#i look in the mirror and see my father's lips and my mother's chin and i take pride in those features

[elysianymph]

"although walburga hated her mother and swore she would never become her, she ended up walking in her shoes, wearing her dresses and using her punishments." SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

[stylesharrys]

The Box | Part One [Boxerry]

When Y/N’s brother dies unexpectedly, Harry breaks the news that she now owns an illegal underground fight club. While she wants nothing to do with that lifestyle, Harry is determined to not let her brother's dream die with him. 

A/N: so this was the Patreon exclusive series that I decided to bring over here to share with you guys. I wanted to turn it into one long fic for you guys but it was over the block limit so I've had to split it into two parts. It’s still a hefty one so grab some snacks and get comfy, and please be sure to read through the warnings before continuing <3

Warnings: (in no particular order, for both chapters) mentions of death/loss of a sibling and grandparent, mentions of miscarriage, unsupportive parents, swearing, brief descriptions of illegal fighting, money laundering, use of weapons, brief mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety, schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder, smut; kissing, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, protected sex, oral (both receiving/69)

WC: 19.6k

//

In her 24 years of life, Y/N has only ever been to two funerals. Her first was when she was twelve, to the funeral of her great grandmother. Given, she didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she understood enough. She cried the entire time. 

The second funeral she attended was her aunts. Just five years ago when she died in a freak car crash that killed twelve innocent people. Y/N was nineteen, fresh out of school and ready to start her new job, almost putting her deposit down on her new flat. She cried the entire time. 

And now, at age 24, she stands at her brother's grave. The same brother that taught her to tie her shoes, that saved her from playground bullies. The brother that helped her move into her flat, that checked in on her when she wouldn’t eat for days while under the stress of their parents. The brother that comforted her after bad breakups, that taught her to fight and defend herself. The brother that risked and sacrificed so much, to give her the life she deserves because her parents labelled her a castaway. 

She was the family disappointment because she didn't have her life figured out. Because she took up a job caring for the elderly, opposed to following in her mother’s footsteps and becoming a successful surgeon, or basking in her father's shadow of his worldwide corporations. 

Both her mother and father standoff to her side, sniffling back tears of heartache as they comfort one another. Y/N won’t allow herself to mourn for her best friend with them. She won’t let them see her broken and ruined for her brother. Not for them to scold her, to tell her to pick her chin up and stop acting like a child. 

She holds it all in as the rest of the funeral party disperse. It’s a fairly large turnout, even if Y/N and her parents don’t know or recognise half the mourners there. They told Y/N they knew him from the fights. Y/N told her parents they knew him from the docks. Even dead, his secret is safe with her. 

Her cheeks are damp but not from tears. The wind has been lashing against her body for the past hour of the service and her eyes are still stinging. She doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know that her nose is angrily leaking, or that her eyes look awfully bloodshot. 

She continues to hover at her brother’s grave, hoping maybe her parents will fuck off and let her have this moment alone. They don’t. They stand behind her, a few feet away, eyes on their daughter like hawks. Like she’s the unstable one. She has to scoff to herself.

Y/N lets her eyes run over his burial once more. Sammy Y/L/N. A loving son, brother and friend. She promises she’ll come back later, when their overbearing parents aren’t breathing down her neck and she thinks she knows exactly what Sam would say to her. 

“Don’t say anything stupid. This is my day, remember.” 

She has to fight back the teary smile that tugs on her lips and she turns around to her parents. Her hands are shoved in her coat pocket, shoulders hunched up to offer some form of protection to her ears against the lashing winds. 

David reaches for her first, arm outstretched to coddle his daughter to his side. Y/N lets him — needs that comfort today even if it is just from her father. He kisses the top of her head, his wife, Layla, coddling in his other side and David feels a little relief, having both his girls on his arm. 

“I hope you’re going to stay for the wake,” David asks softly. Y/N doesn’t miss the huff that slips from her mother's lips and she knows her dad has no doubt just pinched her shoulder because of it. She isn’t going to let them get her down, especially not today. 

She nods. “I am.”

When they return to Y/N’s childhood home, she feels sick. She hasn’t been back here in almost four years and the last time she did, she got into an argument with her parents and Sam was the one to take her home and spend the weekend to make sure she was okay. 

This time, she’s there because of him and he isn’t there to save her. 

Nothing has changed. It’s still the same slightly outdated furniture but she can tell Layla got David to re-wallpaper the lounge. It’s quite busy, if she’s being honest, and Y/N’s feeling a little exhausted in preparation of cleaning up any little slip of the tongues these randoms let out. 

The buffet has already been tucked into, Y/N’s grandparents having set out a lovely spread of Sam’s favourite finger foods from when he was younger. It’s solemn and quiet, save for the small bits of chatter between mourners and Y/N feels more than a little lost.

She’s shrugging her coat off and throwing it over the sofa, rubbing her hands together to get some friction of warmth back in her blood. The house is full of more unknown faces than it is with friends and family. They seem to keep to themselves in a separate part of the house and as much as Y/N wants to avoid them, intimidated and somewhat uncomfortable, she sucks it up and shimmies over with a tray of canapes. 

The closer she gets, the less unfamiliar they look. She notices a couple of them, some faces she saw when Sam would pick her up from a failing date, or when she would go to his place for lunch and they would be just leaving. They’re all quite stoic, the seven of them and she clears her throat, a small, tight-lipped smile on her face. 

The men part just enough to open their circle to her and she’s faced with tall figures and broad shoulders. In her small glory, she has to raise her chin to meet their gaze and she offers up the tray of finger food close to her chest. 

“Um, thank you for coming. Sam would’ve appreciated it,” she mumbles the words Layla had been drilling in her head all morning.

They don’t say anything and Y/N lets out a shaky breath. “I take it you knew him from the fights?” She doesn’t miss the way their eyes widen slightly and two of the seven shift a little in their spot. 

She laughs breathily. “It’s alright. My brother was my best friend, I knew about it all. Our parents still don’t, though. So I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way. They don’t need to know what he was really doing when he said he was at work.”

A few nod but she’s too busy staring at her feet to notice it. “So you’re Y/N?” A timid voice perks up and Y/N snaps her gaze to the tall blond directly opposite her. She nods shyly, eyes heavy and shoulders sagged. 

The blond nods again. “Spoke about ya a lot, he did. Always said if anything happened to him, it was us that had to look out for ya,” he smiles sadly and Y/N really can’t help the tears that pool in her eyes. Typical Sam. Always looking out for his baby sister, even from the dead. 

Her eyes rake over the group, some too solemn to make eye contact and others staring at their drinks. But the man to her right doesn’t look away from her face. His bright green eyes are captivating, to say the least, his broad shoulders making his 6ft frame even larger than it is and his wispy brown hair is barely styled but it sits well in a central parting, swooping just a little across the sides of his temples. From where she stands, his jaw and chin are a little stubbly, lips pink and a little damp from his drink. 

He looks familiar, Y/N thinks she might’ve seen him in a few fight photos Sam had shown her before, and she can’t tell if he recognises her or not. Though, if she did see a picture of him before, she’s sure he would be in boxing shorts and a tight t-shirt, not a slick black suit with a white shirt and tie. He makes no effort to break the intense gaze he’s offering, so Y/N does. She wills herself to look away and scratches nervously at the side of her neck. 

“Well, thank you again for coming. It means a lot.” 

// 

It was supposed to be an easy day. She had planned for a small arts and crafts session for the residents and some tea and sandwiches after. Y/N loved planning activities, it usually gave the other staff a chance to take a break or catch up on their paperwork. 

But Dylan had a funny moment that resulted in a gloopy paint bottle being chucked at her head and she’s leaving work sporting a cut on her forehead and a three-hour-old migraine. She isn’t even leaving work at 3, like she usually would. 

She’s coming out of the home at 6 because upon Dylan’s behaviour, he tore up the rest of the group's paintings and broke one of the staff laptops — resulting in two and half hours spent calming him down, administering PRN and writing up several incident reports. 

She’s tired, she’s hungry and she just wants to sit down. It’s cold out, the sky thickening black above her and she knows a storm is due. She quite likes a storm, if she’s honest — just doesn’t much like to drive in them. 

She’s rubbing out a kink in her neck as she approaches her car, eyes too busy rolled back as she walks blindly. Y/N sees the feet first — a pair of Adidas trainers — then her eyes trail up a pair of toned legs that are adorned in a pair of shorts. Her brows are pinched and she looks up some more, notices the man leaning on the bonnet of her car and his toned arms are folded over his chest. 

It’s when she cranes her neck up a little to see his face that her worry is softly eased a little, but not entirely. She remembers him from her brother's funeral three weeks ago. 

“Can I help you?” She asks, voice a little throaty and scratchy. 

He’s got a baseball cap on his head, longish brown hair curling around the rim of it and his ears. His eyes are a little squinted and there’s a heavy stubble that decorates his jaw and chin. Y/N thinks he looks much more intimidating in this attire, opposed to the suit she last saw him in. 

He drinks her in before he speaks. She’s wearing a pair of boyfriend jeans and a knitted jumper, and her hair is half plaited up, the rest falling into natural waves down her back. He thinks she looks quite pretty for an elderly support worker. 

“I’m Harry. I used to box with your brother.” 

She nods, biting at her inner cheek. “Figured that when no one recognised you or your friends at the wake.” She squints at him again, scratching at her sore neck. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you want? How do you even know I work here?” Her tone holds more accusation as she rambles on and Harry can’t help a somewhat amused smile tug on the corners of his mouth. 

He shrugs. “I have my ways.” His arms are still crossed over his chest but he didn’t answer Y/N’s first question. She raises a brow and Harry inhales heavily before his shoulders sag and he drops his arms to his side. “I need t’ talk to ya about the club.” 

Her brows are pinched harder than before and she shakes her head in confusion, shifting from one foot to the other. “Club? What club?” Her movement allows Harry to see the cut on her smooth forehead and he frowns, reaching closer to inspect it but Y/N’s too quick and with wide eyes, she backs away. 

He realises his forwardness and holds his hands up in surrender; standing straighter. “The underground club. Y’know… the one your brother left to you when he died.” She blinks again, lips parting and she’s blubbering a little like she’s trying to understand what he’s talking about. 

Realisation is quick to wash over Harry’s face and he nods. Of course Sam wouldn’t tell her anything about what she’d be taking over. Typical. 

She takes a deep breath. “Why the fuck would I be left an underground fight club by my brother? He was just a boxer,” she sighs tiredly, punching the bridge of her nose and Harry frowns harder. So maybe she didn’t really know anything about him.

He shakes his head. “Your brother wasn’t just a fighter, Y/N. He owned the club. Sam was the best fighter we had in The Box and he bought it outright five years ago. Always said if anything happened to him, you’d be the one to take it over, do whatever you think best wi’ it.”

Y/N is silent, tears welling in her eyes and she stomps her foot like an insolent child, like she can’t believe this is fucking happening. “You’re telling me I now own an illegal underground boxing club?” Her voice is frantic, high-pitched and whispered through gritted teeth.

Her hands find their way to her hair, gripping on her roots in disbelief. “It’s a good business investment, if you're into that.” He shrugs, arms crossed over his chest again and he’s struggling to understand why she’s so worked up about it. 

If Harry had just inherited a three quarters of a million pound business, he’d be fucking ecstatic. But Y/N isn’t ecstatic and she’s staring at him in complete bewilderment.

“No, Harry. No, I’m not into that. Sell it, give it away, I don’t care. I don’t want it.” She shoves past him, unlocking her car and opening the door. Harry’s watching with wide eyes and parted lips. 

She can’t be serious. 

He closes the door before she can fully open it and she seethes up at him, teeth gritted and all. “You can’t give it away and you can’t sell it! It’s your brother's life.” He fights back and Y/N bursts, veins popping and she pushes him away by his chest. 

“And I can’t fucking keep it! I’m a care worker, for God’s sake! I can’t have shit like that tied to me.” Her hands are waving sporadically, chest heaving in panic as she rips her door open and clambers in the car. 

Harry’s gripping onto the door, preventing her from shutting it. He never meant to show up and send her in a spiral of anger and panic. Harry digs into his pocket, pulling out a little business card and handing it to her, waiting for her to take it. 

“Look, jus’... jus’ sleep on it, yeah? My number and the club's address is on this, jus’ take it ‘n think about it. Please.” 

She eyes the card sceptically, gnawing on her inner cheek. She knows he’s right, that she shouldn’t ruin her brother's legacy with one shitty, selfish decision she makes. But she also knows that she’s right — that she can’t afford to have that kind of business in her name. 

Y/N looks back up at Harry, lets her heart flutter a little under his gaze despite knowing these are awful circumstances to get butterflies under. But she sees the desperation in his eyes and she supposes maybe it’s because he wants Sam’s life to carry on through the business. 

She takes the card and drives off.

//

“Why haven’t you been to see your brother?” 

Y/N closes her eyes for a moment, struggles to keep herself in check. It’s been a long day and the last she needs is her mother chastising her on her break. 

“Because I’ve been working double shifts all week, Mum.”

She hears her mother huff from the other end of the line, no doubt rolling her eyes. 

God, why did Sam have to leave her all alone in this godforsaken world? Why did he have to get in that fucking car? 

Deciding that Y/N does not want to be spending the last few hours of her shift fighting back tears, she cuts her mother off before she can think of anything else to question her on. 

“Look, I’ve got to go. Meds round is in the next half hour so I need to get things sorted.”

The line is cut off as quickly as she speaks. Y/N tries not to get too into her head about her mother. About the lack of compassion the woman has shown her during both childhood and now, early adulthood. 

If she allows her mind to wander down that path, she’s not sure she’ll ever find the exit. 

She leaves the office after allowing herself a moment to compose herself. Across from her, the little light above ROOM 13 flashes and she smiles to herself.

She’s outside the door within seconds, knocking softly before letting herself in. “It’s Y/N… are you okay, Mary?”

The elderly woman sits in her chair, a ball of wool in her lap as she continues knitting. There’s a childlike grin on her lips, eyes full of excitement as she stares at her favourite carer. 

“I didn’t think you worked Mondays!” 

Y/N laughs, taking a seat next to her. She takes it upon herself to unravel a little more string for her. 

“I don’t. I’m covering for Frankie. I should’ve come and said hello sooner, it’s just been a bit busy today, Mary. I hope you can forgive me.”

Mary smiles broadly, nudging Y/N with her elbow. “You know you’ll always be my favourite, Penny.”

She smiles at the nickname. Mary has called her that since her first day at the home all those years ago – when Y/N gave her a penny from her purse for her scratch card and she won the jackpot. That was it. Y/N was Mary’s lucky penny. 

“How are you feeling today?”

Mary hums. “Oh, I feel so wonderful. My grandson is coming to visit today. And as far as I can remember... you’re still single, aren’t you?”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully with a huff. “You’re not setting me up with your grandson, Mary.” 

She pouts, unhappy. “Why not? He’s a handsome lad and you’re very beautiful. You’d make such gorgeous great grandbabies for me!”

Y/N almost chokes on her tongue, blinking fast as she tries to catch her breath. “Mary!” 

“What? It’s not like I’m getting any younger!” 

She can’t quite believe her ears. Mary has talked about her grandson a few times, but she’s never once alluded to setting him and Y/N up. She does not need her patient getting involved in her love life. 

“He’s a handsome young man, your age… maybe a couple years older. And he’s a personal trainer! Even runs the gym he works at!” 

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. She’s wondering if she’s got enough time to escape the building before her grandson arrives. She wouldn’t put it past Mary to scour the entire home for her. 

“Oh, really?” she asks, playing into it for Mary’s sake. 

She grins as she nods, looking back down to her knitting. 

“And what’s his name?” Y/N asks, fiddling with the yarn between her fingers. 

Mary gasps. “Harry!” 

Y/N eyes widen at the volume of her voice, looking at Mary, who’s looking at the door.

“Hello, Gran.”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding. 

“Of course it fucking is,” Y/N mumbles under her breath. 

She stands, plastering a kind smile across her lips. Harry sees right through it, hiding his own smirk as he takes her in. Her attire is completely different from when he saw her last week. 

Her hair is a bit shorter, and instead of her jumper and jeans, she’s wearing a pair of black leggings and a purple nurses shirt. 

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” She extends a hand to him politely, which he more than happily takes. 

He can see how much this pains her. 

Mary clears her throat. “Harry this is Y/N… but I like to call her Penny.” 

He raises a brow, looking between his Gran and Y/N. 

“Oh, so this is Penny?” He looks at Y/N. “I had no idea you were my Gran’s favourite. She talks about you all the time.”

Y/N smiles through pursed lips, feeling a little embarrassed, though she’s not sure why. 

“Thank you for looking after Gran, it’s lovely to meet you, Penny.”

She smiles tightly, nodding her head before quickly combing through her brain for an excuse to leave. 

Y/N knows it's only a coincidence that the same man trying to get her to take over her dead brother’s underground fight club is also the same man that is her resident's grandson, but it still makes her head spin a little too much. 

“I’ve got to get started on teatime meds. It was lovely to meet you again, Harry.” 

She excuses herself as quickly as she can. Walking into the meds room, she feels like this is Sam’s way of forcing her hand. She looks up to the ceiling with a frustrated huff. 

“Even from the dead, you’re a pain in my ass.”

A knock on the door makes her jump and as it slowly peels open, her eyebrows furrow. “What are you doing? You can’t be in here!” 

Harry closes the door as he shuffles inside, hands up in feign surrender and there’s an apologetic look in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry if me being here freaked you out a bit. I only visit Gran on Mondays because Sam never wanted us boys bringing trouble around you. I swear, I didn’t know you’d be working today. You’ve never worked Monday’s.”

Her shoulders slack as she exhales deeply. “He didn’t want you bringing me trouble, and yet he’s the one that left an entire illegal business to me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. 

“If he was secretly loaded, why couldn’t he have just left me some cash instead?” 

“Honestly? Because he knew no amount he left you would equate to what you could earn running The Box. He’s only ever looked out for you, you know?”

Y/N scoffs out a laugh, shaking her head as she turns back to her paperwork. “I would’ve preferred it if he left me nothing. If Sam trusted you so much, why can’t you just take it over?” 

“Because he didn’t leave it to me.”

“No,” Y/N huffs. “Instead, he left it to his clueless little sister who could really do without the hassle.”

Harry purses his lips shut, stuffing his hands into his pocket. If it weren’t for his bestfriend’s passing, he’d probably bark out a laugh at Y/N’s little strop. 

“Look,” he begins. “No one is expecting you to take it over and know what you’re doing. Why else did you think he asked me to talk you through it?”

Y/N turns to him, a little pissed off. “And you couldn’t have started with that?”

She’s starting to feel like she could have a breakdown at any given moment. The last thing she needs is taking over an illegal underground boxing club with her dead brother’s friend showing her the ropes. 

“I can’t deal with all of this right now. I need to get this meds round done, so if you don’t mind…” Y/N gestures to the door, her other hand on her hip. 

She doesn’t make eye contact, her gaze fixed on the floor beneath her. Harry sighs, nodding more to himself than her as he reaches for the handle.

“You have my number. Don’t be afraid to use it.” 

She stays silent as he leaves the meds room, a shaky exhale slipping past her lips as the door closes shut. She feels guilty, for being so snappy and rude. But Y/N isn’t sure how else she was expected to react. 

Her big brother dies in a freak car accident, leaves a multi-million pound illegal business in her name and she’s supposed to just be okay about it? 

Her heart hurts. For herself, for Sam. God, she misses him. She just wants to wake up from this bad dream and talk to her big brother about her day.

Y/N wonders what he would say to her right now if he could. Would he hug her and tell her it’s okay? Remind her that she doesn’t have to go through with this if she dosn’t want to?

She scoffs to herself. No, Sammy would be selfish. I looked after you, now you need to look after my legacy. She can hear his voice in her head, clear as day. It makes her smile, for a brief moment, before she’s overcome with sadness and anxiety once again. 

In all honesty, Y/N needs to get her head out of her ass. If Sam had asked Harry to show her the ropes and help her into this transition, then perhaps she should be taking this a little more seriously.

She rolls her neck, taking a deep breath. She’s back to staring at the ceiling, like somehow it’ll connect her to heaven radio and she has to laugh at herself. 

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself up there.”

//

Y/N stands outside, toes wiggling in her converse as she gnaws on her inner cheek. The building is a tall, dance academy, decked out with the poshest of entrances and Y/N tilts her head to the side. There’s no way in hell this is The Box. 

Her squinted eyes flicker back to the card. Not much is on there – an address, Harry’s name, and number. She contemplated calling him before showing up, but she knew if she planned to do this, she would’ve backed out. 

So instead, very spontaneously, Y/N drove here right after her shift – not even allowing herself time to rethink or second guess herself.

