with the force of her landing. Harry knees onto the bed as he shucks off his suit jacket, and Y/N shuffles to settle onto her knees and meet Harry half way. Desperate hands meet hot, sweaty bodies as they push fabric from each other. Harry makes quick work of her dress, tugging on each loose strap draped over her shoulder, pushing hastily at the fabric when it pulls at her ribs, and she helps him along by kicking the offending garment off and to the ground. Y/N’s shaky fingers work with some difficulty to unbutton Harry’s dress shirt, but she supposes the struggle was worth it, because when the last button is popped free, she shoves his shirt off his shoulders and nearly drools at what seems like the miles of ink swirling across his skin. She whimpers before she can stop herself, hands coming up to trace over the ridges of the moth sitting gorgeously along his stomach.

Harry is beautiful. It’s not as if the knowledge is new or different or surprising, but seeing him—all of him—all the sculpting and carving it took to create the human before her, it makes her step back and realize just how beautiful he is. Inexplicably.

“Sir,” she mumbles absently, her eyes trained on the soft firmness of his torso. The lines of his abs are hard to miss, and oh-so-lickable, and the ‘v’ leading straight down to the very prominent tent in Harry’s slacks makes Y/N’s thighs clench. She exhales an overly shaky breath, eyes trained on every twitch and shift of his body. She completely mesmerized by his beauty, so caught up in the uncharacteristically godly physique the Gods so charitably bestowed upon him, that the force of Harry pushing her so she falls back onto the bed and shoving her legs up laterally so they’re pressed down to her chest shocks her more than it should.

Harry basks in the sight of her naked skin, draped only in the diamonds that pulled her look together so elegantly for dinner. He thinks he’d like to buy her a couple more, perhaps with a charm or two, an H and an S. But, then again, maybe he’s getting ahead of himself.

He’s got her exactly where he wants her, spread out for him in every way, hair splayed out in a halo-esque array and arms thrown up beside her head, restless fingers scratching at the ridiculously comfortable Pratesi sheets beneath them (not that she’s in the right head space to take notice of their lustrous). His lips meet her navel in a supple tangency, wandering across the freckled expanse in cherishing pecks and velvety smears, until he’s low enough that he can feel the warmth of her cunt near his face once again.

Y/N’s head lifts impatiently from the mountain of pillows below it when she feels Harry stop, deep lines etched in between her eyebrows and across her forehead, its folds and gaps resembling a sort of trenching of the skin. The poor thing looks so distraught—her lashes clumpy and mascara runny, tear-streaked cheeks red and puffy, like her eyes, which are fraught with panic, desire, and just a tad bit of annoyance—Harry couldn’t possibly stop the condescending croon that falls from his mouth when he sees her.

His face contorts into a frown of its own, mocking her displeasure. “What’s the matter, Baby? Why the long face?” His lips brush her flesh enticingly with every word he speaks—something Harry is acutely aware of—the tantalizing sweeps causing Y/N’s back to lift slightly from the bed, but Harry’s hands quickly find the back of her thighs, forcing her back down until she’s sinking into the mattress and nearly sore with the way Harry’s got her folded up like a pretzel.

“More, please,” she whimpers weakly, her hands coming up to rest on top of his, and if her fingers slip through his and squeeze tightly, neither her nor Harry mention anything about it. And maybe Harry’s fingers squeeze back, but no acknowledgement is exchanged.

Harry bites his lip at her sweet begging, hard enough to inspire the fear of drawing blood, but not enough to tear his attention away from the glowing deity beneath him. And though he remains unsatisfied with her answer—knows that if he really wanted to he could drag this out more then he already plans to and make her spell it out for him—he’s far too riled up to prolong the inevitable that much more. So, with some semblance of mercy, he drops down to slip his tongue back into her with any further probing.

Y/N somehow finds it in herself to be embarrassed—now, of all times—at how exposed she is, so open and vulnerable for Harry, and Harry alone. The thought of it makes her dangerously muddy in the head, and yet in thinking about it too hard she’s worked herself up so much, too much, and now her cheeks are burning and every little sound she makes sounds so screechy and annoying to her, and— Jesus, when did she get so puffy?

Harry, ever the observer, grips onto her hands tighter, pulling her focus back to him, and even with his face sticky and hair messy and eyes dark, he manages to look so soft and kind when her gazes at her.

“Look at me,” he whispers to her gently. She settles almost instantly when their eyes meet, breaths evening slightly and her shoulders dropping (she hadn’t even realized they’d tensed up). Harry thinks he’s got eyes the shape of hearts as he watches her submit for him. Submit to him. “Good; good girl, don’t look away…” His mouth slides onto the back of her thigh, lips intentional with each press and peck delivered, caressing silken flesh that he’s slowly becoming addicted to. “Rule number three, y’look at me when I’m makin’ y’feel good, got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Y/N whines, nodding once for good measure. Harry doesn’t make her (or himself) suffer any longer, his moves to fit his head between her thighs, fixes his grip to make sure he’ll stop any potential squirming, and buries himself in her.

His tongue finds her clit first, licking incessantly at the oversensitive, swollen bundle, until the hands that are settled over his squeeze hard. Harry chuckles into her, his smile felt with every slide and swipe given to her achy pearl. She mewls lewdly, thinks she feels drool spilling from the corner of her mouth but she can’t be too sure, her lashes sweeping prettily along her under-eye, lids struggling to remain open as the seconds tick by, as Harry wraps his lips around her clit and sucks gently, rolling and pinching and nipping, his tongue coming out now and again to give saccharine kitten licks that make Y/N’s tummy tense with indescribable pleasure. The way his mouth moves against her is sinful; the twirls and intricate patterns laved over her petals; the cruel suckles that are far rougher than needed; the gentle, thoughtful strokes of his warm, wet tongue; all of it, everything he does. It’s so consuming that all she can feel is Harry, all she can hear, all she can see, all she can think about. He’s everywhere, taking up every inch of her space, completely crowding her until the only thing in her head is HarryHarryHarry.

She’s so overwhelmed with the sensation of him that she doesn’t registered his long, thick fingers slipping from hers and dancing tentatively toward her leaky hole. She doesn’t feel the calloused tips prodding at her vulva, spreading her out for him; doesn’t really feel them running over her clit, even if she shakes and moans out cutely all the same; she just barely feels them dip inside, but they’re rushing back out as soon as she takes note of it. She does, however, register Harry’s pause, the way he pulls back with pursed lips, swollen and red, and spits right on her cunt. He watches, mesmerized, as it spreads over her, slicking her further (though it’s certainly not necessary), before it trickles down, down, down to her second, untouched hole. His bottom lip is back between his teeth, as if it belongs there whenever he’s gazing at Y/N, and his thumb moves to prod gently at the puckered entrance.

Y/N gasps at the sudden contact, but surprises herself by almost melting into the mattress because of it. She’s never taken herself as someone who’d be into exploring… that. In fact, she can’t say that she’s given it much thought at all. There was no point, it always seemed so odd; why put it there when there’s a perfectly wet, snug, reasonable hole already at your disposal? With Harry’s thumb lightly pushing at her, eyes surveying her expression for any trepidation, her hole winking with every soft pestle he gives her, she thinks she finally sees the point.

“Want me here, Darlin’?” Harry mutters when he catches the way her eyes glaze over from his touches. “Want my mouth, right here?” He pushes forward to emphasize his words, a pitchy cry leaving Y/N when the tip of his thumb slips inside. She’s too wound up to answer, physically and mentally, they both know it. But the drone of incoherent pleading, jumbled words strung together in incomprehensible sentences; God, watching Y/N struggle to appease him like he’s some sort of king does wonders to his ego, which is dangerous in and of itself.