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she makes her way inside the entrance. It’s quite grand, beautiful even. The ceilings are tall, marble floors. If she’s honest, she feels extremely out of place with her slightly scuffed Converse padding across the ground. 

She makes her way to the reception desk tentatively, tapping the business card on the knuckle of her thumb. The blonde woman looks up with a smile, though Y/N’s sure she’s likely judging her in her mind. 

“Hi, can I help?” Her voice is soft as she speaks and Y/N clears her throat. 

“I’m not sure,” she chuckles nervously. “My name’s Y/N… I’m Sam’s sister. I, uh… I’m looking for Harry?”

The receptionist's smile no longer meets her eyes as it begins to shrink. The look on her face makes Y/N’s stomach twist slightly, her polite smile faltering. 

The blonde woman looks at her for a moment – it’s like a flicker of grief passes through her eyes before she quickly composes herself again. She fiddles with something under her desk, retrieving what looks like a key card and handing it to Y/N. 

“You’ll be needing this. It’s the first door to your left, just down that hall.” She nods her head over to the other side of the reception and Y/N takes the card with pursed lips and a tight smile. 

Nothing can ever describe the fear and anxiety that bubble in her tummy. If she’s being completely honest with herself, she’s terrified of what she’ll see behind that door. What harsh reality of Sam’s life she’ll be privy to. 

It’s the closest she’s felt to him since he passed, and yet she’s never felt so distant in her entire life. 

Behind the door, is a set of stairs. They lead to an extremely large expanse of a basement; concrete floors, and concrete walls. The lighting is dim and to her surprise, the place is bustling. 

Three large boxing rings sit in the length of the basement, and gym equipment is spread out across the far right of the stairs entrance. She can see a small shower sign to her left, and right in front of her, she notices him. 

He’s sweating, struggling to catch his breath. His hands are resting on his knees, his back hunched over slightly as he lets out shallow pants to gain control of his breathing. 

Harry and his opponent stand in the middle of the ring. There’s a cocky grin on his lips as he stands up straight, tearing the Velcro on his gloves as he tugs them off his hands and throws them out of the ring. Jason, Harry’s sparring partner, waddles over, face beet red and chest splotchy. 

“Good fight.” He shakes Harry’s hand, a tired yet smug look on his face and Harry can’t help but roll his eyes when he pulls away, taking out his gum shield as he does so. 

He grins. “You tried.”

The sight of him makes Y/N’s chest heave. The sweat adoring his tattooed chest and torso, the way his golden skin glistens under the dim lighting. 

She feels a bit more suited in this environment than she did upstairs. At least down here, she isn’t self-conscious about her tatty converse. 

Y/N takes a moment to compose herself, letting her eyes flutter around the other trainers. She doesn’t recognize any faces, not even any from Sam’s funeral. 

And amid her surveillance, Harry notices her presence. He’s unwrapping the bandage across his knuckles as he watches her, ignoring Jason’s words about going for drinks for Tony’s birthday. 

When Y/N turns back to Harry, their eyes finally meet. She offers a nervous smile through pursed lips, barely raising her hand from the side of her body in a timid wave. 

“Hey, you hitting the showers or what?” Jason’s voice breaks Harry from his little trance and he hums. 

“Yeah. I’ll meet you guys later.” 

Harry’s crouching under the top rope of the boxing ring, climbing over the bottom two, and jumping off the platform. He approaches Y/N with a breezy smile, his eyes light and welcoming. 

“Hey.” 

Y/N clears her throat. “Hi.” 

There’s a moment of silence between them both. The gym winds down as more people head for the lockers and showers. Y/N notices and supposes it’s closing time. 

“Are you closing?” She finally asks. 

Harry looks around them. “Oh… yeah the guys are going for drinks for someone’s birthday. We open back up at 11 for the midnight fights.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Midnight fights?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah… training during the day and then we host fights on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.” 

Y/N chews on the inside of her cheek, nodding slowly as she takes his words in. Harry can read her like a book and can tell she’s slightly overwhelmed but even more so, she’s intrigued. 

He scratches the back of his head. “I can show you to Sam’s office if you want to talk?” 

It takes Y/N a moment to consider Harry’s offer. She’s unsure if she’s mentally and emotionally prepared to see her late brother's office. She’s not sure how it’ll make her feel. 

But if she can drive here after work without thinking about it too much, she supposes seeing Sam’s office would be better done spontaneously than planned. Because if she allows herself to think and ponder and doubt, she’ll never make it past the door. 

So she nods her head with a soft ‘okay’ and Harry leads her through the gym. 

Y/N notices the lock on the door first, then the key that Harry pulls out of his pocket. She wonders how close he and Sam must’ve been for Harry to have access to the office.

He pushes the door open and flicks on the light, allowing Y/N to enter first. She takes her steps slowly, tentatively. The office is small, nothing fancy. There’s an oak desk, an office chair, some filing cabinets, and framed photos of past fights on the walls. Photos that she does not have the strength to acknowledge right now. 

Harry closes the door behind them both and drops the key on the desk. “I’ve been coming in here every day. Just to keep on top of things until you were ready to take over.” 

His words are slightly muffled as he squeezes his head into a tight t-shirt, tugging it down his still-damp torso. 

Y/N turns to him, a little overwhelmed as the tears begin to gather. “I don’t think I can do this,” she laughs tearfully. 

Her arms are raised by her sides as she looks around the place. “Look at all of this. I have no idea about fighting or training. How the hell am I supposed to do this? Why did he think I could?” 

There’s pity in Harry’s eyes and he purses his lips, upset for her. “Sam needed to know you’d be looked after if anything happened to him. He liked the idea of you continuing his legacy and inheriting all the riches that come with it.” 

Y/N scoffs through her tears. “This is a lot, Harry. It’s not like he’s left me his hamster.” 

He bites back a smile at her words. He knows if Sam could see his sister now, he’d be rolling his eyes and calling her a drama queen. 

“Were you close? You and Sam?” She asks. 

Harry takes a shaky breath, nodding slowly. “We were best mates. We were partners.” 

Y/N’s eyes widen, eyebrows raised to her forehead in shock and Harry is quick to clock on to what she’s assuming. 

“No!” He blurts. “Not like that, Jesus fucking Christ. Partners in the company, I mean.” 

Y/N’s body visibly relaxes at the statement but it’s quickly replaced with confusion. 

“Wait,” she holds her hand up. “If you’re a partner, why does it matter that I take over? Can’t you just have the company to yourself?” 

Harry frowns. “No, Sam is the sole owner of this place. I helped him run things. I have twenty-five percent and you now own the rest. Sam left that to you. Which is why I’ll be the one showing you the ropes. Sam would arrange the illegal side of things – you know, book in the fights, set up bets and stuff. I would do the more legitimate side. Membership fees, taxes… keeping everything under the radar and looking kosher.” 

She takes a seat in the chair, closing her eyes for a moment. “Okay,” she whispers, more so to herself. “So… what is this then? Disguised as a gym?”

Harry chuckles softly, planting his bum on the edge of his desk. “Basically. We’re registered as a business, a gym. We keep the fights quiet though. You only know about them if you’re invited or scouted.”

“Scouted?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah, there’s a whole network of underground fighting. The Box is one of the most elite. You don’t get to fight unless you’re scouted by us, and you don’t get to watch unless you’re invited and you pay.” 

It’s a lot to take in, Harry knows that. But if Y/N is going to take over half the company, she needs to know the ins and outs of everything – no matter how dark or dodgy it may be. 

“We charge memberships through card, so we have something to declare and pay taxes on. As for the fights–”

“Let me guess, paid in cash; same with the bets. That’s the real money maker, you don’t have to declare cash.”

Harry nods slowly, impressed by her ability to connect the dots. Unlike most people, Harry has no issue trusting her with every secret within the company. She’s Sam’s blood. And this place was Sam’s everything. He wouldn’t dream of leaving it in untrusted hands. 

“I’ll be blunt here, I am not cut out to be running anything illegal.” She admits blatantly, not even thinking of entertaining the idea.

Harry gets it, completely. “That’s fine. If you would rather handle memberships and the legitimate side of the business, I can handle the rest.” 

Y/N doesn’t expect him to be so understanding. To be frank, she doesn’t know what she expected from Harry. She figured all her brother's boxer friends would be cold and calculated. Not a gorgeous, kindhearted 6ft teddy bear. 

“I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but if you’re happy to, I can show you how we work around here.” 

What feels like an hour, is three. And by the time Harry has explained the basics and the logistics, it’s nearly 9:30 p.m. and Y/N’s stomach is rumbling. The loudness of it has heat rising to her cheeks and Harry chuckles. 

She’s grown a little more relaxed around him in the two and a half hours they’ve spent in Sam’s office. Her Converse have been kicked off and her cardigan is long gone. She’s still sitting in the chair and Harry leans his bum against the desk, just a few inches from her. 

“D’you wanna order food or call it a night?” He asks. 

Y/N looks up at him. She’s ashamed to admit she’s enjoying this time with Harry. It’s been a long time since she’s felt so consumed in something that she hasn’t thought about how sad her life is right now. 

“Oh, sorry I’ve been here a while. You’ve probably been wanting to go home for ages,” she laughs nervously, feeling slightly embarrassed. 

Harry is quick to shake his head. “No, not at all. Besides, I’ve got to stay here for the fights tonight anyway.” 

“Oh, right. Yeah. Do you mind if I stay?” She asks. 

Y/N supposes that she may as well cram as much into one night as she can. Even if that does include watching illegal fights in this new business she co-owns. 

Harry nods, taking a sip of his bottled water. “If you feel okay, stay. I know this is a lot to take in. Don’t think you have to do everything all at once.” 

She appreciates his consideration, and maybe she’s not as mentally prepared for tonight and she’s letting herself think, but that doesn’t change her mind. 

Y/N can’t fight this inheritance. Harry won’t let her and she knows she’ll regret it if she walks away from Sam’s pride and joy. So she might as well suck it up the best she can. 

“I can’t escape this now, Harry. If I’m going to be in this, I’ve got to be all in, right?” 

Harry isn’t sure where her change of attitude has come from, but he hopes tonight doesn’t have her coiling back into that previous mindset of wanting nothing to do with the business. 

So he nods at her and offers an apologetic yet appreciative smile. And looking at her, he takes a moment to admire the beauty of her. She’s nothing like Sam, not look-wise anyway. 

She’s much more attractive than he was. 

“So… do you want pizza or something else?” Y/N asks, tapping away on her phone to begin an order for food. 

Harry purses his lips. “Oh, I can’t eat until after the fight. But order whatever you want on the company card. I’ll go up and grab it for you when it’s delivered.” 

She finds it strange, but maybe Harry gets nervous for fight night. She’s not sure why else he wouldn’t eat until after watching illegal fights. 

Y/N orders herself a small pizza and by the time she’s eaten, and Harry has finished explaining the systems, they’re leaving the office to find the trainers in the locker rooms. 

The buzzing atmosphere has an unfamiliar wave of excitement washing over Y/N. The unknown anticipation is like electricity, sending a little shockwave through her body. 

She hasn’t experienced anything like this before, and knowing nothing about how tonight may unfold, it has her on the tip of her toes. Nervous and ready for anything at the same time. 

She thinks she gets what Sam used to say about the thrill he got from fighting. This feeling she’s getting just being stood in the gym before someone’s fight probably doesn’t even begin to compare to the feeling of actually fighting. 

“Everyone listen up!” 

Harry’s voice beckons over every single trainer. All eyes are on him and Y/N. She feels a little nervous like she’s intruding on their work. 

“I’m sure many of you know, but for those who don’t… this is Sam’s sister, Y/N. She is the new partner in the company and will be just as involved in this business as Sam was. If she has any questions, you answer them. Tonight, you’re all to keep an eye out for her. We’ve got a rough bunch coming in and it’s Y/N’s first fight. Now glove up and get angry. We’re undefeated for a reason.” 

As quickly as they paid attention, they were filtering out of the lockers. Y/N won’t admit it but she’s slightly in awe of the respect and power Harry has. 

She would’ve never guessed he could have that effect on people. But as her life has proven, Y/N doesn’t seem to be right about anything. Ever. 

As they exit the lockers, the gym is a lot fuller. At least two to three hundred people are occupying the space. Y/N’s never seen anything quite like it. It’s loud and masculine, and the eager guests put their bets in at the side of the rings. 

“Niall!” Harry calls out, a blond amongst the trainers turning to the owners as he wanders over. 

“Y/N, this is Niall. One of our best fighters and Sam’s protégé.” 

She shakes his hand with a relaxed smile. “I remember you from his wake. Thank you for coming that day.” 

Niall smiles pitifully, releasing her hand. “Your brother was a good fella. Welcome to the team, Y/N. We’re glad to have you in the family.”

She doesn’t question the family remark. She doesn’t have to. Sam had always expressed to Y/N how the boys at the gym were like his brothers. It warms her heart to speak with Niall. 

“Ni, I want you to keep an eye on her for me. Just until I’m done.” Niall nods and Y/N frowns, turning to Harry. 

“Where are you going?” She asks. 

He grins at her, cheeky and cocky. “I'm the first fight. You gonna give me luck like you give my gran, Penny?” 

Y/N can’t hide the way her eyes widen or how heat rises to her cheeks. She doesn’t know what she’s more caught off by. Harry fighting or the unexpected use of her nickname. 

Wherever it is, it has fire licking at every inch of her body. And the smirk he throws her before approaching the ring only adds fuel to her ever-growing fire. 

She’s got fucking whiplash. One minute she’s moping over her brother and the next she’s pressing her thighs together desperately and accepting the fact that she is now, to put it bluntly, a crime boss. 

She turns to Niall with a sheepish smile and attempts to relax her shoulders. Niall seems to see right through her shaky facade and he lets out a cackle of a laugh before throwing an arm around her shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, Harry is the dog's bollocks. And it’s okay to fancy him. Most girls do.” 

The ruckus only gets louder, a fairly even mix of chants and boos as Harry approaches the ring and climbs in. Y/N isn’t sure why her heart begins to race. She isn’t sure why she’s instinctively toying with the pendant on her necklace. She has no idea why she’s so hooked and nervous. 

Like she’s worried for him. 

The introductions are a blur, both Harry and his opponent walking the ring for all to see. The referee doesn’t stand in there with them. He stands to the side, an older man with a beer belly and balding scalp, his voice rumbling through the microphone that echoes. 

“This guy’s a fucking nutter.” she hears Niall say beside her, face close to her ear to raise his voice above the noise. 

Y/N’s heart stammers a little faster. “He got banned for a little while. The last time he was here, he bit someone’s pinky finger off. Two years later, and we still haven’t got the blood out of the mat. Osmond has very little perception of pain. The only way to win against him is knocking him clean out, or he can fight all night.” 

She tries her hardest not to let her eyes widen at his words and keeps her gaze focused on Harry and Osmond. He’s significantly larger than Harry – stockier and taller. Y/N thought they’d at least follow weight class guidelines, but now she’s beginning to worry that Harry may barely come out of there with a pulse. 

When the bell sounds and the fight starts, Y/N can’t tear her eyes away. They’re both circling the ring, cautious like lions stalking their prey. Osmond is the first to move, feigning an attack by stomping his foot forward and then easing back. 

The motion goes unphased by Harry, not even a flicker of a flinch. Niall giggles to himself, like he’s not at all worried about his friend. Unfortunately, Y/N doesn’t share the same confidence in Harry that Niall does. How can she? She’d never seen him fight before. 

They grow closer and Harry is bouncing on his toes. Even barely knowing him. Y/N can feel the energy he’s permitting. The confidence, the excitement. She swallows a gasp when Osomond lunges for Harry but he’s quick to dodge it, forcing a fist into the side of Osmond’s face as he bounces back. 

Osmond stumbles for a second, taken aback by the force of Harry’s punch – like Y/N’s not the only one to underestimate the boxer. But as soon as he finds his footing, the fight breaks loose. 

Harry is quick to dodge ninety percent of Osmond’s punches, delivering a blow of his own with every other recoil. His slimmer build and smaller weight works to his advantage. Y/N watches the way Harry moves around his opponent, notices how much quicker his reflexes are than Osmond’s. 

The crowd has grown significantly louder than before and yet it all becomes a bit of a blur to Y/N. She’s enamoured by him, by his every movement. The way muscles ripple with every pinch, how his skin glistens with sweat, and blood begins to drip from the bridge of his nose.  

As quickly as she begins to grow aroused, she stops. Remembering that this was her brother’s life for years. Fighting like this, with little to no rules and people betting on him to win or lose. 

So caught up in her head, she misses the final punch that Harry connects with Osmond’s jaw. Misses the way the larger man plummets to the ground with a thud. She doesn’t notice the straining eyes of strangers as they stare at her from across the basement, watching her every move like hawks. 

She doesn’t notice, but Harry does. Because he’s looking right at her, stuck in her head. He doesn’t like it one bit; how naive she is. In another Universe, maybe he’d admire it. But not in this world – the new world she’s been thrown into. She can’t afford to be unaware of the dangers this place can carry, of the things people are capable of. It’s muffled to Y/N when the crowd begins to count down from ten, reality only really fixing her senses when that bell rings again. 

And the fight is over. 

//

She hasn’t been able to stop looking at him. 

Harry’s been cleaned up, dressed in a t-shirt again, and counting the money he’s won from the fight. He flicks the notes from one hand to another with ease, counting far too quickly but Y/N supposes he’s used to it. 

“What did you think of the fight?” he asks.

Y/N quirks a brow, wonders if there’s a hint of cockiness in his tone, but there isn’t. He’s not boasting about how good of a fight it was, he’s just asking what she thought. 

“Was good. Didn’t know you could fight like that.” 

Harry hums, stuffing the cash into an envelope and offering her a tight-lipped smile. “Most people don’t. I’m used to being underestimated.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything as she sits on the edge of the ring. The Box had cleared out around forty-five minutes ago, just the two of them left now and the clock is ticking ten to three. 

“Think I missed the part where you knocked him out, though.” 

Harry hums. “Yeah, I noticed you were a bit in your head when that happened. You need to stop doing that here moving forward.” 

Y/N frowns, unsure what she should address first. The fact he was watching her during the fight, or that she needs to stop getting in her head. 

“What do you mean?” she settles for. 

Harry stands from the small foldable table beside the ring. “No matter how well you may ever think you know this place and these people, you don’t. It’s a bottomless pit of uncertainty and you need to have your wits about you at all times. People were watching you tonight, trying to suss you out. If anyone smells even a hint of fear or weakness on you in this place, you’re done for – whether you’re a fighter or not.” 

His words hit Y/N a little harder than both anticipated but she supposes it’s what she needed to hear. Because he is right. She gets in her head far too often since Sam’s passing, and Y/N knows it’ll only end up getting her hurt or in trouble. Especially in a place like this. 

So she nods her head, understanding and agreeing. And it’s not like Harry expected her to put up a fight, but he’s at least glad he didn’t make her cry with it. 

“Come on, it’s late. I’ll drive you home.” He offers, but Y/N is quick to stand and shake her head, hauling her purse over her shoulder. 

“It’s okay, my car’s outside.” 

He looks at her for a moment, like he’s debating letting her drive alone at this time. But it’s not his business, and he’s not prepared to overstep again. He might’ve promised Sam he’d look out for her, but he’s not about to be overbearing. 

“Okay. Text me when you’re home.” 

She leaves shortly after, allowing Harry a few moments of peace as he finishes the last of his paperwork. A weight sits heavy on his shoulders about tonight. About how dangerous getting tied up in this place could be for Y/N. 

The first day and people are already staring, gawking, surveilling. There’s that unnerving feeling in Harry’s tummy that just won’t go away. The kind of feeling he got before Sam died. 

The memory stings him a little with both grief and guilt. Will there ever be a right time for him to tell Y/N how her brother really died? That it wasn’t just an unfortunate car accident. That Harry’s been watching his back and secretly hers ever since. That the associates of the people who did it were in The Box tonight? 

His phone chimes from beside him, screen alight with one single text from Y/N.

I’m home x

//

Bursting through the doors of Oakdale Care, Y/N’s more than a little pissed off. Not because she’s been called into work on her only day off this week. But because the staff have waited two hours to make her aware of Mary’s fall this evening. And to top it off, they didn’t think to contact her family to notify them either.

Y/N chews into Melanie the second she comes through the door, exclaiming how unprofessional it is that they didn’t contact anyone when this happened. 

Melanie remains quiet, doesn’t know what to say back to that and she knows Y/N’s right in what she’s saying. But in Melanie’s defence, she’s not running the shift. 

“I can call Mary’s grandson now. I’m not running today, Lara is… I thought she would’ve called him?” 

Y/N takes a breath as she stops outside of Mary’s bedsit. She knows she shouldn’t have kicked up a big fuss without knowing everything, but the fact still stands that she and Harry weren’t notified when the accident occurred two hours ago. 

Shaking her head, Y/N peers into Mary’s room. She lays on her back in her bed, eyes closed but there’s a pinch between her brows, suggesting discomfort and pain from her fall. 

“Don’t worry, I called Harry as soon as you called me. He’s on his way now. Has Lara given Mary any pain meds? What’s going on with paramedics?” 

Melanie doesn’t say anything about Y/N calling Harry from home. Honestly, she doesn’t think anything of it. It’s not uncommon for seniors to have patients' family members' contacts on their phones. It comes in handy for situations like this. 

“Oh, okay. Um, yes… Lara gave her pain relief and paramedics said they’ll be here as soon as possible – they’re understaffed and have a lot of more emergent calls.” 

Y/N nods, reaching back to tie her hair up the best she can without a mirror. “Okay, did they say if they’d be taking her in?” 

Melanie shakes her head. “They said they’ll assess her on scene and go from there. If they don’t think her hip is broken, they’ll get her referred for an X-ray tomorrow afternoon. If they can tell that it is, then they’ll take her in.”

Y/N nods. She’s been here long enough to know how it works, it isn’t the first time an elderly patient has had a fall. “Alright, thank you. Can you let Lara know I’m staying for the remainder of the shift, most likely tonight as well?” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see if Lara wants you to take over the shift or whatever.”

When Melanie leaves, Y/N quietly enters Mary’s room. She sits on the chair across from the bed and exhales softly. 

“For Christ's sake, Mary… you’re always up to no good.” She whispers to herself, allowing just a moment to get her mind in order so she’s calm enough to explain to Harry fully what’s going on. 

The idea of seeing him under these circumstances irks her a bit. She’s only been to the club once since she was first there two weeks ago, still finding it a little overwhelming to process. And Harry had assured her that it was fine and to take her time, and if once a week is all she can handle right now, then that’s fine, too. 

Y/N feels a little bad. Allowing Harry to run the club alone while she owns the majority of it. It feels a little too cheeky in the worst way and the guilt has been nipping at her for a few days now. 

It doesn’t help that tonight she was supposed to be there, to run through the books and set up some form of timesheet for what days she’d come in. Now it looks like neither of them will be there this evening. 

A gentle knock on Mary’s door disturbs Y/N’s inner turmoil, and she’s met with the devil himself standing in the doorway. There’s worry in his eyes, brows knitted and lips in a fine line. 

“Hey,” Y/N breathes a greeting as she stands from her chair. 

Harry enters the room cautiously, scared he may wake her but also scared of what Y/N may say to him. His eyes flicker between the two women for a moment and Y/N offers a gentle smile. 

“We’re waiting for paramedics to come and assess her. She’s been given medication for the pain. I’m so sorry you weren't contacted sooner. I called as soon as I found out.” 

Harry waves off her apology, knowing it isn’t Y/N’s fault. He takes the seat beside hers as they sit together. Harry’s fingers are intertwined across his chest as he sits back and regards his grandmother. 

Guilt is quick to settle into his stomach. He wishes he visited her more often. When scary things like this occur, he finds himself deep in his head about what he couldn’t and should’ve done better or more. He’s not silly, he knows his gran is getting old, but growing up, Harry always viewed her as immortal — isn’t that how everyone sees their grandparents? As ever-lasting beings who will always just be there? 

“Do you want me to give you some space?” 

Y/N notices his dazed eyes slowly blink her way. He’s not completely with it, may that be through fear, stress or something entirely else. 

Harry shakes his head. “No, you’re fine. Feels a bit reassuring having you in here, if I’m honest.” There’s a hesitant (dare she say, shy) smile on his lips as he speaks. 

Y/N would like to say his words mean something deeper but in reality, she gets it. Family tend to prefer having a member of staff present after something like this — just in case something happens, there’s already someone there. 

She bites down her confused disappointment and a few moments of silence settle around them. 

Y/N picks at her nails while Harry chews at the inside of his cheek; his eyes focused on the clock on the wall beside him. It’s nearing eight in the evening and the home is relatively quiet. There will be a staff swap shortly for the night shift but even then, there won’t be much more noise. 

“Why’s the car park always so busy recently?” Harry asks mindlessly, but the question bewilders Y/N for a second. 

“What do you mean?” She blinks. 

Harry shrugs his shoulders, shifting in his chair. “The amount of cars parked out the front compared to the amount of staff in right now doesn’t match up.” 

It’s Y/N’s turn to shrug her shoulders. “It’s a busy area. A lot of people tend to use the car park if they live nearby and can’t find a space. Plus it’s free.”

A quiet hum sounds from Harry’s throat and Y/N finds herself wondering if he’s satisfied with her answer or not. Then she finds herself confused again as to why she cares. 

“I told Melanie I’d stay for a few hours, or at least until we know what’s going on with the paramedics. So, I most probably won’t be at the gym later tonight. Sorry.” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, don’t be silly. It’s fine. I’ll stay, too. Niall can oversee the gym, it’s just a few lads putting in extra training tonight, there’s no fights anyway.” 

Y/N’s about to reply when a gentle knocking on Mary’s door stops her. Melanie pops her head through, an apologetic smile on her face as she greets Harry with a polite wave. 

“Y/N, is there any chance you can do bedtime meds round? Lana’s speaking with the Head of Care about the fall.” 

She looks to Harry, who nods with a small smile before she leaves the room with Melanie. He’s left with silence and his grandmother's soft snores as she sleeps. His heart races a little with worry of what could’ve happened. If she’d hit her head or if a member of staff wasn’t in the room when it happened. 

It takes a lot of force to shake those thoughts from his head. The what-ifs. He tries to find something else to focus his attention on, but Mary doesn’t have much in her room. 

She’s always been a very simplistic person, never been one for clutter and unnecessary decorations. She has a clock on one wall and the cross of Christ on another beside a photo of her late mother. 

Digging through the pockets of his slacks, Harry retrieves his phone and shoots Niall a quick text. 

Harry: Can’t make it in tonight, family emergency. You okay to oversee the training? 

A few moments pass before the little bubble appears at the bottom of his screen, which is quickly replaced with Niall’s reply. 

Niall: No prob, hope alls ok. Is Y/N in? 

Harry: No. 

Shutting his phone off, he stuffs it back into his pocket. He sits in silence for a few moments, foot tapping against the carpeted floor until he hears a little movement from out in the hall. 

Harry cranes his neck from where he sits in his chair, peering through the crack. Y/N pushes the medication trolley through the hallway, stopping outside of Mary’s door as she enters the room opposite. 

“Evening, Malcolm. I’ve got your medication, mate. Do you want juice or water with it?” 

He smiles at the softness of her voice, of how calm and collected she seems. He listens in as Malcolm attempts to refuse them, fights back a laugh as Y/N persuades him to take it because if you don’t, you know your hair will start to fall out again and you told me Alice doesn’t like bald men.

He takes the medication and she leaves shortly after, moving onto the next room that Harry can’t hear from. 

It’s roughly twenty minutes later when she’s returning to Mary’s room and offering Harry an apologetic smile. She’s got two mugs of tea in her hands as she passes one to Harry and sits in the chair beside him. 

“I find it really admirable, what you do.” He tells her softly. 

Y/N frowns a little, slightly embarrassed by the compliment but she shrugs it off. “I treat them how I’d want someone to treat my grandparents. Really, they’re all like extra Nan’s and Grandad’s to me.” 

He smiles at her, believing what she says. Mary has always boasted about how amazing her Penny is. Harry knows she loves her job and the people she cares for. It makes his heart feel full. 

“Have you always wanted to work in care?” 

Y/N pulls a face as she thinks, a look that suggests no, not really. 

“I actually wanted to be an air hostess,” she laughs to herself, like her dream job is completely irrational and totally out of reach. 

Harry must admit that it does make his eyebrows raise. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who shares an interest in something like that. 

“But my grandma passed away in a care home a few years ago. She was unwell, we thought she might’ve had a heart attack or a stroke or something in her sleep. The coroner concluded it was a heartache but it stemmed from a build-up of neglect. The nurses weren’t giving her the medication she needed and things like that. Sam ended up beating the shit out of the manager and he sued them. At my grandma’s funeral, I vowed to her I wouldn’t let that happen to anyone else’s grandparent again.”

Harry blinks at her, lips parted. He’s stunned, to say the least, and his heart feels heavy from her words. He can’t begin to imagine the anger and heartache she must’ve felt. Harry supposes that’s why she got so uptight about Mary’s fall. 

“Jesus. Penny, I’m so sorry.” 

His apology is genuine, she knows that. But she waves her hand to dismiss the condolence. It’s not something she likes to talk about. And she’s not entirely sure why she feels so comfortable sharing that with Harry. 

“What about you?” She takes a sip of her tea. “Have you always wanted to be a boxer?” 

Harry puffs out the air in his cheeks and shifts in his chair. “For the longest time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I was a bit of a problem child as a kid, so my mum got me into boxing to help me learn respect and discipline. Didn’t think I’d love it as much as I did.” 

Y/N listens intently to his words, watches the way his lips move with every syllable. She comes to the realisation that she could sit and listen to him speak for hours. 

“After school, I started Uni… studying law.” 

The irony in his voice has them both laughing quietly and Y/N has to purse her lips shut to not wake Mary. She can’t imagine Harry wearing a suit and tie all day every day. Though she does remember how handsome he looked at Sam’s funeral. 

“I was on a night out with some friends one night down the pub, and this bloke was just on one. We got into a fight outside and right after, Sam came up to me. Told me he was impressed and invited me to come and train at the gym.” 

It’s funny, really. How in both of their stories, Sam plays such a crucial part. Sometimes Harry does wonder if he would’ve followed through with law school if Sam hadn’t scouted him. Though as much as he tries to imagine it, he can’t see his life for anything other than what it already is. 

“Around the time Gran got unwell, Sam had offered me fights at the club. I knew she’d need private care and fighting would be the only way to afford it. My mum was out of work with knee surgery around the same time, so it was all falling on me. I did what I had to do. I dropped out of Uni and never looked back.”

It’s bittersweet, how his path was paved for him. Harry had to step up and support his family, and whatever plans he had before that had to be pushed aside and forgotten. Y/N finds it quite noble if she’s honest. But there’s sadness and pity in her gut. 

“Where’s your mum now?” She asks. 

Harry takes a sip of his drink. 

“She works for a big publishing firm in the city. She travels a lot, I think she’s in New York at the moment.” 

“Oh, wow.” Y/N’s eyes widen slightly. 

Harry nods his head. “Yeah, she’s a big shot.” He laughs. “My mum sacrificed a lot for me and Gran, I’m trying my best to give it back. She doesn’t know that I pay for all of Gran’s care. She thinks it’s covered by her disability.” 

Her heart hurts but it swells at the same time. Behind that rough and mean exterior, Harry seems to be one of the most gentle and genuine people Y/N has ever met. She just wants to give him a hug. 

“I don’t mean to be nosy, so tell me if I’m overstepping. But as Mary’s keyworker, I handle all invoices and health care… and I know you make a lot of money from the fights. Why do you keep her here when you could afford something more lavish?”

She hopes it doesn’t come off the wrong way — she already thinks it’s incredible what he’s doing for his family. But she can’t help but wonder. 

“Honestly?” He asks, and Y/N nods. “Because of you. She loves living here and she loves you. Whenever I visit, it’s always Penny this, and Penny that. You’ve got no idea how at peace I feel with her living her, because of how incredible you are with her.” 

Y/N’s not sure when the tears began to well in her eyes but when they begin to fall down her cheek, Harry is quick to wipe them away softly with the pad of his thumb. 

They’re both aware of how intimate his little act was, so he’s quick to sit back in his chair and clear his throat. 

“As for the money, I save most of it for my future children and stuff. I don’t want to do this forever, but now Sam’s gone… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk away from it. It’s all I’ve got left of him.” 

Everything he says is loaded to Y/N. Future children, her late brother. She’s not sure if she pegged Harry for the type to want children, but she constantly has to remind herself that she doesn’t know him, and every time they speak she learns something new. 

The mention of Sam makes her heart hurt. And in the past two weeks, she’s begun to adopt the same mindset that Harry already has. Now she’s part of it, she doesn’t think she could let the club go. Much like Harry, it’s one of the only things she has left of Sam, too. 

They sit like that for another hour or so, just talking and learning more about each other. Harry shares stories about Mary, and Y/N listens intently to the mirage of the older woman’s life. 

Y/N is about to ask another question when their little story time is interrupted by two male paramedics knocking on the door of Mary’s room. 

Y/N’s the first to stand, offering a polite smile as she shakes both of their hands. “Hi, I’m Y/N, Mary’s keyworker. This is Harry,” she gestures to him, “Mary’s grandson.” 

The two paramedics introduce themselves as Darren and Olli as they lug their equipment into the room with them. Harry sits back to allow them their space as they wake Mary from her light slumber. 

He watches as Y/N softly explains what’s happening and that she needs to be checked over by the nice paramedics. They’re all thankful that Mary doesn’t kick up a fuss about it, and allows Darren and Olli to gently examine her hips. 

“Been a while since a strapping young bloke has had his hands all over my hips… let alone two of ya.”

Harry closes his eyes in embarrassment as Y/N stifles her laugh. No matter how long she’s been caring for Mary, she never fails to give Y/N the giggles. And it doesn’t help when she mumbles something along the lines of ‘I should fall over more often’, under her breath. 

Olli gently pushes pressure on her left hip. “Is that giving you any discomfort, Mary?” 

She shakes her head. “Oh, absolutely not, petal. You can keep doing that.” 

“Gran!”

It’s Olli’s turn to stifle his amusement as he removes his hands from her hips and takes off his gloves. He turns to Harry and Y/N while Darren helps Mary to lay back and pulls her top back over her stomach. 

“From what I can feel, it’s not broken. She may be a bit achy for a couple of days, so keep on top of painkillers but she’ll be fine.” 

An audible gasp can be heard in the room from both Y/N and Harry as Mary gets comfortable in her bed again. Too pent up with both worry and relief, neither of them notice the way Mary looks at them, how her eyes are knowing and clueless at the same time. 

It’s another twenty minutes or so before the paramedics leave to speak with the manager. Harry is quick to sit beside Mary, holding her hand and chastising her about how much she scared everyone. 

Mary is even quicker to roll her eyes and smack the back of Harry’s hand lightly. “Oh, behave, Harry. I’m fine. The yummy paramedics even said so.” 

Y/N can’t help but laugh at the way Harry’s face screws up at her words, quickly tugging his hand from her hold to cover his face with a groan. 

“Harry’s right. You gave us all a scare.” 

Mary looks at her with gentle eyes and huffs. “I’m okay, honestly. And I heard what you said earlier. As much as I love you both, I don’t need a babysitter. Both of you can shoo off and let me sleep. Come back tomorrow.” 

Harry’s about to put up a fight about it, but Mary shakes her head. “No, I mean it. Go on, both of you. Piss off.” 

Neither of them are shocked by her pottymouth. If anything, they’re thankful that’s all she had to say. They both know how venomous Mary’s words can be when she’s pissed off. 

They say goodbye to her shortly after, traipsing back through the hall until they reach reception. Y/N leans over the desk and scribbles a note on a post-it, sticking it to the laptop to notify the staff that she’s left. 

The brisk air of the late-night envelopes them harshly as they leave through the front door, barely given enough time to brace themselves for the frosty impact. 

Y/N’s eyes scan the car park for her car, absentmindedly searching for Harry’s, too. “I’m over there,” she points to her car. “Did you drive here?” 

The question makes Harry’s eyes widen and shoulders slump. “My car was playing up so I took it to the garage down the street. It’s still in there.” 

Neither of them need to glance at their watches to know the garage won’t be open at nearly midnight. Y/N frowns but shrugs her shoulders. 

“S’okay. Where do you live? I can drop you off.” 

The offer warms his heart but not enough to give him hope. “Don’t worry about it, I’m like forty minutes away… I wouldn’t expect you to drive there and back before you even get home.” 

The thought sounds a bit grim to her but she’s not about to leave him on the street to have to walk or pay an extortionate amount (which she’s sure he can afford) on an Uber. 

“Well, you can just crash at mine then. I have work tomorrow afternoon, so I can bring you back and you can grab your car then?” 

It stuns them both for a moment, her words. Y/N’s shocked she actually offered what was on her mind and Harry’s a little bewildered at how willing she is to have him, somewhat of a stranger, in her home. 

He tilts his head slightly with gently pinched brows. “Are you sure?” Ever the gentleman. 

She nods, like she’s trying to convince herself as well. “Honestly, I don’t mind. And it’s not like you’re a complete stranger.”

He laughs at that, he laughs hard. Maybe it’s the tiredness or maybe it’s the relief that Gran’s okay. Either way, he knows what she said wasn’t that funny. 

She leads the way to her car and the drive back to her flat is quiet. Harry sings along softly to the radio, taking note of his surroundings. 

There’s a cherry-scented freshener that hangs from the rearview mirror, a pair of running trainers sitting on one of the backseats and a small knitted blanket folded nearly just by his feet in the passenger footwell. 

Harry thinks she’s the type of girl to have an emergency supply kit in her boot as well. 

She does. 

When they arrive at her apartment building, Harry follows her through the halls. She’s a little nervous, the closer they’re getting to her home. She panics as she struggles to remember if she left it a mess or still has clean clothes and underwear lying about anywhere. 

As soon as she opens the door, she lets herself relax. No wild underwear to be seen, thank god. 

Harry closes the door behind him and looks around. It’s nice, cosy. The walls are decorated with funky artwork and all of her furniture is slightly mismatched but it pulls together well. 

He’s not sure what he expected, maybe something a bit more simplistic and minimalist. This is anything but — it feels a little intimate, like he’s seeing a deeper side to her. He can tell her flat reflects her personality. 

“Cool artwork.” 

She smiles sheepishly, hoping Harry can’t tell how nervous she is to have him in her home. He can. But he doesn’t say anything on the matter. 

“Are you okay on the sofa?” 

“Yeah, honestly I’m just thankful you’re letting me stay.” 

Y/N smiles kindly at him. “Of course. There are blankets in the basket by the TV. Help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen. And the bathroom is just to the left of the dining table.” 

It’s a little awkward for a moment. They’re not friendly enough for this to be normal, and Harry starts to feel that nervous tension too. 

She says goodnight first, sauntering off to her bedroom and closing the door behind her. It takes a moment for Y/N to calm down a little. It’s been a while since an attractive man has been in her home, and she has to remind herself that previous men have been complete strangers for a hookup once in a blue moon. 

Harry’s is not a hookup (unfortunately), and he is not a stranger. She repeats it in her head as she gets into her pyjamas and crawls into bed. 

At least Y/N understands why she feels so anxious. Because Harry can’t put his finger on why he does. Too in his head about being in her home and it feeling so fucking intimate. 

She doesn’t sleep all night. 

Neither does Harry. 

//

It’s been a week since Harry crashed on Y/N’s sofa and she hasn’t been able to look at it the same ever since. It’s been a bit of a struggle to try and wrap her head around these feelings she’s begun to harbour for Harry – she can’t get him out of her head. 

They’ve spoken a couple of times here and there. Mostly him checking in about Gran or a tiny bit of flirtatious banter when she’s visited The Box a couple of evenings. Nothing at all to warrant how she feels at the moment. 

Perhaps that’s why she’s so confused and conflicted. 

And it doesn’t help that the second her mother called, the first thing she asked was if Y/N was dating or not yet. 

“No mum.”

She hears the audible sigh from down the line and pinches her eyes shut to gain some form of self-control. Not today, Y/N – don’t snap at her today.

“Well, there’s a small amount of time left for you, I suppose. Anyway, have you seen your brother today?” 

“Yes, I’m with him now Mum. I see you’ve already been down… the flowers look beautiful.” 

She doesn’t reply to her daughter, not about Sam’s grave anyway. Instead, she changes the subject to something a little lighter. Y/N supposes it’s still hard for her, to talk about her deceased son. The one child she actually adored. 

“Your father wanted me to ask if you’d like to come away with us this weekend?”

Y/N’s brows pinch at the proposition. A holiday with just her parents sounds like a living Hell if she’s entirely honest. And she’s more than a little shocked to even have received an invite. She reckons her Dad probably had something to do with that. 

“Where are you going?” She asks. 

Layla sighs, and Y/N imagines her scrutinising the new manicure she gets every Thursday. “Bora Bora,” she says with little to no enthusiasm. 

Y/N stares at Sam’s headstone with a tired gaze in her eyes. “Only for three weeks, we need the break, to be honest. Are you coming or not?” 

Only three weeks? Y/N finds herself biting down hard on her tongue. She’ll never understand how people with money can be so out of touch with the world sometimes. She scoffs, shaking her head to herself. 

“Thank you for the offer, but no. I don’t have that kind of money and I can’t get three weeks off of work on such short notice.” 