“Wan’ i-it, please, Sir! Wan’ y-your mouth… d-down there.” Her cheeks flare with heat, a crinkle in her forehead as the words, so inexplicit, fall from her lips. Harry wants to laugh at her timid demeanor, finds it sort of silly that she’s acting all coy now when not ten seconds ago his tongue was pressing perfectly against the swell of her clit, lulling and rolling the swollen nub deliciously. Instead, he lowers back down and wordlessly replaces his thumb with his slick tongue, prodding at her hole, licking in tight, controlled circles that make Y/N’s tummy spark with flames of rapacious desire. Her nails, hands restless against the back of her thighs, claw deeply into plush flesh, staggered breaths racking through her pleasure-stricken body, causing her to thrash against Harry’s grip futilely. Scarlet sprouts beneath her nails, small specks smudging together to create a sizable stain of blood on her supple skin.

Harry tuts softly at the sight, “None of that, Baby. I’m the only one allowed to ruin you, yeah?”

“Yes, Sir. M’sorry,” she whimpers, caused by both his gentle reprimand and the prospect of his words, of what he’s going to do to her.

“Hush, nothing t’be sorry for…” The last end of Harry’s sentence ends up muffled, his tongue too busy forming feather-light patterns over her cunt. He nurses on her sensitive pearl, spit pooling through her folds as he sloppily sucks and slurps at it. He groans when there’s a light scratch to his scalp before a sharp tug, leaving behind a pleasurable sting that makes him a bit dizzy. Y/N’s fingers yank on soft strands of hair as Harry strums her delicate cords perfectly, the crescendo of her pleasure growing with each flick, twirl, and suckle of his tongue.

When Harry’s fingers ease back inside of her, thick and long, the stretch delicious and depth otherworldly, Y/N convulses into him, her lashes fluttering rapidly as her hands run through Harry’s chocolate curls, pushing him deeper into her while her mouth gapes and words sprinkle out disjointedly.

“I- oh, oh f-fuck! Ha- Sir! G’na… I’m…” Her breathes stutter jaggedly, rough interruptions to her confession, but Harry understands her all the same. He’s tempted to give in to her. How could he not be, when she’s moaning for him and yanking on his hair, trying to shove him as close to her cunt as possible, desperate to find release from him. He’s positive the sweetness of her essence would only intensify tenfold, that her plush thighs would tremble and her hands woulds squeeze and scratch at his scalp while her bambi eyes crossed dumbly in the middle and her cute, raspy voice would echo throughout his entire penthouse. He, honestly, wants to give in to her, doesn’t think he can stop himself from it.

But… the thought of her, desperate and sweaty, begging for him cock wantonly, not in the shy way she’s been referring to such explicit things, Harry wants that more. He’s got to break her first, though.

So, he pulls back. He fights against the force of her grip (which is deceptively strong for such a delicate, tiny thing) and leaves a final flick to her throbbing clit before he’s so far from her center that the warmth of his breath can no longer be felt against her. He feels slightly guilty for his cruelty at the pained cry Y/N let’s out, the way her eyes scrunch shut in frustration and devastation at another lost orgasm. He almost apologizes and finishes her off when her eyes open again and he sees them glossy with tears.

Her heartwrenching hiccup of, “Kissie, please,” erases any other thought from his head than doing just that, however.

Harry lets his weight fall into her, her legs coming to wrap securely around his trim waist with her hands clutching tightly to his shoulders, and he kisses her. Eases in, pets his tongue over her bottom lip and waits patiently to be invited in (which does not take much time at all), then licks into her mouth leisurely, lulls his tongue over hers in a simple way that she can keep up with, but still filthy enough to make her head muggy with desire. His lips are supple as the move against hers, his hands gravitating toward the dip of her hips, tracing lethargic figures into her deft skin.

Y/N curls into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his thick strands of brunette hair, scratching softly at his scalp as she moans and bleats into his mouth between kisses. Her brows furrow as the taste of him—mild and sweet, like vanilla buttercream—soaks her tongue, flooding her mind with daydreams of rough hands cradling her face as if she were a porcelain doll, lips lissom as they kiss across her cheek bones—one placed to her nose, two for each of her eyelids—before capturing her mouth, nipping and suckling until she’s breathless.

She doesn’t have the brain capacity to be upset when Harry finally pulls away from her, and he doesn’t give her much time to be, either. He flips them so she’s on top, her hair all mussed from the sudden change.

Settling into their new position, Harry takes a moment to appreciate the glow of her aura in his bedroom. This deity, with her soft body and adorable smile, bright as the north star, surrounded by heaps of excessively expensive charcoal grey Italian sheets, rusty oak décolletage, and midnight black walls, caging her in. It’s a wonder she manages to be so vibrant and precious in a space such as this, but Harry thinks he likes that about her, maybe a little too much.

“Up y’go, Pet,” He murmurs after a beat, the nickname new and mostly mindless, but the way Y/N shudders and digs her nails into his chest makes him file it away for safe keeping, and notes to try out more… mocky names later.

Even if Harry’s choice of title works Y/N up more than it should, she still manages to fix him with a confused stare at his request. Her lips, kiss-swollen and a vibrant rosey-red, morph into a frown and her brows pull together in the middle; what could he possibly want her to more up for?

Harry offers a faint belly laugh at her reaction, the muscles of his stomach tensing and relaxing with each unintentional bleat. His hands move to brush along her ankles, fingertips dancing gently over her calves, toward her thighs, then gripping hard and shifting her forcefully upward, mutters, “Y’so cute, Darlin’,” but gives up no explanation to quell her confusion. And she doesn’t bother voicing her concern, too curious to find out what he has in store. No, instead she makes his job easier and crawls up until his hands halt her actions.

A shutter of a breath shakes up and out of Y/N’s throat, his eyes transfixed on the emerald obs burning through her soul, her thighs spread and pillowing each side of Harry’s head. Her fingers curl around the lip of Harry’s headboard, scrapping the intricately carved wood as his own fingers skip up her thighs and curl into her flesh and—

Oh.

Oh.

———

“Oh, my God!”

“You’re okay, Baby.”

Harry’s fingers glide easily in and out of Y/N, his nose nudging perfectly against her clit with every shift of her hips. With his had that’s gripping her thigh, he tugs Y/N farther into him, closer to is insatiable tongue that laves over her petals, poking into her beside his he fingers. His curls tickle her flesh when he shakes his head from side to side, his spit mixing messily with her slick as he massages it into her cunt. She’s dripping onto his chest, discharge practically flowing out of her like a river. The strokes of his tongue and fingers are gentle but firm, eliciting sounds from Y/N she wasn’t aware she knew how to make. His fingers are so thick and long, hooking to push against that spot every single time he fucks them into her.

So much is happening, so much, and it’s consuming everything that she is. She can’t muse over his ministrations because if she does she’ll realize he’s playing with her fucking flawlessly. It doesn’t make sense the way his skin against hers sends little zaps up her spine and a swarm of butterflies to her tummy. It doesn’t make sense the way his eyes seem endless; she’s certain if they weren’t so preoccupied she’d being staring into them for hours. It makes absolutely no sense the way his hands mold to her body, how his lips kiss her just so, how he’s so… right.

Harry pulls back, tonging across her inner-thigh, his teeth nipping just to make her squirm. His voice is raspy as he drawls, “Look at that, y’pretty pussy’s all messy,” and Y/N thinks that a mouth attached to a face like his shouldn’t be able to say such obscene things, for her overall well-being. “S’tight, too, Sweet girl, she can barely fit my fingers.”

“Mmph,” Y/N huffs, her thighs starting to tremble when Harry pecks her clit repeatedly, just pressing soft kisses on her achy pearl.

“What’s tha’?” Harry’s smirk is telling, not one of his words or actions is unintentional, he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing.

God, she could strangle him.

She whimpers, her lashes fluttering while she struggles to hold his eye contact. And Harry’s proud of her, truly, because he’s ripped away two more orgasms (and about to rip away another), he’s been relentless in his (mild) humiliation, he’s marked her up and thrown her around like the pliable doll she’s allowed herself to become, and pretty little Y/N has taken all of his cruelty in stride. Fat, glistening tears are the only thing that give away her frustration, that and her cute, pitiful moans and bleats of pleasure. She’s sweaty and tired, her skin is flushed, her hair is sticking to any patch of skin it can, and her makeup had started melting long ago. Yet, Harry thinks this is probably the most beautiful state he’ll ever see her in.