Layla hums. “Yes, I understand. Well, I have to start packing. Oh and please don’t get any dirt on Sammy’s headstone, I just got it power-washed.”

The line goes dead and Y/N stares at her brother's grave in astonishment. “Love you, too,” she mutters sarcastically as she pulls the phone away from her ear. 

“Even in the dead, you’re still the goddamn favourite.”

She crouches down to get a better look at his plot. There are at least six bunches of fresh flowers in small plant potters that dig into the dirt. All beautiful and vibrant. Y/N places the seventh bunch in an empty plastic pot and uses her water bottle to fill it. 

“Happy birthday, Sammy. I miss you.” 

The cemetery is quiet, save for the few robins that perch on headstones close to her. From where she stands, Y/N spots an elderly couple walking hand in hand, no doubt visiting their own loved ones together.

Sometimes, she wishes she had someone to visit Sam with. Someone other than her parents. 

She stays there for a few moments, doesn’t really know what to say. It irks her a little, knowing his body lies beneath that cold ground. Y/N can feel that familiar sinking feeling of depression consume her. The guilt, the pain. 

She’d give everything to have him back, if even just for a day. 

“It’s not getting any easier, Sammy.” 

It’s like admitting defeat – like she’s not strong enough to cope with his loss. She is, but she certainly doesn’t feel the strength she needs to get her through. 

From the peripheral of her vision, Y/N spots a figure approaching. She turns her head, the silhouette now much clearer and she’s sure she recognises the slender blonde woman that edges closer with every tentative step. 

The woman from the reception. 

She looks just as shocked as Y/N – clearly not expecting to bump into her but she must’ve known his family would visit on his birthday. 

“Sorry,” the stranger starts. “I’ll come back later.”

Y/N shakes her head and calls out to her before she can fully turn to walk away. “Wait! I remember you, from the gym.” She chooses her words carefully, unsure how much she may know about the club itself. 

The blonde nods her head and takes a few steps closer, eyes fixed on Sam’s grave as tears well in her eyes. “My name’s Amira… Sam and I were seeing each other when…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but Y/N gets it. Her lips part and her eyes fall downcast. Sammy never mentioned he was seeing anyone – but Y/N supposes there was a lot he didn’t mention in his lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I had no idea he was seeing anyone. He tended to keep that kind of stuff to himself.” 

Amira smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She continues to clutch a fresh bouquet of flowers close to her chest and doesn’t say much more. Y/N begins to feel like maybe she’s the one intruding and quickly clears her throat, fixing the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“Listen, my parents are going away for a few weeks. So if you’d like to stop by the house at all to go through some of Sam’s stuff, let me know. My number should be on the system at the gym anyway.” 

There’s a look in Amira’s eyes as she takes in Y/N’s kind consideration. Maybe it’s relief, maybe it’s something else. But Y/N figures the least she could do is allow her a deeper look into Sam’s life and let her take whatever she may need to feel closer to him. 

“Thank you, Y/N. That means so much to me. I’ll let you have time with him, I can come back later.” 

She smiles at Amira, a genuine one this time and shakes her head. “No, don’t be silly. I’m heading out now anyway.” She brushes past Amira, hand reaching out to gently squeeze her arm. “Please don’t be a stranger. Sam might be gone, but our memories of him aren’t.”

//

The music is a bit deafening and Y/N’s ears are struggling to adjust to it. The Box isn’t all that busy this afternoon. A few on the weights and a couple sparring to the side of boxing bags. 

What does catch her attention is Harry in the ring again. He’s not topless this time, instead wearing a simple red t-shirt and a pair of black gym shorts. His stance is firm as he holds his hands up (under those thick boxing pads) and allows Ricky to throw punches in timely combos. 

Niall is the first to notice Y/N’s presence, and he’s soon by her side with a lopsided smile and ruffled hair. They share a bit of light chit-chat, nothing too deep or personal. Niall doesn’t want to tread in shallow water, not today. 

And she’s far too focused on the way Harry’s biceps flex to focus on anything more than absentminded conversation. She’s not sure what’s gotten into her but she can’t get this man out of her head. 

It’s been a long time since she’s had a crush, almost too long to remember what it even feels like. But the more she looks at him – admires him – she’s back to feeling those wanton butterflies and clammy hands. 

Clearing her throat, she finally tears her gaze from the boxer and looks up at Niall. “I’ve got some invoices and stuff that I need to catch up on. Can you let Harry know I’m in the office when he’s done?” 

Niall nods and just as quickly as their conversation starts, it ends. 

Sitting in the office, she finds that there isn’t actually all that much to do. From what she can see, Harry has already made a start on this weeks memberships and was halfway through processing them on the system. 

That tinge of guilt begins to nip at her gut again. She needs to talk to Harry about it, really. It’s not fair for him to do the majority of the work and only own a quarter of the company. She either needs to up her game or convince him to take another twenty-five percent. 

But if Y/N has learnt anything about Harry by now, it’s that he will not take any more of this godforsaken company. So she finds herself making a mental note to put in more than just three evenings a week at this place. 

She’s a few minutes into finishing the last of the memberships when Harry knocks on the door and enters. He’s hot and sweaty and his dishevelled hair only makes him look even more attractive than usual. 

Lord have fucking mercy, she can’t handle this. 

“Hey,” he greets her in a gruff voice. 

She has to swallow down the lump in her throat before she can reply (a little too squeaky for her liking, and she’s wondering what the fuck is wrong with her). 

“Have you seen Sammy today yet?” 

Y/N nods with a sigh. “Yeah, just got back from there actually. Have you?” 

Harry hums. “Yeah, I saw him this morning.” 

He’s hunched over now, ruffling through his gym bag for his water bottle when he stands straight again and takes a sip of his drink. 

“You’re probably spending the evening with your family, but a bunch of us are gonna go down to the pub for a few drinks for Sammy’s birthday. You’re more than welcome to join at some point if you’d like.” 

The offer warms her heart to no end. It’s nice to hear how much people loved and respected him. Enough to celebrate his birthday even when he’s no longer here. 

She also thinks it’s cute that he thinks she’ll be with her family. As if anything about her and her parents' relationship is healthy. 

“I’ll be there,” she says a little too quickly. “My parents are busy packing for their spontaneous trip to Bora Bora. And my mother is insufferable so that’s just a big fat no to family time.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, a small quirk of a smile on his lips. Her words are nothing new to him. Despite being the favourite, Sam always had his moments to moan about their parents, too. Used to say the same thing about their mother being insufferable. 

“You’re not going with them?” 

“No!” She laughs and the sound makes Harry smile. “I can’t afford a spontaneous three-week vacation and I can’t get the time off work so short notice either.” 

She watches Harry open the middle drawer of the silver filing cabinet and pull out an overly stuffed envelope. He hands it to her, brows raised expectantly for her to take it. 

It’s heavy, and her name is written in his scribbled handwriting and she finds herself looking at it for a second too long. 

“It’s your month's wages.” 

She peers inside, eyes wide. Y/N looks back at him. “How much is this?” 

“Ten grand.” 

Her eyes widen even more. “I’m sorry…” she blinks, “Ten fucking grand? For a month?” 

Harry shrugs, finally deciding to take a seat opposite her. “That’s what Sam used to pay himself monthly. You own the same amount that he did.” 

Y/N stares at him for a moment. She wonders if this amount of cash is normal to Harry and by the way he doesn’t bat an eyelid, she supposes it is. 

“Well I’m not Sam and you’re doing more work than me,” she blubbers. “You should be getting paid more.” 

She tries to shove the envelope across the table and into his hands but he won’t have any of it. Harry laughs at her, shaking his head like she’s the ridiculous one. 

“I get paid enough, believe me.” He pushes the envelope back over to her and she stares at it. 

Y/N has never seen that much money in cash with her name on. She’s never even had that much money at once before. The possibilities are endless as she thinks of what she could do with it. 

She could join her parents in Bora Bora and fuck work off completely if she’s getting paid that every month. But she won’t. 

She could also redecorate her entire flat and do out her wardrobe twice over with just that single month's wage, but she knows she won’t. 

Because Y/N will probably tuck it away under her bed later tonight and be too afraid to spend a single penny of it. 

And Harry notices the way she falls into her mind. She hasn’t taken her eyes off the envelope but she’s still yet to touch it again. He figures it’ll take a while for her to become a bit more accustomed to this. 

He taps his fingers on the desk, gaining her attention. “Penny, it’s your money. Do whatever you see fit with it. Save it, spend it, give it away. Do what you want.” 

Her eyes soften a little, appreciating his encouragement. It still feels wrong, though. To accept that amount of money for doing virtually nothing when people out there who work forty-plus hours every week and still struggle to pay their bills on time. 

She hangs onto the suggestion of giving it away. Maybe she’ll donate it to charity. Not all of it — she does need her oil changed and a new tyre — but most of it. 

Then a thought occurs to her and her eyebrows raise. It’s like Harry already knows what she’s going to suggest and he’s shaking his head again with a raspy laugh that Y/N feels between her legs. 

“No,” he tells her. “You can’t give it away to me.” 

//

If someone had warned her what tonight would look like before she left The Box, Y/N would’ve laughed in their face and called them delusional. 

The night had started like she’d expected. Y/N had driven to the pub with Harry, Niall and Ricky after they were showered and changed, and met up with everyone else where they started off with two shots each in honour of Sammy. 

It continued like she’d expected. The group of them were spread across two booths and two tables — Y/N being one of the only women amongst the bunch of rowdy men — and drinks went down nicely as everyone took turns to reminisce on their favourite memories of her late brother. 

But somewhere down the line of shots, jugs and a drinking game where you had to drink every time Ricky said ‘aye aye captain’ (which she learnt was his catchphrase), Harry had grown increasingly closer to Y/N. 

And now, the two of them have somehow moved deeper into the booth. Harry sits right in the corner with Y/N tucked into his side. About twenty minutes ago, his arm had found its way across her shoulder and has been comfortably resting there ever since. 

His fingers gently stroke the exposed skin of the middle of her bicep and she’s so close to him that half of her back is pressed against his chest. 

They’ve both had a fair amount to drink, but Harry seems significantly more sober than she does. Maybe it’s because she’s the one feeling a little hot about their close proximity. 

And it’s not that she minds it, because she absolutely fucking doesn’t. She’s revelling in it, if she’s completely honest. But she’s shocked and confused as to where this touchy side of Harry has come from and why. 

And just when she thinks they couldn’t get any closer, Harry’s leaning his head just enough so his lips ghost her ear as he whispers something jokingly about whatever it is that Niall has said. 

She can’t fucking focus. Out of nowhere this man has come into her life and flipped it 180. And in just a month of knowing one another, she's down bad and ready to say yes to anything he could ever want. 

Y/N has to force a breathy laugh to whatever he’s just whispered. She can’t think straight, unable to hear a thing when all she can think about is the way his lips feel against the shell of her ear. 

And Harry’s noticed. 

After her third drink, he noticed how she looked at him a little longer than usual. At first, he thought nothing of it, then she did it again and again and her eyes grew shy whenever he looked at her. 

It made his stomach flip. She’s attractive, incredibly so. And Harry’s no blind man. Even before Sam had passed, he knew what she looked like and he found her quite fit. 

But this odd friendship they have, where he’s gotten to know her and came to the realisation that she’s the one to care for his Gran… it’s blown that initial attraction tenfold. 

So maybe he did play up to it a little bit. Maybe he threw his arm around her shoulder to test the waters, to see if she’d pull away or ask him not to. 

But she didn’t pull away and she didn’t say a word. So Harry finally let himself consider the fact that she may find him just as attractive as he finds her. 

“Y’look really pretty, by the way.”  

Oof. Way to fucking play it cool, Harry. 

Her head snaps up in his direction and the mumbled tone of his voice. She heard him. Loud and clear. And she’s blinking up at him like he holds the stars in the sky. 

“What?” she breathes. 

Harry gulps, visibly. “I said you look really pretty today.” 

She thought she heard him right. But it doesn’t hurt to hear it for a second time. Y/N’s skin grows warm as she looks at him, and his eyes are lingering on her lips. 

Her heart skips a beat or two, breathing lodged in her throat. The way he looks at her has her stone-cold sober, no longer feeling the effects of alcohol. Instead, she feels the heat that radiates from Harry’s and the palpable tension between them. 

He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her mouth — the way her plump lips part and her eyes drop down to his. The thought of kissing her is at the front of his mind, but before he can decide if he’ll act on impulse or not, a glass shatters on the other table and the moment is gone. 

Niall’s drunkenly mopping up a spilt beer with paper towels and an empty crisp packet, and Y/N is no longer tucked into his hold. She’s leaning forward to take a look at the damage and Harry’s left feeling a little disappointed. 

He shifts in the booth, sitting upright and clearing his throat as he recomposes himself. Niall’s little accident has drawn a fair amount of attention toward the group, and when Harry eyes the other patrons of the pub, his heart sinks to his stomach at one possee in particular. 

They’re already looking at him. At her. It takes every ounce of self-control to not approach and beat the shit out of them. Who the fuck do they think they are? 

Showing up here, on Sammy’s birthday after what they did to him. Harry’s hands are balled into fists at his sides, chest heaving as he tries to calm himself down. His knee begins to bounce, the anger getting the better of him. 

Ryce, George and Scott — the three men who drove Sam off the road and ended his life. They remain staring, vile smirks tugging at the corners of their lips. 

Harry’s consistent knee jitters finally catches Y/N’s attention and when she looks at him, she’s alarmed by his sudden change in composure. She can read that look on any man’s face. He’s got itchy knuckles. 

“Harry,” she says softly, palm resting on his thigh. 

He forces himself to tear his gaze away from the men and look down at her. Her brows are pinched, confusion evident in her voice. Harry plasters a fake, unbelieving smile on his face. 

“Nothing,” he says tightly. 

His gaze averts to his pint on the table and Y/N takes the opportunity to follow his previous line of sight. The three men are still looking over, all a little jagged on the edges. Their presence doesn’t sit well with Y/N. 

Perhaps that’s because of how she’s seen Harry react to them, or maybe it’s just the uncomfortable stares and creepy vibe they exude. 

Either way, it has her shuffling back into the booth and closer to Harry again. 

It’s a little while later and a few drinks more when Y/N tells Harry she’s going to go home. He’s been on edge the past forty-five minutes and while Y/N was quick to forget the trio of strangers, Harry wasn’t. 

He watched them for the final thirty minutes of their stay before he finally began to calm down a little. Harry’s still on edge and Y/N can tell, maybe that’s why she asks if he’ll walk her to her car. 

He looks at her, brows pinched. “I’m not letting you behind a wheel, Penny. You’ve been drinking. I’ll drive you home.” 

She tilts her head, that nickname awakening butterflies in her stomach. “You’ve been drinking, too,” she points out. 

Harry smiles toothily. “But I can handle my drink and I’m sobered up anyway. Come on, I’ll take you home.” 

Y/N doesn’t argue with that. She lets him grab her purse and guide her out of the booth, follows him through the group as they both say their goodbyes. 

When they get outside and reach Y/N’s car, Harry opens the passenger door for her as she hands him his keys. It takes him a moment to get comfortable in her seat, familiarising himself with her model before he starts the engine and pulls out of the parking space. 

The drive to her flat is quiet, a little bit of chit-chat here and there. She feels hot, watching him drive around in her car with ease. There’s something about it — the way his arms flex as he grips the wheel, how his tongue peeks out the corner of his mouth whenever he takes a tight turn. 

She hates to admit that he drives better than her. 

By the time they arrive back at her apartment building, Y/N’s feeling a lot more sober than when they first left the pub. She’s greeted with a hefty wave of arousal, however, when Harry reverses into her parking space with his arm on the back of her headrest. 

It’s a struggle to walk up to her flat with her thighs clenched tightly together, but she makes it work and Harry doesn’t seem to notice. He walks her straight to her door, hands her the keys and watches as she unlocks it. 

For some reason, Harry feels a little underwhelmed. He didn’t want the night to end so abruptly. He wanted to stay with her a little longer, maybe even get a little closer. 

So when she turns around with a shy smile and presses onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his check, he’s a little taken aback. 

It’s gentle, how her lips meet his skin, but she doesn’t cower back down after. Her face is still close, her lips just barely ghosting his as she slowly starts to pull away. Y/N’s eyes flicker up to meet Harry’s to find them already staring down at her. 

She’s not sure if it’s the final effects of the alcohol or something else that possesses her to press her lips against his, but she lets the intrusive thoughts win. She kisses him and he kisses her back just as softly. 

Her heart is racing, mind blank and she can’t think about anything other than the way his soft lips feel on hers and how his hands reach for her hips to hold her in place. 

Harry’s the one that pulls away first, just enough for the tips of their noses to brush and he’s staring down at Y/N with blown pupils. 

She swallows thickly, suddenly doubting the signs he suggested earlier this evening.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly says. 

Harry shakes his head, his hold on her hips tightening. “Don’t be.” 

His lips are back on hers, messier and needier than before. Y/N’s hands are quick to reach for his head — fingers tangling into his unruly hair. 

Harry swipes his tongue across her bottom lip, parting her mouth until they taste one another. Amid the kiss, he guides her into the flat, kicking the door shut behind them with his foot. 

Y/N’s hand leaves his hair and trails down his body in desperate search of something she can tug at. His find the backs of her thighs and with ease, lifts her in his hold. Legs wrapped around his waist, her arms circle his neck as he guides their bodies to the sofa, crawling on top of Y/N. 

Harry kisses down her neck, nipping at the taut skin as she arches her back and her chest presses into his. 

“Are you sure?” he mumbles against her collarbone. 

Y/N nods, not an ounce of doubt in her mind. His fingers find the hem of her t-shirt and he rolls it up her body, tugging it off her arms and over her head. 

She’s bare beneath it; with supple breasts and pearled nipples. Harry doesn’t think twice before leaning down and taking one into his mouth, swirling his tongue across the hardened nub. 

Y/N’s back arches, chest pushing into his face as her fingertips continue to scratch at his scalp. Harry swirls his tongue around her, teeth biting down and a sharp gasp leaves her lips. 

Trailing kisses up her clavicle, Harry meets her lips again, open mouths and hot tongues. He steadies his weight above her, slotted between her parted thighs. 

“D’you have a condom?” he mutters into the kiss. 

Y/N hums, sitting up as she chases his lips. “In the bedroom.”

He wraps her legs around his waist and lifts them both from the sofa, lips attached once again as he guides them to what he remembers to be her bedroom. 

He’s allowed no time to take a look at her room, not that he’s interested anyway. Harry lays her flat in the middle of the bed, crawling on top to situate himself between her thighs again. 

It’s dark, traces of moonlight barely seeping through the slits of her bedroom curtains. It offers an angelic hue over her soft body, a sight that Harry never wants to forget. 

Her fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt, swooping underneath to feel the warm, toned skin of his abdomen. Harry leans back on his knees just enough to allow him space to remove his top, flinging it somewhere across the darkened room. 

Y/N admires him for a moment, swallowing thickly. His pupils are blown, lips swollen and pink. She watches the way Harry’s chest rises and falls with each breath, takes a second to gawk at the divots of his abs and the dark tattoos that ink his golden skin. 

She expects him to crawl back over her body, to kiss her like his life depends on it. But he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers loop into the waistband of her flared leggings and he slowly pulls them down the length of legs. 

It leaves her almost bare, wearing just a simple black thong but the sight of it has Harry’s cock twitching in his pants. His gaze roams up her body until he finds her eyes, blown and hooded. He doesn’t break that contact as he stands from the bed and unbuckles his belt. He continues to stare into her soul as he tugs them down his toned thighs and kicks them off to the side. 

Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat in anticipation of the big reveal. But he doesn’t offer it. He climbs back onto the bed, heavy palms hot on her inner thighs as he spreads her legs apart for him. 

She breaks eye contact first, eyes fluttering closed when Harry slowly inches his face closer to her clothed cunt. She feels his hot breath fan over her lower tummy, feels him nip at the skin by her hip before his fingers loop into the top of her panties and he drags them down to her ankles. 

She’s bare before him, core soaked and puffy from arousal. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so fucking sexy and delicious in his entire life, and it takes all self-restraint to not bury his face between her thighs for the foreseeable future. 

He doesn’t know what she wants or what she likes, so to play it safely, Harry peppers kisses from her ankles to her tummy and noses at the underside of her breasts. Their lips meet soon after, Y/N’s fingers tangling in his hair. 

She blindly reaches for her bedside table, fingers nimbly searching for a foil packet. Her mind feels dizzy – hazy – at the feeling of Harry’s mouth on hers. She’s seeping down onto the mattress, her arousal too much all at once as his body rests between her legs; his cock nudging against her inner thigh beneath the fabric of his boxers.

Harry reaches a hand down between their bodies, can practically feel the heat from her hot cunt as his fingers hover over her slit. He gently pushes his middle finger through her folds, his skin immediately immersed in wetness as he does so. 

Y/N gasps softly into his mouth, hips involuntarily bucking against his hand. “Please,” she whimpers, voice quiet. 

The sound of her begging has his cock leaping, desperate to be buried inside her. Harry bites back a groan and swirls his finger around her arousal, spreading it across her cunt. He teases at her puckering hole, watches how her body responds to his touch. Like she was fucking made for him. 

“You’re so wet, Penny.”

She shakes her head, breaking her lips from his. “Don’t call me that,” she laughs breathily, “Not when we’re doing this.”

Harry grins against her mouth, pulling away just enough to get a better look at her face. God, she’s fucking stunning. 

With his eyes on hers, he gently pushes his finger through her cunt, cock twitching at just how tight she clamps around him. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.” 

Her eyes roll to the back of her head, Harry’s smirk growing tenfold. He moves his wrist slowly, curling his finger against the spongy part of her g-spot as small, broken whimpers escape her lips. 

He wants to kiss her, feel her plump lips on his again but the sight is too consuming. Watching her face contort in the pleasure that he’s inflicting her. 

“Har, please.” 

Her voice does something to him, something sinister and desperate. He coos down at her, enjoying the dynamic they seem to have a bit too much — how she submits to his touch and gives him all control. 

“Be patient, baby. You’re so tight, I need to stretch you out a little for me first.” 

He adds a second finger, struggles to tuck them into her cunt as he quickens the pace of his hand. She feels the burn of the intrusion but welcomes it regardless. His fingers are thick, stretching her better than hers do.

Y/N’s hips begin to roll against his palm, eagerly chasing more when he doesn’t offer it. He’s bulging in his boxers, desperate for relief with every sweet cry she mumbles out. 

“Please, Har. I need you.” 

He struggles to keep himself composed at how needy she sounds. Harry backs up onto his knees, continues fucking her with his fingers and uses his other hand to shimmy down his boxers. 

Y/N watches with wide eyes. He’s huge – long and thick and so much fucking bigger than anything that she’s ever had before. The sight of him makes her stomach twitch in nerves, worried she won’t be able to take him. 

Harry seems to notice her inner turmoil as he snatches the condom from the side of the bed and tears the foil open with his teeth. He removes his fingers from her cunt, brings them to his lips to get a taste. 

She’s sweet on his tongue, and in that moment, Harry makes a promise to himself that this won’t be just a one-time thing. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, pinching the tip of the condom and rolling it down his thick length. “I’ll make it fit.” 

She shudders when he lines himself with her dripping hole, swirling his tip around her arousal and gently nudging his way through. The burn is unlike before – much more prominent and harsh. And it doesn’t ease the further he fills her. She struggles to take him, to stretch around his cock. But Harry will fuck into her all night to get her accustomed to his size. To break her in. 

Harry thinks he could explode at any minute. It’s been a long time since he’d had a cunt grip him the way hers does. And he knows full well just how good she’ll milk him dry of everything he has to offer. 

He grits his teeth in an attempt to control his desire of fucking her silly. Not yet, he has to tell himself. She’s not ready for that. 

“Doin’ so well, baby. So fuckin’ tight.” 

Her head rolls back and his words offer a sweet relief to the initial sting. With every gentle whisper he breathes, she takes more and more of him. He’s close to nudging at her cervix, close to bottoming out. 

“More,” she chokes. “Fuck me, Har. I need more.” 

His movements are on the slower side to begin with – a proven struggle to pull out and back in with how tight her pussy grips him. But with every thrust of Harry’s hips, the better she stretches and the deeper he goes. 

Her tits begin to bounce on her chest with every harsh movement he offers. Y/N’s hands reach for them, fingers tweaking at her hardened nipples and her hips move in circles against his own. 

Harry sits back on his knees to watch as he fucks her, to admire just how good he’s making her feel. She’s breathless, brows pinched and mouth parted. He wants to touch and taste every fucking inch of her body – to bury himself so deep inside she begs him to never leave. 

It’s primal, how he looks at her, thinks of her. The idea of anyone else having her like this makes him sick, angry. The thought alone has his vision blurring red and he struggles to snap out of such a dominant and protective mindset. 

His. She’s all his whether she knows it or not. 

“Tight little cunt, baby. Jesus Christ… fucking made for me.” 

It’s filthy, the way he spits at her is the most sexy thing. How he claims her, owns her. No one could ever fuck her the way he is, no one could have her withering and begging and crying in pleasure. No one but him. 

“Yes, yes,” she pants out.

All she wants is to please him, give him everything he wants and take anything he’ll offer in return. Her body starts to melt, into his touch, his words, his presence. He’s taking her somewhere she’s never been before and there’s no better feeling. 

Harry’s cock rubs deliciously against her her g-spot, pinching at her cervix the deeper he gets. She’s soaked him, fully – his cock and his pubic bone. And the squelching sound her pussy makes is music to his fucking ears. 

He’s struggling to see straight, eyes glossy as sweat begins to dot his hairline. If she feels this good now, he can’t imagine how warm and wet she’d feel raw – without the flimsy rubber between them. He’ll dream of it, how soft her cunt would be wrapped around his cock. 

Christ, the thought has him twitching between her walls, splutters of guttural moans falling from his lips. The sounds are fuel to Y/N’s fire, her eyes snapping open to finally take a look at him. 

He’s fucked out, head thrown back and bottom lip tight between his teeth. His stomach is tensed, knuckles white as he grips her hips, and it’s all because of her. She’s got him feeling like this, so fucked out and feral. 

Y/N grinds her hips against him, faster now as she meets his pace. She’s sitting up on her elbows to watch where his cock nuzzles into her, watching how her arousal soaks the base of his cock and his lower tummy. 

She can feel him in her stomach, how he’s almost nudging at her organs to make room for himself. She’s never felt so excited before, bare and naked – fucking under the moonlight in her pitch-black bedroom. 

Maybe it’s the excitement or maybe it’s Harry’s fingers rubbing at her clit that sends her spiralling – sobbing out his name and begging for mercy. He doesn’t relent, he won’t. He wants to feel her exploding around him, wants to feel her close in on him until he’s releasing deep in her cunt, albeit in the condom. 

It hits her like a fist – straight in her face. She’s coming over his cock, legs trembling and cunt convulsing as she sobs. 

“Fuckkk, Daddy, please!” 

Harry’s orgasm creeps up on him as his eyes widen at the name. He comes with her, fast and hard and if he wasn’t wearing a condom, he’d already be dripping out of her. Y/N’s legs continue to tremble, cunt squeezing him so tight that Harry thinks he could pass out. 

He’s desperate to catch his breath, and she’s no better. Gentle whimpers continue to rake through her body as she slowly settles down from her high. Harry stares down at her, fucked out and body limp. The reality of what they’ve just done sits heavy in his stomach and he worries she’ll ask him to leave, that she regrets it. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, Y/N whimpers his name as he slowly pulls out and reaches her hands down for him. He coos her, taps her thigh gently before tugging off the condom and tying it up. 

She lies there, alone as Harry leaves the room. Worry is quick to consume her, the anxiety that he’s about to leave without another word. But he doesn’t. He returns to her bedroom with a damp cloth and his boxers back on his lower half. 

He’s gentle as he wipes her down, helps settle her tired and aching body beneath a blanket and she doesn’t want to be the type that cries after sex, but no one has ever given her this kind of aftercare before. It all feels a little too domestic. 

Not to Harry. Not really, anyway – he’s not the type to fuck and leave, not usually. It doesn’t feel foreign to help her get clean or tuck her in, and he only surprises her further when he lays beside her under the blanket, too. 

“You’re staying?” she peeps out. 

Harry hums, face close to hers. “If you want me to.” Her eyes are heavy as she covers her mouth to stifle a yawn. 

“At least wait until I’m asleep before you sneak out.”

So, he does.

//

Thank you for sticking it out lol, part two will be posted next week, so let me know if you want to be added to my general tag list to be notified <3

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!!

Tags: @kissfromadove @stilesissaved @kiwitsayedsugar @savannahwendel @triski73 @stylesfever

[fanfiction4sooya]

Pretty Pet (Sana x F!Reader)

Had fun writing this one! Hope you guys enjoy as much as me 💖💖💖

tw: mean stepmom sana, dog leash, pet names, fingering, fisting, oral sex, nipple play, mentions of breeding, cheating, stepcest!, squirting, etc.

You hated her . Oh, you despised Minatozaki Sana with your whole being. That vile, evil woman.

"She took my necklace dad, I know it!" You told your father for the tenth time already, glaring at her. "She knows I only take it off to swim, that's when she took it from me!" Your eyes were full of tears, but you wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing them fall.

"It's enough!" Your dad's voice echoed trough the walls of the mansion, startling you. "Don't say those things about your stepmother, she doesn't deserve this" He shouted and she held his shoulder to calm him down.

"Please, don't shout at her" She said, softly. "She is stressed about college, it's okay" Her voice was like honey, but her eyes had this mockery in them. "I'll help her find it ok?" She said and his eyes softened. "When we find it, she'll apologize and everything will be ok, don't worry" He backed down.

"Okay, darling" He turned to her. "Please, excuse my daughter's behavior" He kissed her knuckles and all you could do was watch as that snake hugged your dad. "Her deceased mother gave her that, she is just desperate" She shook her head, letting him go and taking both of your hands on hers. You almost pushed her, but you knew it would only add fuel to your father's anger.

"We'll find it together, don't worry baby" Her condescending tone made you recoil in disgust.

You kept searching, turning the house upside down and she "helped". Of course you knew she took it but you still hoped for it to be somewhere else.

On the third day of searching your dad had to leave for an emergency work trip, advising you that he wouldn't tolerate any sign of trouble between you and his new wife. You just accepted your fate, realizing that you would do anything to have your necklace back. Even if that meant set her up.

"Sana" You knocked on her office's door, she was staring at a book. Her eyes darted to you, a smile appearing on her pink lips.

"yes, baby" She said, lowering the book and going to meet you halfway, her frame quite taller than yours.

"I know you took my necklace..." You told her, staring at those eyes you hated. "Look, I won't tell anything to my dad but please, please give it back" You tearfully said. She pouted, taking your hand.

"I never took your necklace, baby" She smiled. "Please, understand this" Her eyes went to your hand, taking your phone and stopping the recording. "Do you really think I am that stupid, pet?" She whispered on your ear, angering you even more. "I was about to make a deal, but you had to piss me off..." She passed you, sitting on the leather couch of her office and crossing her legs.

"No, please" You pleaded kneeling in front of her, clutching her jeans as a tear dropped from your right eye. "I'll do anything, give you anything Sana, please" You told her, touching her knee with your forehead in order to hide your tears.

"Oh..." She cooed, petting your head. "Anything? Really?" You nodded, looking up at her sly smile, sniffling a little. She lifted your face by the chin, squeezing a bit to bring your face close to hers. She analysed your soft features from your forehead, cheek bones, eyes, everything. "Alright then" She breathed out, letting your face go. "Meet me at my room tonight"

Her face was serious, scarily so. You nodded.

🌸

You realized none of the housekeepers were at home, so it was just the two of you. The realization sent chills down your spine, the thought of Sana hurting you made you anxious. The door was half open and you could see her back turned to you as she was sat in front of her dressing table. Her eyes averted to your figure standing there through the mirror.

"Come inside" She said, looking down to her lap. You did so, a little bit lost at why you were there. She stared at you again, still not turning around, you could see her pupils were blown, her eyes staring at you as if you were her prey. "Will you really do anything I want?" She said, getting up and walking towards you.

"Yes" You said, your voice a bit shaken. She took your answer in, nodding.

"You are going to undress now" Your eyes widened a bit, trying to process what she had just said. "What? You are going to protest now?" She said, cocking an eyebrow.

"I..." You looked down to your feet, heat rising to your cheeks.

"If you don't want to, it's okay then" She traced one slender finger on your shoulder, over your pijama top. "I'll throw that pretty little necklace away" You opened your mouth to protest, frowning at her, but the way she looked at you felt like she was ready to really throw it away so you just shut it.

Looking down, you slowly pulled your top over your head, your breasts on full display for her view; doing the same to your shorts, you stood there only on your white cotton panties.

"Look up, puppy" Her voice sounded strained, out of breath. You were finally realizing what she wanted, that white lingerie under her robe was the last hint. "I told you to look up" She said firmly and you finally did. "That's better..." She stepped forward, putting something around your neck.

A pink dog collar and a leash.

"Sana..." You held her wrist, your heart thumping on your chest . "What you are doing to my father is wrong" You gulped, trying to reason with her.

"You are still thinking about him?" Her breath fanned over your face, heat rising from her body to yours. You shivered when her breasts touched yours so she would talk on your ear. "Just remember that your daddy chose to believe me over you, pet" She cocked her head to the side, taking in your scent. "He took my side, not yours" She smiled, staring at your lips. "You want your necklace back, I'll give it back..." Her voice sounded poisonous now. "But you have to be a good puppy for me" She pulled the leash down hard and you whimpered, clasping your hand over your lips when realization hit.

"I'm sorry"

Why were you apologizing for? Whimpering? Feeling aroused when the woman you clearly hated was basically fucking you with her eyes? Are you sorry for what you were about to do with your father? You were taken from your own mind when her laugh hit your ears.

"Don't apologize" She said, pulling down again. You wanted to scream, run away. But you really wanted your necklace back and her gaze made you freeze on the spot. "Take off your panties, puppy" She sat down on the bed behind her, her feet still touching the ground.

Slowly you did as she told, covering yourself. Her eyes danced around your naked body, they had this certain amused glint; perverted, scary, shaming... arousing.

"You have no idea what I felt when I saw you for the first time, puppy" She said, tossing her head back to take a deep breath. Her gaze came back even darker. "I fucked myself over and over for days just thinking about this very moment" She tossed her robe aside, now her fit body was only in that white lingerie set.

"You are crazy" You said, earning a hard pull of the leash.

"Don't talk to me like that" Her demeanor changed. Suddenly she got rough, serious. "On your knees, now" You did as she told, shivering. "See? You are a good pup, after all" She leaned forward.

Taking off her lingerie she sat back down, fully exposed to you now with her legs crossed. Your eyes lingered on hers, a silent battle as you tried hard to fight the thought of her naked body making you feel anything other than disgust.

She opened her legs and you closed your eyes, turning your head down as a deep blush covered your cheeks.

"Don't" She said, pulling on the leash and making you lose balance. "Don't close your eyes. Watch me" Her voice felt like a wake up call, an alluring alarm.

You opened your eyes, gulping when she presented her dripping cunt to you, her fingers spreading her pussy lips for your eyes only. You didn't wanted to, but were one hundred percent sure she knew how you were feeling. Your breathing was shallower, your pupils a lot more wide than before.

"Come here puppy, make me feel good" She said circling her hard clit with her middle finger, licking her lips. You couldn't move, millions of thoughts going through your mind as she pulled the leash.

You were literally facing her cunt from above, the smell of her arousal made your head spin. Sinful, delightful. With a little resistance, you put your tongue out, looking at her face as your tongue finally made shy contact with her dripping core. She moaned loudly and you closed your eyes tasting that strange, yet delicious taste.

You felt her getting restless above you, her eyes trained on your pretty face as you kitten licked her clit. Pulling your face closer to her cunt by the leash, she panted.

"You'll have to work hard for your necklace puppy" She told you. "Whether I give it back or not will depend on how well you serve me" She shivered when you whined against her pussy. If you had to work hard you would.

With a flick of your tongue on her clit you realized how Sana was aroused by anything you did, she literally just wanted to sodomize you, just make you bend to her wishes; so you literally just started to sloppily make out with her pussy. Your nose brushed against her clit as your tongue swirled around her slit, pressing your whole face against it.

"Good girl" She rolled her eyes, trapping you there with her thighs. It felt hot and so arousing the fact that she would literally take anything you gave her, even if you had no experience in it. You shivered, your own pussy dripping with how well she praised you. "That's it puppy, keep kissing my pussy" She pulled the leash so hard you were suffocating but you didn't wanna stop. "I'm gonna cum on your face puppy, keep your tongue there" Her eyebrows were knit together, her angelic features softening as her cum gushed on your tongue, dripping down to your chin and breasts.

You kept slurping, closing your eyes as you felt your own pussy clench hard, completely deafening you. It was as if her orgasm had triggered yours and you started to shake violently, moaning against Sana's core. You kept shaking with your face deeply buried on her wet cunt, her surprised eyes completely blown with how she stared at you.

"Did you just came untouched, puppy?" She pulled your leash, lifting you to face her. Embarrassed, you whined closing your eyes. "No no, don't feel embarrassed" She squeaked, kneeling in front of you to shove her tongue in your throat. "That is the hottest thing I'v ever seen, fuck"

Her kiss felt sinful, deep. Maybe the sin was to cheat on your father with his daughter, but at that very moment the sin was that she hadn't done it before. Her tongue danced against yours, moving freely and both of you moaned when she held your face with both hands to suck on your tongue.

You were at her mercy, your body shaking from the orgasm and how she touched you. You were literally just passive, letting Sana do whatever she pleased.

"Sana..." you moaned when her boobs pressed against yours, brushing up and down. Your eyes locked with hers for a moment, then her beautiful jaw slid against yours as she grazed your faces like a cat demanding affection.

"Pretty little pup" She closed her eyes, your tits pressing against hers felt crazy arousing. "I wish I could breed you" She whispered on your ear, her hands caressing on your torso to stop on your pussy, her fingers pressing over your engorged clit. "I would impregnate you baby, make you forever mine" She was talking nonsense by now, you thought.

But she was serious, damn right she was. If Sana had a natural cock she would breed you over and over, let you dripping with her cum so you would have to carry her baby, her possessiveness growing when she thought about it.

"I would fuck you so full, puppy" she kissed you again, your pussy throbbing against her fingers. She pressed the tip of two of them on your slit and you screamed, struggling to hold back. Your arms circled her neck, bringing her frame back to touch yours.

You were so wet the sound coming from your pussy embarrassingly loud. Your hips moved against her fingers, your mind only thought about one thing.

"Mommy, mommy!" Your eyes were doe and teary, making her shiver.

"Oh my fucking god" She rolled her eyes upon hearing that. Time stopped for her to hear you again. Her fingers slammed back into your puffy pussy, now she pressed three fingers. "Mommy please oh fuck" you cried out, feeling that desperate hunger for your orgasm.

She felt so good against you that you wanted to cry. The two of you wanted the same thing, to merge together in one body.

Sana pulled your hand to her mouth, spitting on it, then caressing her own wet cunt with it.

"Fist me" she told you, still roughly fucking your cunt. You gasped, feeling goosebumps on your scalp; that thought felt sinful and unreal.

"I'm - it's gonna hurt" You moaned when she curled her fingers up on your g-spot.

"Do it puppy, don't worry" she guided your hand, both of you looking down at her slit.

Slowly, she stretched her own pussy with your fingers, four at a time. Your eyes widened and hers closed slightly, you sitting in front of each other gave full view for the other. She guided your thumb to her hole as well, pulsing when you pushed it in by yourself. She closed her eyes, her movements stopping.

"Mommy" you whined, scared that was hurting her. That didn't feel real, something you thought it only happened in porn. You gulped, drooling at the sight of her cunt fully stretched for you. She started to hump up, moving her hips against your first.

"Look what you do to me" She moaned, back to roughly fucking you. She kissed you, her tongue everywhere on your face. Sloppy. Fuck. "I'm so full puppy, fucking hell" She said as you started to move your fist without her bucking her hips.

It was rough and raw and oh, so wet.

"Mommy I'm cumming" You cried out, biting her lips with strange force when her thumb went to your clit.

"Come for me puppy, my baby" She kept her eyes wide open when she felt you clench of her three fingers, creaming on them. Her gaze well trained on your beautiful face as you contorted in pleasure. "Fuck fuck fuck" she screamed, squirting again when your fist reached deep into her.

Both of you stopped, shaking too much to do anything more than pant on each other's lips. She took her fingers off of your pussy and you gasped.

"I had never done this..." you managed to tell her. "three fingers felt good... too much" you whined and she pulled your fist from inside of her as well. Her fingers on your mouth and she licked your fist clean, moaning upon tasting herself.

"Next time..." She kissed your neck, hugging you against her. "Next time I'll make you take way more than three fingers puppy" She caressed your hair, not caring for how wet both of you were. She kissed your cheek. "Now you are mine, ok?" She told you. "Only mine" She whispered.

"my necklace..." you whined and she smiled.

"I was going to give it back puppy, I don't wanna make you cry" She pulled your sore body from the floor to her and your dad's bed. "Mommy just wanted your attention, okay?" she pulled the covers above your body, spooning you. "I'll give it back, don't worry"

You nodded, body light as a feather. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to relax on Sana's arms.

"Mommy what about my dad?" You asked her, almost drifting off to sleep. She sighed.