“You’re such a good girl, Baby, you know that?” He brings his free hand up to grope her chest, deft fingers going to tweak and twist her puffy nipples. Her chest arches into his touch, her plush bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Takin’ everything I give you, yeah?”

Y/N drops a hand from the headboard to push Harry’s damp curls away from his forehead, delicately mewling, Y-yeah, as her eyes trace his features.

“Yeah, been so good for me, Darlin’.” His fingers slip from her then, and she cries so prettily at the loss, feeling brutally empty without them. He shushes her instantly (“I know, I’m sorry. It’s okay, Sweet girl, you’re okay.”), placing both his hands on her waist and carefully moving her to settle on her knees in front of him as he moves to do the same. His lips find her collarbone, smearing sweet kisses and stifling her whimpers, “Shh, Sweetheart, you’re okay, aren’t you?” The kisses trail up, her neck tingles in their wake, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He pulls back, cradles her tear-streaked cheeks in his big hands, his thumbs soothing her puffy under eyes. He waits for the fluttering of her lashes to settle, for the glaze over her irises to clear and her pretty eyes to focus on him, before whispering, “What’s y’color, Darlin’?”

“Green,” she says, breathlessly, but without hesitation. It makes Harry smile, her bravery, to give herself up to him so completely, even if she doesn’t fully comprehend that yet.

He leans down the short few inches between them to connect their lips in a peck that’s chaste but intimate all the same. The noses bump as he tilts his head, both sighing deeply as their mouths slot and tongues glide when the kiss open up for more.

More. She wants more. She wants him.

Y/N’s hands find purchase on Harry’s pecs, her palms pawing at his firm, sticky skin as the move lower, as slowly and subtly as she can manage. But Harry notices, of course, he does. No matter how stealthy she may think she’s being, Y/N’s hand shake violently against his skin, quivering in a way that works his ego up far too much.

“What’cha doin’, Darlin?” He smirks, his hands falling from her cheeks to grasp her wrists.

Y/N pouts up at him, her eyes silently begging. “Sir,” she whines, the single syllable drawn out. Her hands move lower, even in his grip, until her fingers curl into the lip of his belt. Harry arches a brow at her, but Y/N is stubborn in her silence, and persistent in her silent pleading. After a few long, tense moments, he gives in; she’d been so perfect otherwise, hadn’t she?

“You wanna play with me now, is that it?” Y/N’s eyes widen slightly, and that glaze from before is back in an instant, her head bobbing up and down robotically in agreement. Harry smirks, and that dark glint from before at the restaurant is in his eye once more, glowing in the moonlight. “Go on, then, Pet.”

Y/N makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers, even with her trembling hands, shooing the garments to the floor as soon as they’re off. His cock, stiff as a rock, dauntingly long and thick, slaps against his firm belly when it’s free of its confinement. The tip is flushed a deep, ruddy pink, smeared with pre-cum and bleating more pearly droplets. Her mouth waters as his heady aroma hits her smack in the face, and she inhales deeply before nuzzling into him impishly.

Harry gasps, his eyelids gaining more weight, his hands coming to brush her hair out of her face and into a makeshift ponytail. She rubs him into her face unabashedly, slobbering sloppily onto his stocky length. Her lips pout against his head, coating them in his slick, her tongue peaking out to give him an experimental lick.

He coos at her hesitancy—he can’t contemplate her total 180 in demeanor at this moment—fixing his grip on her hair before gently nudging her forward.

“Go ‘head, Baby, keep bein’ good f’me.” She goes lax against him at his request (demand), allowing her lips to part, finally submerging herself in his essence. Harry soughs delightfully at the first touch of her silken tongue against his stiff prick, laving coyly over his leaky slit. “Tha’s it, good girl,” he praises, bringing a hand down to cradle her jaw and ease her closer to him, her lips wrapping tentatively around the tip.

Y/N’s eyes flutter to a close, her thoughts trickling out of her ear like a waterfall—a big wave that wipes out all in its path. She feels her limbs liquefy, the signals her brain is so used to sending, firing away a mile a minute, suddenly cease all action. It’s… quiet as her mouth lowers to take more of his cock, weighted and smooth on her tongue. She sucks gently, her head beginning to bob up and down, her hands coming to squeeze tightly around his girth, twisting and pumping what she hasn’t yet worked into her mouth. Her movements are careful, and convicted; the pace she’s set is sinful, tormentingly slow, her grip just the perfect mix between cradling and suffocating, and her mouth… she’s soft, and warm on the inside, not to mention unbearably slippery.

She hums when he eventually reaches the back of her throat, finds that her nose is much closer to his navel than she’d originally thought when she opens her eyes again, her hands dropped to fondle and squeeze his full, heavy balls. Spit slips from the corners of her mouth, pooling to drip from the point of her chin. She chances a look up at Harry, her thighs pressing and rubbing together harshly at the sight she’s met with. His hair—chocolate-y and fluffy, luscious with spirally tendrils—falls beautifully over his forehead, casting a devastatingly captivating shadow over his face. His eyes hang low with uncharted desire, his cheeks flushed a healthy rouge that makes him look pleasantly boyish, and his grip on her hair and jaw tightens, turns more forceful with each suckle she gives to him.

His hands guide her along his length, until he’s nestled deep in her snug throat, his soft patch of pubic hair tickling her nose. Harry groans as the vibrations of her gentle humming rack through his entire body, his hips stuttering, jamming his cock further down her mouth.

She gags around him, whimpering as her hands shoot to his thighs, her nails scraping down his tough skin, piercing his milky flesh.

Harry grunts roughly, “I’m- shit! M’sorry, Darlin’.” He loosens his grip, letting her pull back to inhale greedy gulps of air. “You okay, Baby?”

His thumb comes to stroke her bottom lip, wiping away the slick spit that still clings in a string to his aching cock. His jaw ticks as he tries to ignore its constant throbbing, but Y/N—with her teary, red-rimmed eyes and glossy, swollen lips—certainly isn’t making things any easier.

“M’okay, Sir,” she mumbles once she’s returned her breathing to normal, and she wastes no time in taking Harry back into her mouth, relaxing her throat for him as much as she can and easily allowing him to slip inside until he can’t reach any farther. She sighs deeply through her nose, her eyes incessant, holding his bleary gaze as she just… holds him there.

Spit pools on her tongue, swashing on the underside of his prick, and she happily massages it in, paying special attention to the thick vein that runs from the base of his cock to the frenulum, deliberate as her ministrations remain delicate. Her hands slide from the front to the back of his thighs, and she takes Harry by great surprise as she pushes him closer to her, encouraging his accidental thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs, releasing his now sloppy grip on her hair to regather the soft tufts, and he feels her giddy smile of anticipation around his cock, sees the cheerful flash in the sparkle of her eyes as he rears his hips back cautiously, hears the absolutely disgusting gag that rips from her throat when he shoves himself back down, and he marvels in it. His whole body warms as he watches his cock disappear into her mouth, bulging prominently at the base of her throat, and he fucking eats it up. He gradually builds a steady, brutal pace, sure to leave a bruise on the inside, and a satisfying ache to her jaw. Tears prick at her waterline with every violent nudge he delivers, she swallows around him, squeezing his tip as her eyes squeeze shut when the first tears falls.r

Harry collects it on the pad of his calloused thumb, swiping the salty liquid away. “Relax, Sweetheart,” he offers halfheartedly, too consumed by every sensation she brings him to give up much else. Loud wet noises fill his vast bedroom as he drills himself into her soft mouth, the affects going straight between both of their thighs. Y/N swears she feels him swell against her tongue, but she’s no better, her inner-thighs sticky and hot. He throbs when she begins to fight back against his strokes, trying to once again hold him in her mouth, but Harry can tell—immediately—she wants the challenge, wants him to rough her up, use her. “I said, relax.”

He drops both his hands to grasp her jaw then—makeshift ponytail be damned—and forces her mouth open and head to still. He works himself into her at his desired pace again, her muffled pleas falling on deaf ears. Groans slip from his mouth easily, his slit dribbling pre-cum down her throat that Y/N sucks down insatiably.

“There we go,” he soughs, his head lulling to the side.