"If we want to keep doing this, you'll have to keep quiet puppy" She told you. "Wanna know a secret?" she whispered.

"Yes, please" Your voice sounded small, sleepy.

"I married him for you" Her voice sounded sweet, sweet enough for you to ignore the obvious red flag on that statement.

You smiled, Sana knew how to mess with your head.

-🌸

The other day when you woke up, you weren't wearing the collar anymore; instead, you felt your mom's necklace around your neck and Sana's body possessively holding you close, completely asleep.

When your dad came home he felt the happiest man alive with his two favorite girls getting along so well.

You even started calling Sana "mommy".

[hystixia]

A TEST OF FAITH.

SUMMARY 、YOU’RE THE PRIEST’S DAUGHTER, SWEET AND INNOCENT AND FREE FROM SIN. UNTIL JEFFREY WALKED IN AND TURNED YOUR WORLD UPSIDE DOWN.

FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、FINGERING (M -> F), PUBLIC FINGERING, BLASPHEMY, RELIGION KINK, CORRUPTION KINK

NOTES 、i gotta thank my lovely mutual @hysterotic for helping me flesh out ideas for this one. love you babe also depending on how well this does. i’ll do part 2 LMFAO

The air is tense on the ride to church. The sun casts the world in a warm glow as it slowly rises beyond the horizon and you keep your eyes fixated on the blur of trees passing by as your father drives and taps his finger impatiently on the steering wheel.

You sigh softly and look into the rear view mirror at his reflection. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” You ask gently and you hear your father sigh almost tiredly.

“Nothing, sweetheart it’s just…” He contemplates it for a moment before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I don’t want you feeling burdened in any way this morning.” It’s Sunday, of course he didn’t want you feeling anything but the spirit of the Heavenly Father washing over you.

You hum rather defeatedly, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and staring out the window once more. “Mkay..” You mumble out, saddened your father didn’t feel like he could share whatever wad weighing hard on him but maybe the Lord could help ease the heavy feeling he has today. You close your eyes and say a small prayer just as you feel the familiar turn onto the gravely trail that leads up to the church you’ve spent your entire life going to.

The pearly white chapel comes into view and your eyes gravitate to the sight, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you see other members pulling up around the same time as you and your father and mother. You sit up straight as your father parks the car and tugs the keys out, fixing your sundress as you wait patiently for your father to exit first before following soon after.

The familiar faces by the church, idly chatting all turn and smile at the sight of you. The older women compliment you, saying you look like an angel as always in those pretty sundresses you always wore.

You’d giggle bashfully in response to their compliments, cheeks warm to the touch as you thank them and compliment them back before the sound of a loud rumble echoes out and you turn to look over your shoulder at the road as a noisy motorcycle pulls into the spot beside your parents’ car. You squint your eyes due to the harsh brightness of the morning sun peeking through the distant trees and into your field of vision as you try to get a good look at the individual. It’s hard to see much until the person gets off the bike shortly after and starts coming toward you.

“For christ— Ahem, you took your sweet time getting here didn’t you, son?” A loud voice from behind you speaks up. You notice the way your father seems to hold a cold stare you’ve almost never seen on his face before as he watches the guy approaching you chuckle, a deep rumbly sound that has you surprised to hear such a deep voice.

“Took the scenic route.” He says with a grin in his voice and as the bright leaks of sunlight hide behind his tall frame, you finally get a good look at his face. And boy did you feel your heartbeat quicken.

His eyes look down into yours and you instantly tear your stare away and focus on the ground beneath you. Grass has never looked so greener before until now.

Your father reluctantly shakes hands with the guy whose appearance is not very fitting, nor would you consider it appropriate for church service. The black ripped jeans with a chain dangling on them, dirtied combat boots, a learner jacket on and somewhat hiding the black band tee he wore underneath. It had a print of a music band you’ve never heard of and it left you feeling curious. You’ve never heard such music before. Anything remotely inappropriate or dark and taboo wasn’t allowed in your parents’ house.

You feel like you’ve stared for too long and look over to your mother for guidance and she gives you a knowing look before subtly glancing at the church doors. You excuse yourself but shortly after, everyone else is coming into the quiet place and the sounds of footsteps and quiet chatter echo throughout the building. You take a seat on the long bench you’ve always sat at while your mother sits on the other side of the church at a different place. You see the man that had talked rather loudly behind you earlier come in along with who you presume is his wife and a rather young looking teenage boy, but where was the motorcycle guy that he had called ‘son’?

“Hey,” Your eyes widen at the sound of a low and deep voice in your ear and you whip your head around to look to your side where you see the aforementioned motorcycle guy. His black hair frames around his face and he smirks at you. “Did I scare ya?”

You blink a few times before shaking your head, mumbling a soft ‘no’ in response to which he chuckles at before letting his arm rest on the back of the bench, nudging your shoulders ever so slightly but you try to ignore it. Your father however is practically staring daggers into the boy when nobody’s eyes are on him before he stands up and prepares to start the day’s service.

You try to scoot away from the strange guy, keeping your eyes on those that sing and you can feel his eyes on and it makes goosebumps rise along your arms.

Suddenly you’re asked to sing and you feel your heart drop to the floorboards. You’ve never felt so nervous in all your life, it was something you were always asked to do by other members of the church so why did it feel so scary to do all of a sudden? Was it because of the mysterious boy beside you? Who knows. You swallow thickly, standing up with a tremble in your legs and hands so you grip onto the bench in front of you. You clear your throat quietly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats so wildly and so hard it makes your throat want to close up on you. You manage to start singing a hymn, one that everyone seemed to love hearing you sing the most and as you let your eyes flutter closed you relax your nerves and let the words flow through you and out into the world.

It’s only a few short minutes and then you’re politely sitting down but as you do so you feel something against the side of your thigh and see his own pressed snug against yours. Did he move closer or did you accidentally sit too close? You apologize in a whisper, trying to move away but he shakes his head at you with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Nah, I don’t mind, angel.” He says back, a whisper in a low voice only you could hear and it makes your heart flutter with an unfamiliar feeling as you force your attention back to those around you as people begin to testify.

You’re so focused on them all, nodding and feeling the spirit seep into your being that you don’t notice the unfamiliar touch against your dress as something slides up your thigh. It makes you tense up for a second when you realize and you glance at the guy who’s seemingly leaning a little too close for comfort but it would appear to others that he’s just trying to see the individuals that stand up and testify better.

“Don’t let temptation distract you from the words of God, doll.” He whispers with a grin on his face, eyes flicking down to your doe eyes that tear themselves away from his face and over to the other people.

He was right. No matter what he was doing, whatever it might’ve been… It was just the devil trying to keep you in his hold. Yet it was so hard to focus when the pads of his fingers grazed over your panties making you shiver slightly.

You didn’t know what he was doing. You’ve never been touched anywhere by anyone before, especially down there, but it was a rather nice and foreign feeling that you found yourself wanting just a little more of. Unconsciously, your legs spread just enough to let his hand cup your clothed sex and he rubs his index and middle against your panties until he feels a damp patch that makes him bounce his knee to keep himself from dragging your foolishly innocent self out of the church and fucking you in the bathroom.

Your father mentions an individual’s name for them to lead into prayer and everyones, including your own, heads turn down and al eyes are closed as silence envelopes the church and the only voice heard is a wretched sinner crying out for the Heavenly Father as he gets on his knees and prays.

You’re focused on listening to his words, feeling the pain he’s burdened with carrying as your brows knit together and you listen thoughtfully. Then something cold and foreign pushed against your nether regions and your thighs twitch as your eyes open and you glance to the guy beside you. He grins sinisterly, like he was the devil incarnate and you shiver under his gaze.

“Listen to ‘im, angel. Hear the cries of a fellow sinner and pay attention.” He whispers with a sick chuckle as he pushes his digit into your warmth and nudges it against your gummy walls. It’s uncomfortable for a few seconds, a new and foreign feeling you’ve never felt before but you unknowingly clench around him as he begins to pump it at a rather quick pace that has pleasure tingling in your gut suddenly as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out whatever he was doing to you in attempts to distract you.

Was it wrong? Was this something bad that he was doing to you? You didn’t know and couldn’t find the right answer you tried to search for in your mind. Whatever it was, it had a great effect on you and when you opened your eyes and prayer ended, tears blurred your vision but not from the Holy Spirit overwhelming you, oh no, it was that guy’s hand that overwhelmed you.

A tight coil burns hot in your belly as your legs tremble and you force yourself to straighten up and stare onward as your father stood to his feet and started to preach. Your mind was clouded, hazy and lagged behind on the words and sounds that met your ears but the warm breath tickling the side of your neck kept you alert and on edge in more ways than one.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hear your father’s words as it touches the souls of many in the church. Your brows twitch, eyes gliding over the various people and a wave of feel-good tingles seeps into your being and your eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft sigh leaving you glossy lips.

Your father’s preaching reaches its peak just as your thighs squeeze around the strange guy’s hand tightly, as if they never wanted him to leave and then euphoria washes over you. Like being hit by the Holy Spirit, your body tenses up and warmth floods your being as a sharp but quiet gasp leaves you and you curl in on yourself, hands gripping the cushion of the bench by your thighs. You heave quick breaths, heart racing in your chest as those digits curl into something incredibly sensitive inside of you before pulling away and you’re left feeling empty and exhausted.

You watch with half lidded eyes as he raises his hand up towards his face, it’s glistening with something slick on it and you wonder if it came from you. The thought embarrassed you to no end and when he popped the digits into his mouth, sucking the substance off them and then grinning at you as he shoved his hand into his pocket, it made you feel pulled towards him as if you couldn’t get enough despite knowing he was no good for you.

Your cheeks feel warm to the touch, cupping your hands against the hot flesh as you try to slow your breathing and shortly after, church has ended and people are socializing outside. You muster up the strength to stand on legs wobbly like a newborn fawn, hearing that boy chuckle at you as he gets up and walks away like nothing had happened. It saddens you a bit, you had felt some type of connection because of that strange interaction with him but you try to ignore it and move on just like he was so easily able to.

You manage to get out of the church, heading for the car earlier than your parents would’ve liked. You felt so lightheaded you just needed somewhere a little more private to cool off for some reason. You don’t get there in time before that boy is reaching you however.

“Aw, leavin’ already?” He’s teasing, he knows he’s the reason you feel so odd right now and the more you look at him the more you want to cling onto him. Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill your head, inappropriate and so lewd it makes you shiver with a mix of disgust and embarrassment directed toward yourself.

“I just need to cool off.. It’s warm out today.” You try to reason, voice a bit strained and shaky as you try to stand up straight but it’s obvious you’re a horny wreck in his eyes and he chuckles at you.

“S’that it? Just got too hot?” He takes a few steps towards you, an unreadable look in his eyes and you struggle to hold his gaze as you fumble over your words until he’s got you cornered with your back against the car. Those wide doe eyes, glassy with need, almost gets under his skin. He grins and it makes your stomach do flips when he looks at you that way. “Y’sure it’s not because I touched ya right here?” His hand forces its way between your trembling thighs and nudges against your nether regions making your breath hitch in your throat as you stare at him completely stunned.

Your hands grab at his wrist, shaky and weak as you attempt to pull him off but he only stops terrorizing your poor little innocent heart when he hears footsteps approaching.

He pulls away, straightening his posture while you push yourself off the car slowly as if you were in a daze at the moment.

“Is something wrong?” It’s your father, concern laced in his voice as he gives you a protective glance and moves towards you all while giving the boy an odd look.

The black haired guy scoffs with a smirk. “Nah, was j’st talkin’ to her is all.” He says it in a way that’s either condescending, sarcastic or as if he wasn’t saying the full truth. It’s hard for your brain to decipher properly anyways as your eyes bore into the grass beneath you, looking at anything but him.

“I’d much rather prefer if you didn’t speak to my daughter, Jeff Mason.” Your father says and it’s only now that you’ve learned the guy’s name. Your eyes flicker up to his face only to find him already looking back and shyness gets to you, making you tear your gaze from his.

There seems to be a tension between your father and Jeff, a staring contest ensues for a few moments that begin to feel like hours until that man you’d heard speaking before church comes up to the three of you.

He forces a smile and puts a hand on Jeff’s shoulder, squeezing a little too tight. “Jeffrey here will be sure to do that. Won’t you, son?” There’s an underlying authority to his voice as he looks at Jeff who glares back silently before shaking his hand off and walking towards his motorcycle with not a single word to follow.

The middle aged man chuckles awkwardly and tries to make small talk with your father but it doesn’t do much, if anything it would seem your father didn’t like either of them and that made you more curious than it should have.

You walk around the car to get into the car without disrupting their— very tense and awkward —conversation, trying to ignore Jeff who’s standing by his bike with his eyes glued onto you.

“Hey, Mary.” He calls out and you blink a few times before turning to look at him. He grins, “Yeah, you.”

“That’s.. That’s not my name, Jeff.” You didn’t even mean to say his name. It just spilled out by accident, he repeats the way you say it on loop in his head immediately.

“Sure it isn’t.” He grins with a teasing tone and crosses his arms as he looks you up and down slowly, undressing you with his eyes but you’re none the wiser. He finally looks at your face and smiles wickedly. “I’ll see ya around won’t I, angel?”

Your hold on the handle of the car door tightens a bit at the way he says it, heart fluttering in your chest and your knees weak. You feel a little bold, taking a deep breath as you hold his gaze. “Are you implying you’ll come to visit more often?” You meant the church, it’s obvious in the way you say it that you meant it in a church setting. But Jeff is far too sick and twisted to accept it as just that and that alone.

He chuckles at you, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. “Heh, y’gonna see me a lot more often than just here.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Work is starting to get pretty busy again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You are left undisturbed for near a day after the news arrives. You should be grateful for the reprieve but you cannot find respite among your unease. 

Edith is gone, your world is splintered, yet this marriage must proceed. Not for your own sake, but for your family's. You expect your father wouldn't be content to have you return to his household. The only benefit to your sister's tragedy is that he was able to rid himself of you.

Doreen informs you that you are to ready for another lunch. You choose a gown of faded peach and a bonnet with a narrow rim and white ribbon. She helps you dress before leaving to look in on your mother.

You look in the mirror and wonder if maybe you were prettier your voice wouldn't matter so much. You pin the brooch with the blue bird just below your neckline. You pretend Edith is there with you, talking you through this. I believe in you, sissy, remember when you stole my cap back from that angry hog?

You wait to be called. You hate to presume or wait around where others might be disturbed by your presence. It isn't Doreen who comes but another servant, a broad steely-haired woman. She bids you out and you follow meekly, gaze straying to the golden frames and painted canvas.

The meal is hosted in the dining hall. A long ebony table with matching chairs. Each seat is upholstered with emerald velvet and capped with curlicued posts. You are shown to yours by Parson to the one reserved for you. 

Your mother sits with her tears hidden behind her fan, not so much as looking in your direction. Doreen stands at her shoulder and offers a handkerchief. You can only hear the reprimand she would issue should you be blubbering so.

You rise as the duke enters, but not alone. Your mother leans heavily on the way, gathering herself with several flaps of her fan. She snaps it shut and tucks it away as she raises her chin, shooing away Doreen.

“Lady Thea,” Laufeyson begins before addressing you, “my parents, the Grand Duke Odin and the Grand Duchess, Frigga.”

He steps aside as an older couple stand regally in the archway. The man is burly but stout, with dark grey hair streaked with white. His jaw is set squarely and there is a familiar blue tint to his eyes. The woman is tall and blond and fair, her figure untouched by her age and her hair so golden that the grey strands only seem to make her shine.

You recognise them. The portraits in the main hall. Even with some decades since the artist’s work, they are beyond compare to their pigmented likenesses. They are as elegant and resplendent as their son. It sinks a rotten pit in your chest. Perhaps, they might not want you either.

“We’re acquainted, Thea and I,” Frigga declares, “I believe your father might recall her.”

“Yes, Lady Thea,” he bows, “I know your husband better, I’m afraid.”

The duke has a pinched look to his lip as he listens with his chin high. He moves stiffly, gesturing to the table, “mm, yes, let us be seated–”

“Loki,” Frigga says as she slowly wades forward, her skirts rippling like water, “what about your brother? He received an invitation, didn’t he?”

“Mother, certainly he did, but he is ever… unpredictable,” Loki offers. It is jarring to think of him as anything but the duke. To think he is anything but the master of Jade Park.

“Lady Jane is with child,” Frigga counters, “it might take them some time.”

“Lady Frigga, Lord Odin,” your mother begins, “I cannot remark upon your son’s hospitality enough. He’s been a wonderful host, especially…” she pauses and turns her head, touching her cheek with a gloved hand.

“Oh, we were distraught to hear of Lady Edith. Such a tragedy. So young and beautiful.”

You stare at the wall. You try not to think of the statement laced between her words. You are young too but not so beautiful.

“And your younger daughter is endearing, that is a rather charming brooch,” she turns her green irises on you.

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga,” you hold your head high as you cling to a thread of dignity.

Her cheeks bulb and there is a slight tremor in her chin before she can answer, “oh, that is a peculiar accent, dear.”

You don’t know if you should thank her. You can’t tell if she holds any derision but you’d prefer she not mention it. It’s obvious, it needn’t be emphasized.

Your eyes skitter over to Odin who watches you with quiet consideration. He does not hold the same disapproval as your father but you can’t read much in his face.

“She is all I have left,” your mother bemoans, “two daughters. That’s all I got. How I wanted to give my husband his heir but… it was not to be and now…”

“Oh, Thea,” Frigga drawls, “if you are to fraught to remain–”

“No, no,” your mother expands her fan and pushes air into her face, dabbing her tears with her knuckle, “no, I’m so happy for our families to come together.”

“As are we. It is only sensible–”

She is interrupted by some furor at the other end of the house. A smile curls her lips as a booming voice fills the corridor like thunder. As your eyes drift towards the doorway, they meet Loki’s. He looks at you with a furrow between his brows before he shifts his gaze towards the clamour.

The men rise first. You get to your feet as Parson rushes in to announce the new arrival. As he introduces Lord Thor and Lady Jane, he is almost breathless. The couple appears behind him, the towering duke clapping the groom’s shoulder so he staggers. The duchess gives a pretty smile to the grand duchess as her hand rests on her rounding stomach.

“Oh, Jane,” Frigga sweeps across the chamber to embrace her daughter-in-law without pretense, “you are immaculate,” she pulls back and cradles her cheeks, “you look well.”

“Do I? I’ve been struck sick for days.”

“But it shall pass,” Frigga avows and beckons the duchess with her to the table, “Lady Jane, my first son’s wife.”

You bow your head and your mother does the same, taking the lead as you remain silent, “Lady Jane, a delight to… meet you. Oh, my apologies,” your mother fans herself more rapidly, “your eyes, they have the same shape as my dear Edith’s.”

“Edith?” Jane utters and looks at Frigga. The grand duchess leans over to whisper gently. “Oh, my condolences, Lady Thea, oh and such timing as this?” She turns to you, “a betrothal is supposed to be a joyous affair, I cannot bear to think how you are doing.”

You don’t know what to say, as often you find yourself lacking. Your lips tremble but you do your best to keep your composure.

“I will miss my sista vewy much,” you try to speak slow and clear, but it just sounds clumsy, “I didn’t know…” you see the flicker in her eyes, the dimple in her cheek, the judgment casting a shadow over her, “I didn’t know you and yaw husband would attend.”

Jane’s lips part and her brows rise as she looks at her mother-in-law. Frigga tries not to acknowledge the almost taunting expression. You can’t. You feel it throttling you. Just be quiet.

“How fetching,” Thor intones, surprising you as he comes to stand behind his mother and wife, chewing a biscuit he snatched from the tray.

“Fetching?” Jane scoffs.

“The way she speaks, yes? I think it is… interesting.”

“That hardly matters,” Frigga insists, “it is what one says, not how they say it.”

You clamp your lips together. You want to crumple to the floor and sob. You don’t want to be stood here like some jester to entertain these people. You want to go home and see your sister’s casket. You want to be near her, even if she’s not really there.

Again, you find Loki’s distasteful glare. His throat bobs and his lips thin even further.

“Yes, yes, let us sit and eat. My staff has worked the morning to prepare us a fine lunch,” he chides, “I’d hate to see it wasted.”

🔹

You stare at your untouched plate of cold meats and cheese. You’re not very hungry. Perhaps it is grief, or more likely it is shame. You want to shrink down to a morsel of dust and disappear.

There is an odd sort of skill acquired by those who are quiet. Observation. The ability to see so much, to take in every gesture, every twitch, every look with meaning. And you do not miss those errant gazes in your direction. Some with anticipation, others with dread, each waiting for you to say another twisted syllable.

Your mother fills the silence you refuse to break. She regales the table with the story of how she met your father on the promenade, how he trod on her skirts, and she hit him with her reticule. A tale you’ve heard anon.