Her spit glides evenly along his length, throat contracting like a vice every time she gags, and he feels dizzy, the warmth in his body sending waves of heat up that cloud his mind. Her struggle against his grip is still so very evident, but it’s fruitless. Harry’s grip is far too strong, too taken with the feeling to release her, keeping her in the perfect position to defile her tongue, sliding in and out with a practiced ease that makes her tummy stir with something ugly.

Harry glares down at her when her hands push against his thighs again, delivering a practically bruising thrust. She whines, her brows cinching, and she pets her tongue over him more vigorously in defiance.

He hisses, yanking his prick out of her mouth. “Cut it out,” Harry glowers, his gaze hard. Her bambi, fuzzy eyes suggest his words flew right over her head, and her advance to envelope him once more proves that. “Oi! What’d I just say?”

Her face falls slightly then, her head bowing as her chin tucks into her chest. The tears that had been pricking from a place of pleasure no stem from a place of regret. She hadn’t meant to push too far, only to please him—all she wants to do is make him feel good, as good as he made her feel.

She sniffles, “M’sorry, Sir.”

He kicks her chin back up, his gaze still undoubtedly pointed, but there’s a faint cloud of softness that was not there mere moments before.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Darlin’, you need to listen to me, okay?” Harry’s voice is no louder than a mutter when he speaks to her, admiring her clumpy lashes and makeup streaked face. His thumbs begin to brush at her under eyes—he finds that he quite likes doing that—and he presses a kiss to the tip of her nose when she gives him a gentle nod and, Okay, Sir. “I’m here to take care of you, Baby, so let me.” He turns her head back to him when she looks to the side, suddenly finding the large windows much more interesting than Harry in this moment. “Y’were doin’ so good before,” he whispers, pulling her in by his grasp on her jaw. “What happened, Sweetheart? Where’d my good girl go?” He bumps their noses together, giving her three chaste nips to the mouth and nothing more. She whines (at both his lack of full kiss and choice of words), and Harry shushes her, “Bad girls don’t get real kisses, Darlin’.”

And that—that—would absolutely not do.

The stinging from those pesky tears has now turned to a thousand stab wounds, the salty droplets pooling at her waterline faster than ever before. They drip freely as she scrambles closer to him, desperate to fix her mistake. Her mouth guppies unknowingly, the savory of her tears tainting her tongue. She flounders helplessly over her apologies, vowing to be better, to be good.

“I’m sorry, M’sorry, didn’t mean to be bad, promise,” she babbles, her view of him obscured and wobbly. “Please, I’ll be good.” Her hands grapple at his shoulder—and his settle in the dip of her waist—arms slinging around his shoulder, clambering most inelegantly into his lap. Her voice breaks through her confession, “I just wanna be good f’you, Sir.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Harry nods, falling slowly into the mattress, guiding her to rest completely on him, chest to chest. He wipes uselessly at her tears, pulling damp hair from her sticky skin and twisting until it sits squarely at the back of her head. He reaches to the left with his free hand and tugs open a drawer, rummaging through the contents before pulling out an elastic band. He punches the drawer shut before thoughtfully tying up Y/N’s hair, allowing the cool breeze from the AC to grace the back of her neck.

“Thank you, Sir,” she mumbles into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding.

“You’re very welcome, Darlin’,” Harry smiles. His hands, purchased on her waist once again, squeeze periodically, and her breathing matches both the beat of his pulses and the thrum of his heart. Harry allows them both this moment of reprieve—though they both know they’re far from finished for the night—his face nuzzled into the bend of her shoulder, occasionally sniffing her floral aroma.

Neither of them confront their simultaneous thoughts of mild apprehension. Neither call out the fact that they’re practically strangers, that they’d met possibly six hours ago, at best, and that the level of intimacy they’re sharing right now is unusual, if not highly inappropriate.

Neither of them bring it up, even though they probably should, because there’s also a part of them that knows doing what their doing is okay…it’s needed.

Harry is still painfully hard when he starts to sense Y/N growing restless. Her thighs shift at his sides, tensing ever-so-slightly. She nuzzles farther into his chest, moaning something airy into his chest.

“Sir,” she mumbles, pushing back just enough to capture his eye. She tries her luck at pleading silently, though she expects Harry’s impatient brow lift.

“Talk to me, use your words, Baby,” he whispers, offering her hips another squeeze, not in time with her breathing.

“Please,” she whimpers, frowning down at him.

That disappointed glare she’s come to dislike so (she fucking loves it) returns, his grip on her waist becoming more forceful. “Use your fucking words, Y/N. Don’t make me say it again.”

Her pout is clear and mind-numbing, her eyes glazed and pleading, but she’s not dumb enough to push Harry any further. No, she wants to be good for him, no matter how humiliating it is doing so. So, she drops her gaze to her lap, fiddles nervously with her fingers behind his neck and very, very hesitantly mumbles, “P-please, please, f-fuck me, Sir.”

Harry’s mouth is on hers as soon as the words tumble out of her mouth sheepishly. His hands slide up the expanse of her back, pushing her closer to him, willing her to collapse in his embrace, to crumble or submit, as she had before. She mewls sweetly when his tongue breeches through the seam of her lips and pets at her own, shoulders tensed in that way only an otherworldly, severe kiss can make them. Somewhere in all the mess of spit and tongue and smooching, Y/N finds herself settled on her back, Harry fit snug between her quivering thighs, soft padding softening her careful descent.

He reaches for the same drawer that he’d produced a hair tie from, moving kiss trail of kisses down to wisp up and down her neck and along her collarbone. He bites here and there, sucks deep purple bruises that make her toes curl and eyes threaten to come to a permanent close. His fingers fiddle loudly inside the drawer, until he’s snatching out a little foil packet and shooting back from Y/N, like her skin suddenly burns to the touch. If not for the obvious show he makes of placing that condom between his teeth and ripping away (in an uncharacteristically, unnecessarily sexy way), Y/N might’ve thought her skin did burn to the touch.

His eyes don’t stray from her as he rolls the rubber onto his thick cock, giving himself one, two, three readying pumps—that make his tip dribble out copious amounts of pre-cum, an amount that could be borderline concerning—before inching those few inches closer and experimentally nudging the head against the hood of Y/N’s clit.

Harry had gathered within the first ten to fifteen minutes of their meeting that Y/N was perhaps an oversensitive person. And, even still, the way her entire body wracks with near painful-looking shudders makes his head spin and cock jump. He sighs softly, rutting his hips into hers, smearing his pre-cum into her petals and poor, puffy clit over, and over, and over, and over again. Until her bottom lip quivers and those big, fat, pitiful tears are back—the ones he likes—and she clenching and unclenching her fists in the sheets relentlessly.

“Ask,” Harry demands.

“Ask me for what you want.” Y/N knows, logically, that Harry is speaking to her. There’s no one else in the room, who else would he be speaking to? But, his tone is so flat, so bored, and his eyes don’t stray an inch from his thick length smooshing her pussy. She doesn’t feel like she’s being spoken to so much as being spoken through, as if she’s just a pretty object at his disposal, a toy to be played with, a means to an end. It makes something near crippling slither up her back, twisting around her spine and shrinking her down to an itty bitty, tiny whiny ball of anything. Anything Harry wants her to be.

That near crippling feeling doesn’t render her fearful like it usually does—unfortunately, she’s very familiar with a strikingly similar crippling feeling—it makes her feel safe and cared for, looked after, cherished, even. And that does make her fearful.

“In, I wan’— I— Please, inside, please,” she blubbers, pawing desperately at his hips to yank him into her when the sheets can no longer hold her over.

“Hmm…,” Harry hums, so absently, tapping his tip on her pearl, barely reacting when she folds into him at the faint pressure. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to, Sweetheart. Could you be more specific for me?”

Y/N wants the mattress to open up and swallow her whole.

She frowns and squeezes her eyes shut, suppressing a groan in her belly, and works up the courage to say the words aloud. Because she has to. She has to, for herself, even more so than Harry (even though she really, really wants to do it for him, too).

“I wan’ yo— y-your cock inside, please, Sir. Inside my… my pussy.”

Harry smiles—she can’t see it, but she feels the warmth of its glow against her burning skin. Which is why the perpetual sting that lingers on her right cheek takes her by such surprise. It wasn’t a slap—God, no, she was much too precious to be slapped—nor was the actual contact overtly painful, but it’s…shocking! It’s shocking but it’s not really… bad either. It certainly wasn’t how it felt when Mace—

No. No, Y/N doesn’t want to think about that right now, she doesn’t want to think about him. She wants to think about Harry and his pretty cock and his big, beefy arms, and his pretty hair. He’s got pretty eyes, too, doesn’t he? Pretty lips, pretty lashes, pretty tattoos. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Harry is so pretty.

Harry snorts, cradling her cheek and soothing the buzz and red print of his palm, “That’s not what I said, Dummy.”

“I’m—” Her mouth snaps shut—had she truly said that aloud?—her gaze a little hazy around the edges, her thoughts moving a little slower, her body feeling a little heavier, but undeniably relaxed, pleasant. And she thinks maybe Harry notices—he notices everything, doesn’t he?—leaning closer so his body is shielding hers, covering her body like someone would barge in and see them in such a vulnerable state. He shifts his hips down, using his free hand to guide his now concerningly hard prick into her tight snatch. He slips the head into her with a soft pop, chocked gasps rising out of both of their throats at the first taste of solidarity. He doesn’t move, he schools his hips to a halt and strokes gently at Y/N’s slightly rouge cheek.

“What’s your color?” There’s a soft shift in his eye. Y/N’s positive she sees the seafoam of them more clearly, in this small moment of reprieve. But, that could just be her hazy mindset.

“Green,” she responds immediately.

Harry nods, his eyes flitting back and forth between her own, carefully deciphering her body language as well as verbal, before they trail down to her collarbone, and her chest; the soft, pert peaks of her pouty nipples…

The seafoam is gone as quick as it came.

His eyes find her lips, her eyes, her lips, then her eyes again.

“C’mon, Darlin’, ask. Ask Daddy, properly, for what y’want, okay?”

And that…

Y/N thinks she likes that. A lot.

“Will y’put y’cock inside me, Daddy… please?” Y/N says, softly, with a subtle shyness, but un-hesitant, direct. “Deep?” She tacks on quickly, aware Harry is likely to humiliate her for not being specific enough.

Harry doesn’t punish her with anymore games (if she thought that was punishment, she was in for a real rude awakening some day), he slips his cock into her warm, snug hole in one swift motion—she’s more than wet enough to take it—falling into her so that the weight of their centers mix together in a lovingly suffocating manner.

“Good girl,” Harry praises, and Y/N keens, melting under his weight, falling into his hypnotizing gaze, submitting to his titillating ministrations. “Good fuckin’ girl, Baby, squeezin’ my cock in this tight, pretty little pussy.”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” she whines, her lashes fluttering and entire body shuddering—violently.

Harry smiles, kissing her nose as he pulls all the way out, the leaky head of his cock grazing her messy pussy lips, her hole pulsing, clenching over and over around nothing. And being the cruel, sadistic, asshole-y man that he is, he sweetly admits to her, “You’re so cute, Baby,” while stuffing his cock in her cunt to the hilt.

“O-o— Oh!” She cries, her eyes rolling back, back arching off the bedding and into Harry’s chest. “Deep, deep, Daddy.” She flops back into the mattress as he starts a consistent pace, his perfect cock-head pushing into that spot with every precise stroke. “Y’cock is r-real deep, Daddy,” she whimpers.

“Yeah?” He pouts, mocking her ruined expression—mascara streaks and tear stains, smeared lip gloss; dried spit, wet spit, clumpy lashes, big, fat, cry-baby tears. His cry-baby. He tells her as much. “Daddy’s cock is real deep? S’deep in y’little belly, huh, Cry-Baby?”

“Ngh!”

“Yeah, s'deep in my dumb little cry-baby, ain’t that right, Sweetheart?”

Y/N’s thighs can only tighten around Harry in response. She mewls stupidly, drool slipping from the seam of her mouth gradually, her eyes getting too heavy to keep open. She thinks… she thinks she’s gonna close her eyes. Yes, she’s gonna close her eyes and feel the way Harry’s cock glides through her, fucking into her pussy so smoothly, filling her up so completely. Only, that sting on her cheek is back the minute her eyes so much as flit downward, let alone close (his strokes do not falter, however).

“Answer y’Daddy when he talks to you, Dummy.”

“Yes! Yes, y’so deep in my pussy, Daddy!” She squeals, curling into Harry chest, her head tucked in the bend of his neck, hands clawing into his shoulders, breaths fanning fervently across his collarbone. And Harry lets her, figures he’s put her through enough for the evening, that she deserves to bask in the pleasure the way she needs to.

“Atta girl,” he encourages gently, leaning back to sit on his haunches, rolling his hips into hers, filling her cunt and pressing into spots she didn’t know existed before tonight. She feels every vein along his thick cock as he works himself inside of her. An embarrassing ring of arousal has gathered at his base, the near translucent white tainting his tufts of pubic hair.

His hands slide down to the junctures of her thighs, his thumbs soothing circles into her flushed skin, bruised and marked up with Harry’s insatiable want for her. Y/N falls back against the pillows in a heap of jelly-like limbs, melting into the soft Italian sheets like a deflating soufflé. She struggles to hold her eyes open, but she keeps her gaze on Harry, in all his chiseled, tattooed, sweaty, beefy glory. Vision blurry around the edges, weightless and floaty sensations flowing through her body, as if produced like a chemical compound from her body—constant, unwavering, endless—vital to her survival and posterity. Her hands fell—like limp spaghetti noodles—to the pillows on either side of her head, and her fingers wiggle unconsciously, mewls and sad little whimpers trickling out of her mouth, and… and… Christ, he feels so good. Daddy feels so, so, so fucking good. And yet, somethings off.

Somewhere through the big cloudy haze of pleasure and greed in her mind, Y/N just thinks it could be… better. Not to say that Daddy was doing bad or anything—Gosh, no, he’s so close to perfection it could hurt—of course, not! It’s just that something was missing, she knew it, could feel it in the core of her soul.

“Mmph, Daddy…,” she soughs, watery and pitiful, her head lulling to the side on its mountain of pillows, eyes squeezing shut and face tucking into the bed of her elbow. She nuzzles there, breathing shallow, shuddery breaths out through her mouth erratically.

“Speak up, Baby’,” Daddy gripes gently, his soft tone and strokes of his thumbs across the juncture of her thighs a direct contrast to his brutal, bruising thrusts. His hips fit like puzzle pieces between the plush of Y/N’s two marshmallow-like thighs, scattered with Daddy’s marks. “Ask Daddy for what you want, don’t make me tell you again.”

She wants to, she does! But she doesn’t know what she wants in the first place, how’s she supposed to open her mouth and explain it to Daddy?

She whines, “I’m—Feels… feels…”

Daddy’s grip tightens—oh, he’s so strong—tugging Y/N flush into the base of his cock, buried to hilt inside her snug little cunt, her clit winking at him from beneath its hood.

“Feels what, Darlin’? Spit it out,” he encourages, eyeing her bundle of nerves. His thumb finds the overused pearl, rolling it underneath the calloused pad in messy, frantic swipes. Up and down. He moves his hips languidly, makes it look proper easy, cock-head kissing her cervix, faint pubic hair tickling her soft mound and swollen labia, causing shivers to erupt through her body. His cock takes up all the space inside of her—she’s positive she’d genuinely tear in half if he attempted to stick anything else up there—molding her cunt to him, ruining her pleasure for anyone other than him, while he ruts and humps, fucking into her deliciously. In and out.

The thumb over her clit picks up speed.

Up and down.

Daddy subtly decreases his pace, until he’s jamming his cock into her entirely stretched out, sloppy hole in rough, pleasurably painful strokes.

In and out.

Up and down.

In and out.

Upandowninandoutupandowninandoutupandowninandout.

“Feels—O-oh, my fucking—” More pressure is added to her clit, his free palm pressing into her bulging tummy. “Feels d-disc-connected, D-daddy. Wan’ it… I wan’ it off.”