She hiccups suddenly and cups her hand over her mouth. You turn to look at her as her wrinkles deepen and her gulps become sobs. She shakes her hand and waves her other. Doreen appears at her shoulder.

“My lady,” the servant says.

“Oh, Lady Thea,” Frigga dismisses the maid with a subtle flick of her fingers, “let us get you some air. It is such a lovely day, and I believe we do have some matters to attend to.” She helps your mother to her feet, hanging on to her elbow, “Lord Odin, you will accompany, in case she faints.”

Odin grunts. He hasn’t said much of anything. He seems more enamoured of this plate. As he stands, he stuffs a roll of sliced ham into his mouth. Chairs scrape as you stand to see them off. Doreen follows the older trio through the archway as they set off.

You resume your seat and watch the tablecloth. Your mother was of little assistance while present but without her, you are defenseless. Loki sips from his tea as Jane spears a slice of pear with her fork and Thor cracks a hard-boiled egg in his hand.

“So, I’ve not seen you before. You haven’t debuted?” Jane asks.

Your eyes flit up to hers. You almost don’t believe she’s talking to her. You’d been praying they’d forget you were there.

“My sista was ill and she is older so I was waiting until she went fast.”

“Fast? Went fast?” Jane repeats as she pretends to think, “went fast where?”

Loki sighs and sets his cup on the saucer with a harsh clink, “first. She meant first.”

“Oh, my, apologies, I’m afraid I have a bit of trouble understanding you. I don’t think I’ve heard any sort of affectation,” he smiles falls to something more sinister, “it is rather… garish.”

“Jane,” Thor says through a mouthful of egg, stopping himself to swallow, “she speaks clearly enough.”

“I’ve heard of physicians who can tend to that. They can teach you how to pronounce your words properly. Through repetition.” She enunciates each word, making sure to move her lips deliberately.

You fight a grimace. You swallow and look at your plate. It isn't the first time someone's made those comments, she will doubtful be the last. Just like those boys who used to call you 'widiculous' or 'wavishing'.

“Please, this doesn’t need to be a whole point of conversation,” Loki reproaches.

“I am only offering advice.”

“You are the one who spoke to her. None of us wanted to hear her.”

“Loki,” Thor says appalled, “she is to be your wife.”

“I was supposed to marry her sister. The normal one. The dead one.”

You flinch and let your shoulders slump. You bring your hands up and cover the brooch on your dress, as if holding Edith tight. Your lip pokes out as you fight a tide of grief that threatens to erupt.

“Aw, look, she is going to cry,” Jane taunts.

“Jane,” Thor’s voice hardens, “no more.”

Jane snaps her lips shut and rolls her beautiful hazel eyes. She pops the slice of sugared pear into her mouth behind her cruel smirk. Loki sneers at his fork as he twirls it in his hand. Thor gives you a glum look but it lands like a slap. He cannot relate to you, he can only pity you, and that is worse than contempt.

“If you are cuwious, Lady Jane, I have been to many physicians. They cannot help me,” you shrug, “just like they could not help my sista.”

Thor clucks and lets out a breath through his nostrils. Jane doesn’t falter, smiling as she chews, and Loki pushes himself to his feet. His chair threatens to topple as he swivels on his heel.

“I would see to our parents, make certain they are well and that this… contract is still in effect,” he takes rigid steps along the table, “I should hate to squander any more time in uncertainty.”

[pascalispretty]

The Poetry of the Body: One

Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Discussions of pregnancy, implied age gap, hair pulling, choking, biting, scratching, dirty talk, breeding kink, D/s vibes, Miguel being himself, heavy petting, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, daddy kink. AU where Emily doesn't exist.

Summary: You and Miguel discuss the possibility of expanding your family, and negotiate the details.

A/N: thanks to my beloved @misscharlielulu for all her love and support in getting this finished. Title of the fic is from 'La llama doble. Amor y erotismo' by Octavio Paz. Title of the chapter comes from the Pablo Neruda poem 'My Lovely One', which is quoted within the fic (see end of work for translation). Written to fulfil the 'breeding kink' prompt for @storiesofsvu2-0's bingo!

One: My Homeland Is In Your Eyes (ao3)

It’s late by the time you and Miguel come home. The house is quiet; the guards near-silent as they patrol the perimeter, the rest of the household fast asleep. As soon as you get through the front door you kick your heels off, wanting to preserve the peace that’s settled over the house. At the top of the stairs, where Miguel makes to turn left, you tug on his hand. 

“I wanna see Cristóbal,” you whisper, aware that the wine from dinner makes you sound as tipsy as you feel. 

“Don’t wake him,” he says after a moment and follows your lead down the hall, your footsteps muted by the thick carpet. Your husband’s hand is warm in yours as you carefully push open the door of your son’s room. The light from the hallway spills into the nursery, just enough to illuminate Cristóbal sleeping soundly in his bed. The tangle of his dark curls stands out starkly against his light sheets – you feel an overwhelming urge to tiptoe across the room and press a kiss to his head. 

Instead, you hover in the doorway with Miguel and content yourself with blowing him a kiss. Any more would risk waking him.

“See?” Miguel whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Safe and sound.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly, and you both watch as Cristóbal nuzzles closer to his stuffed rabbit. The nursery door closes with a soft click and this time you let Miguel lead you by the hand to the other end of the house and your bedroom. 

“It’s unfair, you know,” you start once your bedroom door closes behind you. Miguel half turns on his way into the en suite, raising an eyebrow. 

“What’s that?” 

“How much he looks like you.” You boost yourself up on the bathroom counter, getting comfortable as you undo Miguel’s cufflinks for him. Miguel smiles at you, chucking you playfully under the chin once you’re done. 

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” Miguel replies, toeing his dress shoes off. The bathroom always looks a mess after a night like tonight, clothes thrown in the vague direction of the hamper and your makeup strewn everywhere until you can be bothered to straighten everything up. 

“It’s not bad,” you protest, watching intently as Miguel takes his phone out of his pocket so he can shrug his grey blazer and vest off. “It just feels very unfair that I did all the hard work, but he’s the spitting image of you.” 

“Sorry, querida. You’re going to have to take that one up with God.” You roll your eyes at your husband’s teasing, hopping down from the counter. 

“God’s got nothing to do with it. Certainly not where you’re concerned.” It’s a mischievous jab, one that takes you dangerously close to precarious ground. You at least have the wherewithal not to call him ‘el Diablo’ to his face. Turning around, you glance up at Miguel’s reflection in the mirror to study his reaction, pleased that he seems more amused than annoyed. 

“I’m not about to let anything else take credit for my exceptionally good genes. I just hope he has his mother’s brains.” 

“And his father’s humility.” You flick the tap on, and open the drawer beside it to get your pills. The alarm had gone off on your phone at dinner, prompting you to take it, but that had been hours ago. Only the topic of conversation reminded you of it. 

Before you can attempt to wrest one of the tiny pills from the package, you feel one of Miguel’s arms loop tightly around your waist, his body moulding against yours. He reaches forward to turn the faucet off again.

“Don’t take it.” Miguel rests his chin on your shoulder, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. For a long moment, you just look at him, wondering if you heard him right. This time, there’s no teasing in his expression; his lovely dark eyes are full of sincerity. 

“Miguel-” you start, not even sure where to begin. 

“What? We’ve talked about it. We could see if this one looks more like you.” He presses closer, his beard prickling your neck and his gaze unwavering. 

“...in a vague, ‘someday’ kind of way. We should at least have an actual, sober conversation about having another baby.” You fidget idly with the pack of birth control pills still in your hand. Miguel was right; you had talked about it, on-and-off since before Cristóbal was even born. 

Before you had gotten pregnant with your son, the answer had been an unwavering ‘yes’. Two children had felt like a good number; little siblings who could play and grow together. And even now, the idea tugs on your heartstrings, the thought of your precious family expanding to welcome another perfect baby. 

And yet. 

“I- Miguel, it was so hard with Cristóbal.” It’s a severe understatement. He sighs softly, arms squeezing you tighter. 

“I know, amor. But we’ll know what to expect this time. And you know I’ll always take care of you.” Miguel dips his head to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. Your hesitation is weakening by the second, soothed by Miguel’s touch and his promise. 

“Even when I get fat and hideous again?” You ask, running the fingers of your free hand along his forearm. 

“You weren’t fat, you were pregnant. How could you possibly be hideous, full of our baby?” He trails more kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, and you tip your head back to allow him better access. 

“You just say that because you were into it,” you huff, but Miguel ignores you in favour of nipping your throat. He could hardly deny it anyway; from the first shy curve of your belly, he had been intensely preoccupied with the changes his baby was wreaking on your body. 

The relentless assault on your reserve escalates when your husband presses his leg between yours, providing the barest amount of pressure at the apex of your thighs. Your cocktail dress isn’t so accommodating; you’re certain you hear some of the stitches pop as he tries to force your legs further apart. It’s so hard to think straight with his mouth at your neck and his thigh against your centre, that familiar tightness in your core just starting to build. 

You let go of the pills, the packet clattering as it falls from your fingers and into the sink. 

“I want a real conversation about this tomorrow. Sober. Uninterrupted,” you manage between shaking breaths. The hard line of his cock presses insistently against the curve of your backside, and your eyes practically roll back in your head at the feeling. 

“Fine,” Miguel says between kisses, backing off just enough to turn you around to face him. 

“I mean it,” you try even as he encourages you up to sit on the bathroom counter. Your fingers grip the front of his black shirt, and you have to fight the urge to pull it open and send buttons scattering over the floor. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight’s mine.” Miguel steps between your legs and tries to kiss you, but you lean back. 

“Tonight’s yours, jefe. But if we’re trying again, I want to be seduced. Make it something I want.” Your fingers start working open the buttons of his shirt as he gives you an amused smile.  

“I can’t conjure up another thunderstorm, mi amor,” he starts, and you pout up at him. In a hormonal haze when you were pregnant with Cristóbal, you had become convinced he’d been conceived during one of the rare thunderstorms that rolled across the desert. The oppressive August heat had broken for a little while, and you and Miguel had made good use of the time. 

“If you don’t like my terms-” 

“The terms are fine, I’m just tempering your expectations. Short of arranging an act of God for you, what kind of seduction do you want?” He trails his fingers up the inside of your thigh, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently. You swallow thickly, the way he’s looking at you making you feel delirious with need. 

“Do you want me to be sweet with you, baby?” The hand on your thigh slides under the hem of your dress, higher, until his fingertips brush against your silky underwear. He knows you, knows what you need; for him to supplant your anxieties with something dark and thrilling. You don’t miss the brief, smug smirk when he registers how wet you are already, and he makes a soft, contented noise in the back of his throat. 

“My pretty baby. I can be sweet with you if you want me to be. Bring you roses and compare you to poetry. ‘Mi patria está en tus ojos, yo camino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino…’” Miguel leans in to kiss you again, and you don’t pull back this time. Using Neruda and pet names against you is underhanded at best, but you can’t argue with it, not when you’d asked for a seduction. 

Miguel’s mouth slants over yours, stealing your breath with the depth of the kiss. You can taste the whiskey from dinner on his lips. His fingertips press more firmly against your cunt, finding your clit through the silk, and you whimper against his mouth as heat radiates through your body. You’re so caught up in the way his hand between your legs is petting at you that you don’t notice his other hand shifting. He grabs a fistful of your hair with no warning, the sharp pain in your scalp eliciting a stunned cry from you. The feeling dances right along that knife edge of pleasure-pain, one that you’ve become intimately familiar with since you met Miguel. 

“Or do you want a different kind of seduction?” He asks, ignoring your needy whine when he stops stroking your clit. The hand in your hair tugs down, forcing you to arch your back and expose your throat to him. More stitches pop as he steps closer between your legs, your dress riding up your thighs as you try to accommodate him. He leans down until your noses bump, his dark gaze unwavering. 

“Should I be mean to you, mi amor? Cruel, demanding?” His free hand finds your throat, his palm burning hot against your skin. Your nails catch at his black undershirt, clawing at the soft fabric. The silk of your dress and the slick marble of the counter leaves you feeling like you’re slipping inexorably forwards, towards Miguel. He gives a little shake of your throat; he’s barely applying any pressure, but your breath hitches anyway. 

“I know how much you like it, mijita. You like it so much it makes you feel wretched,” he murmurs, and you can’t argue with him. Even the condescending way he calls you ‘mijita’ does something inexplicable to you, sending heat rushing through your veins, scorching you from the inside out. 

“Fuck, Miguel-” you gasp out, your eyelashes fluttering closed. He could have you right here on the unforgiving bathroom counter and you’d only urge him on. Instead, he hauls you upright, steadying you when your knees nearly buckle under you, and kisses you again. His beard rasps against your skin, his tongue dips between your lips, and it all works in concert to make the ache in your core feel so overwhelming that you might cry. 

The two of you stumble towards the bedroom together, neither of you willing to break apart for long enough to find your way more easily. You manage to get Miguel’s shirt and undershirt off finally, and you feel immensely gratified by the soft groan you pull from him when you drag your nails down his chest. You stop at the foot of the bed, Miguel reaching behind you to try and find the zipper of your dress.

Part of you wants to tell him not to bother - with all the sounds of stitches ripping earlier, the delicate silk is probably beyond saving - but you take the opportunity while his hands are occupied to run your fingers through his dark curls. He’s always so put together for the rest of the world, but you adore messing with his hair; on rare occasions, he’ll let you comb your fingers through it while he rests his head in your lap. 

More stitches pop when Miguel finally gets the zipper undone and shoves your dress abruptly down your body, leaving it in an expensive pile on the floor as he focuses his attention on your bra. By the time he has you completely stripped, your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath between kisses, your heart beating a rapid tattoo against your ribcage. 

“Bed,” he orders, even as he pushes you back onto the mattress. You do as you’re told, moving back until you reach the pillows and kicking the heavy duvet out of the way. Sitting with your back to the tufted headboard, you watch with hungry eyes as Miguel undresses the rest of the way. Your reaction to the sight and sound of him undoing his belt is practically Pavlovian; you can feel more slick pooling between your thighs as he does it. 

You drink in the sight of him greedily, eyes trailing over tanned skin and firm muscle. It’s a mutual act of voyeurism. He’s eyeing you predatorily, like he’s deciding on how best he wants to devour you. Neither of you takes your eyes off one another for a long moment, even as he moves to kneel on the bed at your feet. 

Miguel’s large hands cup your ankles first, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate jut of bone before sliding up your calves, your thighs, higher. You’re pliant for him, letting him open your legs so he can kneel between your thighs, so agonisingly close to where you want him most. It’s only as he spreads his hands over your hips that you realise what he’s looking at, and you squirm in discomfort. 

“Miguel, don’t-” you start, automatically trying to bring one of your hands down to cover your c-section scar. He ignores you, batting your hand away before grasping your hips again. His thumbs rub circles over your hipbones, just inches away from the scar you can’t stand. 

“Oh, mijita,” he murmurs, condescension creeping into his voice again. “This is Galindo territory. If I wanted to keep you in this bed until something stuck, I could.” As distractions go, it’s excellent. Your mind spins off in half a dozen directions at once. By the tone of his voice, you know he’s not referring to Santo Padre when he’s talking about territory. 

Whether he means either your bed or your body, you’ll gladly cede control to him like this. 

The feminist in you should feel ashamed at the way you crave his dominance and displays of strength, but you’d abandoned yourself to it years ago. He’d long since discovered that it was the perfect way to get you out of your own head. 

Miguel’s hands move up from your hips, coming to rest on either side of your head as he stretches his body out over yours. You wrap yourself around him eagerly, cradling his hips with your thighs and wrapping your arms around his broad torso so you can clutch at his back. The warm weight of him on top of you sends you squirming, seeking some sort of relief for your aching cunt. 

You surge forward and kiss him hard, whimpering against his mouth when you feel one of his hands slip between your bodies. He wraps his fingers around his cock, his knuckles brushing your slick folds and you flick your hips to try and chase the brief touch. 

“You’re so wet,” he manages, dragging the head of his cock through your slit. The feeling makes you wail, your cunt clenching pathetically around nothing. “I’m going to fuck you full, baby.” 

“God, do it, do it-” you gasp out, cutting yourself off with a sharp cry when he finally stops teasing and slides into you, burying himself to the hilt. Wet as you are, it’s still a stretch as he fills you, dragging you right back along that pleasure-pain knife edge. The two of you groan together when he bottoms out, your hands skittering along his back as you search for purchase and your eyes squeezing closed. 

Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders when he pulls most of the way out, as though you can claw him back down to you. He doesn’t need the encouragement to sink back in again, but you swear you feel him pulse inside of you when you scratch your way down his back. Normally scratching at Miguel like that would get you punished, but he barely even falters as he starts to fuck you properly. 

Every hard thrust of his hips sends more heat licking through your veins, pleasure coiling so tightly in your belly that you can barely breathe. You can feel every low groan rumbling through Miguel’s chest as it escapes him. It’s impossible to tell where he ends and you begin, his cock pushing up against the very end of you. 

His hands, his huge hands that you love so much, settle on your waist and hold you tight so you don’t shift up the bed. The way he moves you so easily makes you feel helpless in the most thrilling, perverse way. He could crack you in two, and you’d only thank him for it. And now, with the weight of him on you and his grip on your waist, all you can do is lie there and take what he gives you. 

“Miguel-” His name escapes you as a pathetic little mewl between moans, and when you force your eyes open you nearly black out. He’s looking down at you with an intensity that makes you want to sob, a vivid reminder of the pleasure he took in trying to get you pregnant the first time. You’re agonisingly close to the edge, the muscles in your core cramping from being held taut for so long, and you try to shove one of your hands between your bodies. 

It doesn’t work. There’s not enough space between you, you can’t move Miguel’s solid chest enough to get room to slide your hand down, and you really do sob this time in frustration. 

“Miguel, please,” you manage, grabbing at one of his hands. “Please, please, I’m so close, I just need your fingers, please.” You’re in no state to eloquently ask for what you want; you’re surprised you can even recall your own name right now. You throw your head back in anticipation when Miguel takes your cue, his pace unchecked even as he slides his hand between you to find your clit. 

A ragged sound rips out of your mouth as he strokes your clit. There’s no technique to it, but it doesn’t matter; every pass of his fingers sends you spiralling higher, your body bearing down on him as you teeter on the brink. 

“Oh fuck.” Your voice sounds wrecked even to your own ears. “That’s it, ‘m so close, please Daddy, please Daddy-” you chant, until the tension in your belly suddenly snaps and sends you hurtling over the edge. Heat washes over your body, radiating out until you find yourself balling your fists and curling your toes at the intensity. 

Before you’ve even stopped trembling, Miguel’s hand finds your throat again and squeezes. It’s not enough pressure to cut your air off completely, but it’s enough to turn your moans into weak gasps. Your hands catch his wrist, urging him on, trying to get him to press tighter. You hope he leaves bruises. The sharp movements of his hips turn savage and he fucks you harder into the mattress as he presses down on your throat. You feel drunk on him, your head swimming as you try to clench down on him, to help him find his release the way he’d helped you. 

Miguel comes with a loud groan, his fingers tightening on your neck as he forces himself closer, trying to come as deeply in you as he can. The hand on your throat slackens, and you take a deep, gulping breath as you wait for your husband to come back to himself. His weight drops onto you as his muscles slacken and you wrap your arms around him. 

You let your eyes fall closed and run your fingers down his back, smiling to yourself when you feel him press kisses down your sternum. 

“Good girl,” he whispers against your breast as he pulls out of you, rolling off you and onto his side. You whine at the loss of him, still trying to catch your breath. It makes you jump when he touches your thigh unexpectedly, tugging it towards him. Still, you don’t bother to open your eyes until you feel his fingers at your cunt again. 

“Miguel-” you start, opening your eyes and looking down just in time to see him catch a drop of his come that had leaked out of you with his fingertip, and push it abruptly back into you. He must register the surprise on your face because he gives you that smug smile again. 

“You promised me that tonight was mine. Give Daddy half an hour and he’ll be able to go again, there’s my good girl,” he murmurs, half-dragging you into his arms. As much as you want to relax against his chest, you can’t help but pout up at him. It’s so casually condescending, but he had it right earlier; you like it so much, beyond all sense. Miguel notices the expression on your face, and the smirk on his face widens. 

“It’s not my fault you’re a terrible negotiator.” Miguel smooths your hair down and runs his hand down your back. You concede, letting yourself go boneless as he palms your ass, pressing you closer to him. “So smart, but so susceptible to my charms.” 

Taglist: @misscharlielulu, @avengersfan25

Poetry Translation: Mi patria está en tus ojos, yo camino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino // My homeland is in your eyes, I walk through them, they light the world through which I walk.