Daddy offers her an expectant brow, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, sweat droplets sliding down his temple, along his back, all over his chest. “Y’wan’ what off, Cry-Baby?”

“The c-condom,” she cries desperately, muffled in the flesh of her elbow. “Off, Daddy! Wan’ it off! Off, off, off!” She blabbers the single word repeatedly, trying to get Daddy to understand—didn’t he understand? Didn’t he feel it too, the disconnect? Didn’t he know that without that pesky, useless little rubber, they’d both feel so much better?

Daddy—like the damned angel he is—shushes her incessant whining, the hand pressing on her belly coming up to swipe away the salty tears falling down her rosy, makeup stained cheeks. He takes her mini tantrum in stride, even if his heart is beating a mile a minute and his thoughts are running on overdrive.

How can she just fucking say that? And then go and act like a baby lamb that hasn’t yet seen the male genitalia? It makes no sense!

“Okay, okay, shh; calm down, Cry-Baby,” he chuckles softly, delicately sponging kisses across her collarbone and up her neck; over her jawline and along her full cheeks, flushed and warm. “Look at me, Darlin’; Listen to Daddy for a tick, yeah?”

Y/N, through her dangerously laboured breathing—her chest is heaving excessively high—and blurred vision, turns her head to focus on Daddy—on his golden, milky skin, and fluffy, chocolate-y brown locks; his adorable button nose, and his deep, seafoam eyes.

“What’s your color, Baby?” Daddy whispers to her, his words hitting the corner of her mouth, lips pressing a soft peck there.

“G-green, Daddy, really, really green.”

He smiles at her, leaning back just enough to catch her eye, “Tha’s nice, Sweetheart.” His hips have come to a halt, keeping her full and satiated for the time being. “Now, Daddy wants to make sure you really want what you’re askin’ for, Darlin’,” he prefaces. “You g’na regret havin’ Daddy’s bare cock in y’cute little pussy in the morning?”

Y/N grapples onto him fiercely, “No, Daddy! Promise I won’t! Wanna feel you—y-your co-ock—inside me. Raw.”

Daddy’s cock twitches enticingly.

“Y’sure?” He checks once more, cradling her cheek in his palm. She nods enthusiastically, her eyes silently begging, and, for once, it seems to work. “Are y’clean, Baby?”

“Yes, I— Yeah.” She nods her head decisively. “I got tested after I broke up with—with my ex and I haven’t… been with anyone since.”

“Okay,” he answers easily, not letting her thoughts of him remain. It’s not about him, it’s about her. Her wants, her needs, her desires, her pleasure. “M’clean, too, Darlin’, get tested annually.” Y/N nods again, but the information is going through one ear and out the other at this point. Daddy keeps talking, and she’s not really listening so much as she’s admiring the sound of his voice, not intentional in her rudeness, but no effort is made the stop it. The gorgeous dip of his cupid’s bow plagues her mind, the way his lips morph around each word that slips from between them, the shapes they create, the baritone of his timber. Not until something along the lines of, Dumb Baby, wan’ my fat cock so bad y’not even listenin’ t’me, slips out of his cherry pink lips does she find herself (half-way) present in the moment.

He carefully slips his cock from her cunt, left gaping without him there to keep her full, clenching and unclenching desperately around unsatisfying air.

“Daddy!” She squeals, squirming beneath him, itching to be filled once more.

Daddy’s jaw ticks intimidatingly, “Shut up,” he grunts, and she finds her mouth snapping to a close. He grabs both her hands, yanking her up from the bed—her head whips up in a subjectively unattractive manner that she’d prefer not to dwell on—and flipping her onto her stomach. She falls face first into the pillows with a small oof, no reprieve given as two rough hands are back on her hips, raising and stuffing a pillow beneath them so she’s face down, ass up, her fingers scratching restlessly at the sheets. “Givin’ my cry-baby what she fuckin’ begged for...” She whimpers, but he pays her no heed, grabbing one of her hands, tugging it from the sheets and placing it on his slippery cock. Y/N instantly gets the hint, pawing around to his base before blindly hooking her pointer and middle fingers in the lip of the rubber around Daddy’s prick and ripping it away.

Daddy groans when his cock audibly slaps against his firm belly, a mixture of mostly his pre-cum and her arousal smearing against his giant moth tattoo and lower abdomen. “Impatient thing…” He hums when her hips shift from side to side, gripping his stiff length in his vast palm and giving himself a few generous pumps, more pearly droplets of pre-cum pooling at the tip. He knees forward on the bed, painting the head of his prick through her sloppy pussy lips with a deep sigh of contentment, “Fuck.”

Y/N exhales harshly, “Oh, Jesus.” Her exclamation is almost silent due to the pillow her face is currently nuzzled in, her mouth dry and airy with the taste freshly washed silk pillow sheets. The head breaches ever-so-slightly, stretching the beginnings of her hole wide open. Each groove of Daddy’s monstrously thick, devastatingly long cock is felt as he slowly—incredibly, terribly, intentionally slowly—eases himself into her snug, slick hole. The breath in her lungs is viciously forced out when he bottoms out inside of her, the ridges and curves of his prick molding to her cunt, his length stretching her to near-breaking point, and—Holy fucking shit, had his cock always hit this deep?

This is different, better—Y/N was surely no virgin but Christ if he didn’t make it feel like it was her first time again every time he pushed into her. He’s deep enough that, at the very least, it feels like his dribbling cock-head is nudging at her throat with every thrust, and the only thing keeping Y/N’s fuzzy brain from believing that feeling is real is that she’s seen and felt Daddy’s pretty prick with her own two eyes and two hands (plus her drooling mouth), and even she knows he’s not that big. Yet, wet, chocked whimpers and whines, cute little uh uh’s that breach through the loud slapping of skin, punch past her vocal cords with every jarring rut of Daddy’s hips.

Y/N reaches back, hands pushing against his hips, trying to soften his hard blows. She gurgles protests into the pillow she’s stuffed her face in, chocked, muffled grunts that she manages to make sound adorable rather than animalistic, much like Daddy’s sound. His are rough—he’s rough, in every sense of the word, in every possible way he could be in this moment. His fingers dig harshly into the full flesh of her hips, half-moons indented under the pads of his fingertips.

He notes her trembling fingers at his stomach—a rickety wall keeping the extent of his forceful entry at bay—his brows pinching together in the middle at the sight.

He tuts, his thumbs rubbing tingling patterns into the dimples of her back, “Wha’s this, Darlin’?” She shivers under his grip, her fingertips tickling his happy trail. Muffled sounds air throughout the room—explanations, no doubt—lost in the steady mantra of their thighs connecting, skin slapping together with a dramatic, emphatic smack! every time.

Eventually (because the sight of her flailing and helpless and desperate for him was just too nice to not bask in), he throws her a bone, spreading his calloused fingers through her scalp before threading them into the soft stands, and yanking her head up from the pillow.

“Daddy,” she gasps immediately, hands pressing more firmly into his abdomen, trying to keep herself steady against his hard strokes.

“Tell Daddy what’s the matter, Sweetheart,” he encourages, his lips at her ear, tickling the shell, nipping to garner a reaction. And a reaction he gets, the poor petal convulsing into his hold, her back molding to his chest, arms flailing to the sides fruitlessly. Like a pliant, perfect little doll, she melts into him.

“Can y— I…” she gulps down greedy breaths of air, trying to make up for the oxygen being forced out of her lungs by way of Daddy’s massive cock. Her cunt screams for reprieve, puffy and sensitive, flushed red, and in desperate need to breathe. And yet, it screams for the exact opposite simultaneously. Wails from somewhere deep, with such passion it’s impossible to ignore, ‘Please, please keep him here forever… Fuck's sake, don’t you ever let him leave.’ And, even if Y/N wanted to, she doesn’t have the strength to withstand the plea, to not give in, so completely.

She can beg, and grovel, and plead, however, and (clearly) she’s not above doing just that. So with a fucked out pout and crocodile tears elevating her performance, she sweetly—with that devastatingly soft, precious watery lilt to her voice—asks Daddy, “Slower? Slower, please. It’s—,” she hiccups when he halts inside of her, releasing her scalp and securing one of her beefy arms around her mid-drift. Y/N has to physically stop herself from swooning when the muscles bulge against her belly. “S’sensitive, Daddy,” she manages to choke out, concluding her sentence.

Daddy hums, “Poor thing, pretty pussy must be all achy, huh Baby?” His thumb strokes just at her navel, tickling the supple skin, erupting flutters in her stuffed tummy.

God, there was no room for flutters right now.

She sniffles cutely, “Yeah, Daddy. Hurts.”

“Daddy has been a little mean, hasn’t he?” He mutters into her neck, sponging mind-numbing kisses from the point of her jaw to her chin, smacking along the side of her neck to her shoulder, still balls deep and stationary. “Ate y’cunt to my heart’s content but I didn’t let y’come, did I, Darlin’?”

Was this a test? Fuck, please don’t be a test.

She hesitantly shakes her head, the heaving of her flushed chest having subsided some, but the viscous pounding against her ribcage remains. “No, Daddy,” she mumbles, trying her best to remain calm, to not to get too excited. This is the first time either of them have vocally acknowledged the fact that Y/N has been on the receiving end of pleasure for nearing two and a half hours, and not once has she reached the peak of release. “Haven’t let me come yet.”

“Hmm, you’re right, Sweetheart, I haven’t.”

It’s the way he soughs them, his words. It’s the dramatics of it all. Y/N knows, she knows, that Daddy is going to be a menace about his next move, whatever said move may be.

He obliges her request, shifting his hips back—slowly—letting his cock slip out, soaked to the base with their mixed arousal, until just his flushed, swollen tip is left. His thumb still pets delicately along her navel, attempting to soothe any aches but it does quite the opposite. So, needless to say, when his hips press forward again—slowly—filling the empty space between her slippery thighs, it’s fucking overwhelming.

Stars spot her vision, she shakes as Daddy finds a pace to satiate her. Leaden, leisurely, but the force behind his thrusts does not cease. She bleats unintentionally with each harsh rut, mouth agape and puffing out hot air. Her walls clench around his cock like a vice, sucking him in and eager to keep him right there. She feels every twitch of his cock at this angle, nestled snugly in her stretched hole.

“You’re all drippy, Sweet girl,” Daddy says suddenly, the hands not pressing at her stomach trailing down to cup the full of her cunt, fingers parting to accommodate for the intrusion of his prick. He grinds the heel of his palm his her puffy clit, oversensitive from his sadistic affections, digging into the plush numb meanly. Which, as expected, only makes her drip more.

“It’s— S’your fault, Daddy,” she whines, nudging her hips back to try and match his pace. Her attempts are sloppy, desperate and uncoordinated, but Daddy lets her. Thinks she deserves it, after sitting quiet and pretty for him and his cruel mercy for God knows how long, only the sad tears running down her cheeks showcasing her protests.

He hums mindlessly just to give her a response, but he’s too preoccupied with pleasure to do much else. He finds his hands pushing against her back, forcing her into an arch once more, pulling a pitiful little mewl from her. They explore the expanse of her body as she stretches out for him, like a cat settled in a spring sun-patch in the warm grass, tickling along her sides and across her shoulders, brushing her hair to the side while he bends down to kiss over her sweaty flesh.

He pecks down her spine, putting an end to her futile grinding and pulling her onto his cock on his own, happy to take over and just let her feel. When he straightens back out, getting a view of her all spread out for him in full again, it’s like he’s seen it for the first time.

Daddy stares unabashedly at the movement of Y/N’s body—how her flesh dips under the pressure of his fingertips, the way her neck strains to push her face farther into the pillow with every brutal jab he delivers, her perfect heart-shaped ass and the shudder-inducing ripples that run through it like waves. He sears into his mind every detail of her being, all the freckles and beauty spots, the blemishes he’s positive she’d scrutinize herself for when looking in the mirror, but he can’t possibly imagine why. How? It didn’t make much sense in his brain, when those blemishes were not blemishes but enhancements, birth and stretch marks, stories of growing pains and maturing.

Her story, written in the most stunning calligraphy, spread wide open, to be read, by him—how could he not stare?

The feel of her cunt clenching sporadically around him, squeezing around him as if a pulse, that pulls him from his daydreams. He keels forward, grunted curses blurting from between his lips, his hips finally starting to stutter in their intense pace.

Daddy’s tired, has been since dinner (despite how world-shatteringly handsome he looked(s), Y/N could (can) spot the heavy, deep, dark bags under his eyes from a mile away), but he won’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop, not before she’s squeezing him to his breaking point and creaming around his fat prick, at the very least.

So the fingers of his right hand dance away from her hip and between Y/N’s slick thighs; they find her swollen, pearly little button, and push down until Y/N’s careening again,,st him and she’s (somehow) leaking more than before by ten-fucking-fold.

“That’s it, Darlin’,” he croons in her ear, sponging delicate kisses along the slope of her neck and shoulders. He fights to keep his composure for just a little longer—she’s so close, he can fucking feel it. “Does that feel good, Baby?”

Y/N, through her muddled thoughts of utterly blind affection and devotion, nods her head fervently, muffled, gasped babbles of affirmation slipping from her tongue.

“Feels— Jesus, it feels good, Daddy, feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” He questions, his voice raspy and teasing as it has been the whole night, but there’s a lilt to it, a certain ringing of curiosity, asking, pleading for her admission to be true.

She hums pathetically, “Mhmm,” her hands flying to his meaty thighs, nails digging inside to pull him closer, push him deeper, give her more, more, more.

Daddy knows—don’t ask him to explain how because he can’t; he doesn’t know how he just know that he does—from the added desperation in her unconscious movements, her swelling sounds, an air of intensified obscenity surrounding them. It’s as clear as the South Pacific, she’s gonna fucking crumble.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he goads, pulling himself up, still petting tenderly at her sticky clit, his free hand moving from her hip to tangle up in her roots. He tugs roughly, appreciating the unintentional whimper that falls from her lips, as he wills himself to hold onto their rough act for just five more minutes. “Daddy’s makin’ y’feel good? Good enough to come?”

“Please,” she whines, her hands still clawing at his thighs, far past the point of caring. His implication rings in her head like a fucking prayer, she needs it so bad. “Need it, Daddy,” she admits aloud.

He smirks, “Yeah? Y’need to come, Dummy? Cream all over my cock like fuckin’ whore?”

“Please!” She all but screams, her hesitations and caution thrown to the wind. They’ve been at it for hours, and she hasn’t come once, she’s just a little fucking desperate! “Please, let me come, Daddy, wanna come so bad.”

“Hmm, Daddy’s little Cry-Baby wants t’a come…” he seems to distantly acknowledge, tone laced with indifference. His grip on his soft tendrils of hair tightens, using the leverage to yank her on his cock. “Go head then, Sweet girl, if y’need it… Come on Daddy’s cock like a good whore.”

As expected, Y/N crumbles, breaking like a dam beneath him; wilting against his ministrations like a flower shedding its petals. She gurgles into the sheet—Daddy let her hair go in favor of grasping at her hips again—locking his cock in her cunt, stopping her from trying to squirm away, her head sunken like deadweight, her hands twitching and useless beside it. Her arousal pours out like a waterfall, squirting across his abdomen, the butterfly there shiny with slick.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeats mindlessly, fisting at the bedsheets, drooling into them.

He works her through it earnestly, tugging her back into him harshly, pushing in to the hit and grinding desperately into her g-spot, doing anything to prolong her pleasure that she so wholly deserves.

“Good girl, Baby, good fuckin’ girl,” he huffs, landing a resounding smack to her pert ass. “Keep coming, Sweetheart, don’t fucking stop.” As if his words are the whispers of a thousand angels, a command from God themself, she works herself right back up and squirts all over him.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Fuckin’ soakin’ my cock, Darlin’, I’m… S-shit.”

The noise of her sopping, drippy pussy echoes throughout his bedroom humiliatingly, enhancing her high, like his attention is a concentrated drug.

Daddy grumbles and groans, whimpers and moans, falling over her once more, blocking her from the cold and enveloping her in heat with his whole body.

“M’g’na come, Baby. You’re g’na make me fucking come.”

“Oh, please,” she cries, weeping pitifully into the juncture of her elbow. “Wan’ y’to come, Daddy, wan’ it… it…” she gasps and chokes into her flesh, attempting to finish her sentence but she can’t think—hasn’t been thinking—when his cock is pistoning into her special spot over and over and over again.

“Want it what, Cry-Baby?” he guffaws shortly, directly in her ear, as if her struggle’s amusing. “Wha’ d’you want?”

“Wan’ it… inside,” she manages, shaking bellow him. “Don’t— oh, Christ, Daddy.” She tries to compose herself, turning her head to the side to finally inspire proper airflow. “Don’t pull out.”

It’s almost comical to think he’d last any longer, the stutter in his hips should be a sheer indicator that he’s hanging on by a singular thin, extremely fragile fucking thread. Nevertheless, when he shudders into her figure, his nails piercing the flesh of her hips, his thrusts ceasing, his cock nestled to the fucking hilt inside of her, and he finally spills into her, Y/N’s can’t help but be surprised by how quickly it all transpires.

“Shit, Baby! Oh… oh, my fucking God…” He grunts, loud and long and deep, right in her ear, his guppy-lips tickling the very shell. His cock pulses with every spurt of milky white come he shoots into her, coating her silken walls completely, and he just keeps coming. There’s so much, filling her to the brim and then some, contents beginning to leak out and smear over their joined bodies, and it keeps fucking coming. He keeps fucking coming.

“Daddy,” Y/N whimpers, shuttering, her voice gurgled, tongue drowning in drool.

“I know, Darlin’,” he husks breathily, his grip on her waist finally relenting, speckles blood slushing beneath his fingertips. Y/N can’t find it in herself to care, though, to feel hurt or genuinely used in any way, not with the way he regards her with so much tenderness. Not when he’s gently cooing in her ear, even through the intensity of his world-shattering orgasm, “Daddy knows, Sweetheart, M’sorry.”

He smears the crimson away, almost lovingly. He sponges kisses across her sweaty upper back, moving his hands to massage her tense shoulders. He whispers sweet nothings in her ear as his high finally begins to wane.

But he’s so tender, and caring, even if just in his touch—she hopes it’s more than just that—and he knows when to be mean, and degrading, and he feel so fucking good.

It embarrassing, to say the least, when she melts into the bed and squirts on his cock, again. He doesn’t even have to do anything; no teasing thrum on her clit, no rough rut into her poor pussy. He just sits there, cock plugging her full of his come, stretching her out to the brink and keeping her fucking stuffed, and she gushes over him.

“Fuck, Baby,” he gasps suddenly, as sudden as her release, springing up from his hunched position like he’d been electrocuted. He pulls back, dragging stiffly and slickly against her clenching walls, and pushes back in, slowly and delicately, trying to imprint the mold of her cunt to his cock. “Just couldn’t help it, huh, Cry-Baby?” he chortles, fuzzy in the head and sluggish in his movements, but still present enough to tease, obviously. “Felt too good? Y’sloppy little pussy felt too good?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” she whimpers, back to nestling into her arm as aftershocks rack through her body, small spill and trickles leaking from her abused cunt.

He tuts softly, “Dumb baby…” but he doesn’t reprimand her further, swirling his thumbs in the dimples of her back, gently bringing her back down.

Daddy stays stuffed inside her fluttering pussy while she regulates her breathing, until her flesh doesn’t immediately burn to the touch and the subtle twitches have subsided. He maneuvers his limbs and manhandles her own so his back is pressed to the headboard and she’s settled comfortably in his lap. He guides her to melt into his chest, her head slipping into the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

He suppresses a giggle when her lashes tickle his bobbing Adam’s apple. He bites back a smile as his fingers card through her tangled curls, pushing to flail wisps out of her eye-line, off of her sticky, sweaty forehead. He pecks over her forehead, across her brow bones, the slope of her nose… All the while stroking delicately along her hairline, coaxing her to stay exactly as she is, happy and sated and floaty.

Not until she shifts, pulling her knees to her chest, whining uncomfortable at the slush that resides there, does he make a move to leave fucking nirvana. He shushes her thoughtfully, wrapping a hand around his half-hard length to guide it from her weepy hole. Crocodile tears slide down her cheeks—rationally, in the deep recess of her coherent mind, Y/N knows she’s literally crying over nothing—but Daddy takes it in stride, silencing her cries with a kiss that makes everything quiet.

She clambers around, both uncaring of the mess between their thighs, so they’re pressed chest to chest, lips locked searingly, tongues delving and licking and tasting, until they’re both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, bleary eyes fanning over moonlit features frantically, desperately. A lull of pleasant silence befalls them, only pure touches and supple kisses to fill the atmosphere.

“Gotta clean y’up, Sweetheart,” Daddy eventually mutters, a kiss pressed to the hinge of her jaw while he wraps her legs securely around his trim waist and her arms ‘round his shoulders, walking them both to the en suite loo.

Things move in a muddled haze for a long time. A rag is taken to the sloppy mess between her thighs, her whimpers of sensitivity and irritation met with sorrowful kisses and consolations (“Daddy’s sorry, Baby…I know, Darlin’, M’sorry… So sensitive…”). She’s given sweet fruits to nibble on as Daddy prepares them a bath: Rich mangoes and plump cherries, tart strawberries and crunchy grapes. She sips idly on a glass of cold water from the sink counter, feet kicking back and forth, gently raddling the drawers and cabinets below.

Soon, she’s lifted from her place perched on the counter (sweet treats in hand) and slipped into perfectly warm, sudsy, lavender hued and scented water. She smiles at the realization, fruit long forgotten, sat on the ledge of the tub, as her fingers pop the bubbles while Daddy slips in behind her.

His arms wrap around her middle, pulling her back into his firm chest, soft pants splaying across her neck and collarbones. She shivers, but sits back easily, finding immediate comfort in his rivet embrace.

“How d’you feel, Sweet girl?” he prods softly, his fingers back to tickling across her hairline. The feather-light sensations make Y/N bite back a giddy smile, although, she can do nothing but let the rampant butterflies in her tummy run wild.

“M’happy,” she says, no forethought given, no stuttering hesitation, because she was, wasn’t she? In a tub with a man who’s just, quite literally, rocked her entire world, being dotted upon like she’s some sort of princess… How could she possibly not be happy?

Her confession, however, seems to shock Daddy the slightest bit. She can’t imagine why (looking back, she had been a bit blunt about it, but not much else could be expected from her in such a headspace), isn’t it obvious the way he makes her feel? His voice makes her shiver, let alone his touch, she doesn’t think she’s been very subtle about that.

“Yeah? I made you happy, Baby?” His tone is airy, almost unconvinced. She doesn’t like that, doesn’t like that he’s unsure of how wonderful he is.

She scuttles around to face him, that captivating seafoam back in his eyes, once again drowning her large, vivacious waves.

“Y’makin’ me happy, Daddy,” she mumbles back, eyes wide and pure, and a timid, sweet smile spread from cheek to cheek to match.

And Daddy—God, it should honestly be illegal how attractive he is—does this stupid little half-frown, half-smirk that makes Y/N’s lashes flutter and cheeks flush, urging her closer by his grip on the cinch of her waist. He brings the tips of their noses together in a devastating puppy’s kiss, eyes flitting back and forth.

“You’re precious, Sweetheart.”

He doesn’t let her get a word in, doesn’t let her praise him any further, his lips sealed to hers as soon as he’s finished fawning her. She’s the one who deserves all the praise. The sweet nothings and dotting acts of service, grand gestures and devoted affection. Unique flowers, no roses or daises, because she’s much too special for something so simple. She deserves one-of-a-kind jewelry and clothing, the highest end technology, handbags, and makeup, the most expensive cars and houses— he doesn’t fucking care. She deserves the world. And he wants to give it to her. So badly.

He’s so fucking fucked.