[the-heartlines]

bittersweet

rhaegon | {e. 3.5k}

~post-dance & the only survivors~

“look at what has become of us? both of us have lost everything. and now all that’s left of us…is our pain, our grief. you and me.” rhaenyra chokes back a sob, looking at her half-brother. all that is left of her family. her blood.

aegon gazes back at her, not with disdain or rage, but exhaustion, sadness, defeat. with the same dark circles, the same exact look of madness mirrored in her own violet eyes.

he could be mine own twin, she thinks almost laughing at the realization of how much they are alike. the same shade of silver blonde hair, unkempt and wild. she wishes he would say something, anything to stop her mind from racing, stop the madness from spreading through her like poison.

she longs to hear her brother speak, even though she should hate him, want to tear him apart with own bare hands. spill his blood all over the realm, sacrifice him—like her own son’s were sacrificed.

but she cannot seem to hate him any longer, wish to see him dead, his pretty head on a spike. because aegon ii targaryen, her brother, is all that’s left of her on this earth, keeping her tethered to her, tied to her fleshly vessel. and as long as he lives, breathes, is bound to her, she is chained to him as well.

“you and me?” he scoffs sadly, bitterly, pushing salt into the gaping wounds that are still bleeding, that have yet to scab over. 

“yes, aegon,” she says his name softly, trying to use her words as a binding tourniquet, stave the bleeding of the gashes, the cuts, that run deep, with her tongue. she has always been braver than him, never willing to let failure rule her life again.  “we started this mess and we must fix it, or lest—we let it consume us, destroy us. kill us.”

“i do not care, sister. and neither should you. i’ll hand you the dagger myself, while you drink the poison. we can both die together.” aegon retorts, firing back at her with his words, but she sees tears swimming in his eyes, unshed, and it makes her heart seize. her brother has never truly known true unconditional love and affection that one can have for the other. that a mother can have for a son. a sister for a brother. 

she can’t help herself, for she was a mother, is his sister. 

“aegon, do you not think that we have both drank enough of the poison fed to us since we were born? and i will not spill anymore of our blood, it is far too precious now, more than a bloody throne. or valyrian steel.” rhaenyra walks towards him gracefully, as a queen would towards their king, and gently grips her brother’s pallid cold cheeks in her hands, longing to bring warmth, rosiness back to them. 

the siblings have never been this close to one another. this kind of intimate proximity unbidden to them, forbidden by otto hightower’s garbled poison fed to alicent, the same way she undermined, poisoned her first born son with.

aegon looks up at her, his dark glassy violet eyes, still full of unshed tears. he looks haunted, so haunted, older than the young man he is. he reminds rhaenyra of their father, a king of the seven kingdoms, with all the unwanted weight, the burden laden upon him. since he was pushed from his mother’s womb. brought into this world with only this purpose, to be her challenge, her opponent, her enemy.

“we are family, aegon. you are my brother.” she strokes over the divot in his chin with her thumb, eyes drinking in every scar, mark, freckle, every indication that they are related, of the same bloodline.

“half.” 

it’s all he says, spitting the word out like a curse, a reminder of the past, but rhaenyra ignores it presently, taking aegon’s hand in hers and pressing it against her beating heart, right above her full breast, towards his future. she swallows, heart rattling like a drum, not realizing how much she’s missed being touched so intimately in a year.

“feel my heart, brother,” she accentuates the word, hoping each syllable rings true deep inside him; in his spirit. she bites her lip, suppressing a slight moan, when aegon’s hand flexes, nearly brushing her hardened nipple. and she wishes he would. she desires for him to be bold, to be the wrathful dragon, plundering and pillaging, taking and taking, burning her, until there is nothing left. 

but instead his hand remains motionless, stiff, refusing to mold to her flesh like molten fire. “aegon, please, feel my heart beating. the blood flowing through my veins is as much mine as it is yours, dear brother.” rhaenyra guides his hand upwards towards her warm skin, dipping his fingers beneath her gown, letting him feel the heat from her breast. the burning flesh, feverish with want, with desperation.

rhaenyra gazes deep into his eyes, seeing something alight, a spark starting to spread and it emboldens her, so she presses his hand more firmly against her heart, his calloused fingers deeper into the top of her gown, until his rough fingertips touch her hardened nipple, making them both gasp.

“sister,” aegon’s breath hitches and she can feel him shivering from their shared warmth, the closeness they should have had all along. but it’s not yet too late...fate now giving them both another chance to make things right.

“yes, brother,” rhaenyra moans, feeling his fingers curl around her sensitive nipple, no longer able to hold back the desire, the lust that swirls through her like a hurricane, overwhelming and over entrenching. “more.” she says, knowing that word is enough to push him to the point of no return. pushing them beyond containment because they will both lose control in the other. for they are two sides of the same coin of madness. and only they can complete one another now.

and rhaenyra is the key to unlocking everything unbidden in her brother, unleashing it all.

aegon’s lips are on hers before she can meet him halfway, kiss him first. and she understands he needs this, mayhaps, even more than she does. for in this moment, he’s a dragon starved, feasting, devouring on her flesh, his mouth inhaling her in like the sweetest aphrodisiac. her divine taste— a cure, unlike dreamwine or milk of the poppy, for all ailments he’s suffering. more potent and powerful, all consuming, all encompassing. 

and so rhaenyra opens her mouth to him, lets him twist her tongue with his, in another dance of the dragons. aegon clutches the front of her chest with both hands now, tearing her gown downwards to release her heavy teats to his gluttonous, greedy gaze, groping the meat of her tender breasts in his hands.

“oh, fuck,” rhaenyra groans, unable to help the curse, the hiss, that escapes her throat, his fingers prodding and pulling on her pink peaked tips.

“rhaenyra,” her brother growls her name so brazenly, so beautifully. and every syllable reverberates down her spinal cord, through her veins, straight to her core. towards her cunt that is dripping and drenched, desperate to be full and filled, only by him.

“please,” rhaenyra closes her eyes, pleading against aegon’s lips unabashedly, her hands groping the front of her brother’s hardness unashamedly, trying to mold his cock into submission with her hand. “i need you, aegon. i need to be fucked, brother, to be full of you.” she squeezes his cock a little too harshly in her hand, biting down into his bottom lip, pricking and piercing the skin, drawing his blood with her teeth for the first time. the bittersweet coppery twang of it streams into her mouth, coating her mouth. 

it makes them both ravenous, insatiable for one another.

“more.” aegon grinds his groin into the palm of her hand, digging his jagged nails into her nipples, begging rhaenyra for more of her pointed teeth upon him. begging for her to be the dagger, the sharp valyrian steel, that spills his blood. that only she has permission to. for his flesh, the fire in his blood, belongs to her solely now. and it feeds her volatility, the violence beneath her bones that rattles and resonates with both brother and sister. 

she sucks on his bottom lip, soothing it with her tongue, before her hands unlace his breeches frantically, freeing his weeping cock, gripping its girth close in her fist. “fuck, rhaenyra.” aegon jerks up into her embrace, so she closes her fingers tighter around him, tongue dipping into the mark on his chin, before her mouth moves downwards, towards the underside of his jaw. his stubble scratches her smooth skin and it feels sumptuous along her forlorn flesh, long forsaken by the fevered flesh of another. 

“tell me you need me, aegon,” she murmurs into the crook of his neck, his cock perfectly molded and shaped in her small enclosed hand; shielded and sheltered, held steady by her. “tell me you wantme.” her teeth graze over his throat and he swallows, breathing labored, nostrils flared, eyes closed, heart beating erratically, unevenly. her younger brother, lost to every sensation, every sensuous and serpentine slithering of her inexorably entrenching herself into his very soul and spirit. the elder sister taking root in his body, in the very veins, bones, and muscles that twist and tangle her in their intricacy. 

a queen capturing and conquering the king, caged within her motherly wings, her pointed claws, her maw clutching onto him forever. and so rhaenyra bites her dragon again, but harder, harsher, vulgarly gnawing on his wounded skin, his blood flowing into her, flooding her mouth. a primal roar emits low in her throat, and she clings to his jugular, wanting to drain him of every drop. 

“fuck!” aegon yelps, whining, and rhaenyra yanks his head backwards by his hair, running her fist along his manhood, demanding his compliance, commanding his body, his bones to bend, to sway and swing towards her like the branches and limbs of a tree. but not to break him because she needs him whole, sturdy and standing, rooted to her, not rotting from the inside out.

but first she must have his seed, milk it from his lithe body, have it take root deep inside the rot, bringing forth new life; a rebirth.

rhaenyra reluctantly relinquishes her damning hold on him, and aegon whimpers, her hold forever intertwined, interwoven into every crevice and crack, mending, sewing him back together with the scarlet string that links them together, unbent, unbroken.

“brother, sit,” she says hotly, his blood thick and red like pomegranate juice upon her plush lips, pushing him backwards into their father’s seat, with fiery fervor, but not rage, nor hate. running and raking her nails, her gaze, along her brother’s handsome body, she eyes his cock, standing proudly, flushed an angry shade of crimson, weeping, straining, matching the blood staining his neck, his pale chest, his now rosy cheeks. 

and then rhaenyra’s eyes are on his wide, hungry eyes, seeing the beginning of hope, the flowering of spring; lilac staring into deep violet, blooming under a new rising sun. 

she keeps her orbs locked with aegon’s, mesmerizing him, memorizing every fleck of gold that shines brighter in them when she reveals more of her hidden skin to him, tearing the black gown from her curves wholly.

he stares up at her in awe, mouth agape, the sunlight filtering through, haloing her silver hair, encircling her in a golden crown of the most glorious sun rays. a crown to echo the one rhaenyra lost everything for. lost everything to gain this. for she is his now. his savior. his sister. his goddess, his queen, with his fire and blood dripping deliciously from her mouth.

she steps closer towards his shadow, letting the sun touch it, bathe her brother in its luminous light, letting it blind him and bind him to her.

“kiss me,” rhaenyra demands and aegon is ferocious, feral, pulling her towards him, sealing his lips to hers, licking up the blood she extracted from him so exquisitely, so effortlessly. 

“nyra,” he growls, gutturally, his teeth gnawing onto her own lip, desperately trying to puncture it with as much perseverance, persistent on gorging and getting drunk off of her sweetness and blood.

“yes, aegon. yes.” rhaenyra extols, giving him permission, and so aegon does, rupturing through his sister’s pink flesh with his teeth lecherously, extracting her blood, tasting it alongside his. 

“brother, my sweet brother.” she praises, both exchanging breaths, sharing the air in their lungs, the blood of one another, with each other. and rhaenyra descends herself downward, sinking her supple, slick cunt onto her brother’s stiff manhood, engulfing and suffocating him with her heat.

 “sister!” he cries, his head falling back against the cushion, her voluptuous plump body beginning to bounce against his, contouring against his leaner one. 

“oh, gods,” rhaenyra moans, biting her bloodied lip raw, beginning to ride him viciously and wickedly, his cock penetrating her deeply. 

she watches aegon, with his eyes  closed tightly, fists clenched around the arms of their father’s chair. a chair that their father as king occupied daily, commanding the realm, serving his realm,  while rhaenyra kept quiet, bit her tongue, and served her king and his men. 

and now she rides his son—another king upon it. while each submits their body in servitude towards one another, a slave to each other’s insatiable pleasure.

rhaenyra’s peak is nigh, crescendoing inside her like the waves of a volatile sea, rising inside her, the higher the sun sets on the horizon, illuminating both dragons in its golden light.

“finish inside me,” rhaenyra orders, thrusting and rotating her hips into his, hearing him hiss before he latches onto her throat in the exact place she marked him; reclaiming what should have been his since the moment he was born. what should have been hers as much as the realm, the crown, and the throne.

“give me your seed.” she groans, feeling aegon’s hot searing tongue upon her tender and torn throat, licking her wounds. before the waves of pleasure crash inside her, drowning her in a mixture of salt and sea, as tears stream down her face. “give me your son, aegon.” 

this time aegon kisses her softly, with yearning, but hungrily, the curve of his lips sculpted by the gods, shaped to fit against hers faultlessly, immaculately. rhaenyra tastes the iron, the bitterness of her blood, interlaced with the sweetness of him—her brother.

the burning beneath his flesh, his very soul that scorches her, burns brighter and more incandescent than any star or sun. and she’s his silver moon mirroring that luminosity, brilliantly lighting the way towards both of their salvation. 

for targaryens were always meant to burn together—one body, one soul, one heart, one spirit.

she cups aegon’s face in her hands, thrusting her body languidly, longingly, not wanting him to ever leave her.

“i love you, brother.” rhaenyra confesses against her brother’s lips, telling him those three words for the first time, for she means every single word. and the storm breaks, lightning cracking, catapulting both siblings towards the highest and thunderous peak of their lives.

“sister!” aegon’s piercing cry rings out, as the sun sets and shadows engulf them, but they are together this time, tangled and tethered, closer than ever, eclipsing one another. he holds tight to her, hugging her to him, his mouth latching onto her breast, clinging to every piece of her he can clutch.

rhaenyra’s velvet and vice tight cunt selfishly milks his cock, every drop into the warmth of her womb, welcoming him, her king. and aegon selflessly offers himself up, willingly, worshiping his own goddess, his queen. 

and as king and queen, brother and sister, they shall begin anew, as husband and wife.

—

"don't worry, my son. just because your sister is older, doesn't mean you matter any less." aegon laughed, his smile lighting his face up is the most exquisitely, ethereal way.

"valarr." he let his son's name roll of his lips as venerated as a prayer, cupping their babe's silver haired head in his hands with such tenderness, it made rhaenyra's heart swell. "

"a fine name for a prince. one of valor, if i must say, my husband." rhaenyra teases, lightly trailing her fingers over the inside of aegon's wrist, affectionately, causing goose pimples to rise along his flesh.

"yes, wife," aegon breathes deeply, eyeing their other silver haired babe at her breast, nursing contentedly, nearly asleep. “a brave brother for his older sister.” 

rhaenyra laughs, rolling her eyes, “only by a mere minute, aegon.” 

“and they shall be closer than we ever we’re growing up..thank the gods.” aegon places valarr in the cradle next to their bed, then takes their sleeping daughter away from rhaenyra’s breast, placing her next to her twin.

”viserra,” he presses his lips to her forehead, “my sweet viserra. every bit her mother’s daughter.” aegon chants, sighing against her skin, his violet eyes catching rhaenyra’s.

and his beautiful gaze is full of light, of hope, of love.

rhaenyra tries to speak, tries to say her brother’s name, but her throat is thick with emotion, so she extends her hand to him, beckoning him towards her.

and he holds it, intertwining and interlacing their fingers together, gripping her tightly.

”i love you, rhaenyra,” he confesses for the first time out loud, for her to hear, with his own lips. and it’s the most holy words he’s ever said, that she’s ever heard; the sweetest and heavenliest honeyed wine dripping from his tongue.

she pulls him towards her, kissing him to reassure that’s she knows, has always known—luring her sun to her with her moonlight that seeps into every crack and crevice of his soul, healing every wound, sealing every internal cut, a soothing balm for each scar.

“i know, brother.” she cups his face and tears fall freely down her face and rhaenyra welcomes them, for they are ones of happiness, of the utmost joy. 

“sister,” her brother groans into her mouth, glancing down towards her chest, where her rosy tips are leaking onto the her husband’s naked chest. rhaenyra sighs when he cups her swollen teats in his hands, molding his hands with their shape, before he’s moving his lips once more.

“please, mother.” he seeks her permission and rhaenyra relents graciously yanking aegon by the roots of his hair and pushing her dripping, hardened nipples into his waiting mouth.

”yesss, my sweet brother,” she hisses, his mouth moaning, latching hungrily, drinking, needing to desperately drown his lungs in her mother’s milk, just as he has with her blood—their blood. 

his fingers snake between her sore cunt, finding the hidden aching pearl that brings the most exquisite pleasure. for his mouth and fingers know her body, how to expertly draw out her peak in mere moments. and aegon does it hastily, afraid he’ll lose her forever. and so she climaxes fast, hearing him suck her teats fiercely, his fingers furiously dragging another peak from her body.

”no more, please. she begs quietly, trying not to wake the twins, before he does it once more, determined to ruin her extravagantly. and this time rhaenyra bites her lip to keep from moaning her brother’s name aloud. she’s eager for him wholly, wanting him to fill her womb once more, but she knows she must wait, be patient. but nonetheless her body trembles effortlessly, exhaustively, her cunt soaks his fingers and he drains her of her milk, before he finally finishes.

“gods, wife. i will never tire of your sweetness.” aegon collapses next to her, panting and breathless, licking his lips and rhaenyra seals her lips to his, stealing the sweetness from his tongue, wanting to share in the nourishment that feeds their babes.

”well, husband,” rhaenyra yawns, nestling her backside into her brother’s very hard and leaking cock, rubbing her ass against it. “i am exhausted and must sleep.”

”rhaenyra!” aegon hisses, feeling his wife’s hand reach around and encircle around his girth, gripping it tightly. 

“goodnight, brother.” rhaenyra squeezes his head, petting it, patting it, then leaving him without her touch, teasing him. and aegon groans frustratedly, while she smirks knowingly.

because they both know she won’t leave him wanting long, waiting for her, not like she has in the past.

because as brother and sister they belong to one another, like a body belongs to a soul, connected by veins, arteries, a heart. and rhaenyra is the very heart of aegon. and her blood makes his heart beat, with fire, fervency. 

free from the shackles of the bitterness, made whole by the blossoming sweetness; with the burning bond that’s unbreakable between them.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twelve - Rest

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Masterlist

The night before the battle left you with nothing but a vibrating ball of emotion. A large camp was set up on the Miron side of the Amvista river hidden among the thick and tall trees of the woods. Only a few fires were lit to make certain that Erbus did not see any signs of life.

The moon has been in the sky for about five hours at this point, leaving it a little after midnight. 

Jeongin bid you a good night about two hours ago, leaving you by yourself in front of the campfire. Despite its warmth, you still find yourself shaking, and you’re not sure it's from the chill in the air. 

Tomorrow everything will change. 

Elves have been considered outlaws in Erbus for close to thirty five years, and finally, tomorrow, action will happen.

Thoughts of your mother and father float around your head. If they could see where you were now, you’re not sure how they would react. First and foremost, they would just want you to be safe; that’s all they ever wanted.

You found safety in Miroh.

It wasn’t until recently that you realized that you never felt as though you needed to have eyes on the back of your head while walking through the Keep. There was never that tingling of danger in the back of your mind to watch your back. 

“A soldier up late on the eve of battle?” a smooth voice comes from behind you.

Tearing your exhausted gaze from the fire, you look up at Hyunjin. His sharp eyes are looking at you closely, scanning all over your face.

You hum and look away from him back to the dancing flames. 

“Someone needs to watch the camp.”

“There are soldiers on guard around the entire perimeter. Worry not, mercenary, get some rest. You appear as though you desperately need it.”

Your jaw clenches and your body shrinks in on itself a little. Your shoulders slump forward and chin dips down towards your chest. You’ve avoided mirrors purposefully for at least a week.

“If it makes you feel any safer, you can rest your head in my tent for the night.” Hyunjin adds.

You perk up a bit, a tent means warmth. The last few nights you either spent sitting on a log in front of the fire or curled up on your side in your bedroll, aching for warmth.

Winter was only a month away and this year it felt like it was coming early. Frost clung to the grass well after sunrise.

You pause, looking down at the dirt for a moment. “I would very much appreciate that.”

When you look up at Hyunjin again, he only smirks and jerks his head in another direction. “Come on then. Everyone will be waking up to march in only a few short hours.”

Quickly, you stand up from the log, grab your bedroll, and follow the mage. As soon as you walk away from the campfire, a wet coldness seeps into your bones. It feels like you jumped into a frozen lake before standing up.

Hyunjin leads you over to his small tent in the middle of camp. It’s nothing special but you know the canvas walls will keep you from frosting over with the foliage. 

He ducks inside first and you follow him. His bedroll is already laid out with a small lantern and book next to it.

The wall of warmth that hits you curls around your body like a blanket. An immediate sigh of relief leaves your lips. The heat is such a welcomed contrast compared to your frigid skin, it almost makes your joints ache from the extreme difference.

Hyunjin walks over and slides his bedroll to the side to give you some room. With your two sleeping bags side by side, there is basically no more room inside the tent. 

“Have you been sleeping outside these past few nights?” he asks as he watches you set up your sleeping space.

“More or less.”

“Pardon?”

“I am not really able to sleep much these days.” you admit, not looking over at him. He sat down on top of his bedroll, long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Is there a reason for this?” he prods more.

You think for a moment before shaking your head. “Nay,” it comes out as a whisper. “If I am being plain with you, I cannot recall when I last was able to sleep for more than an hour without my eyes opening.”

The mage only watches you, his head cocked to the side.

You continue, “Perhaps it is the idea of war that is keeping my brain awake. Since Jisung’s return to Miroh and the Jarl’s official declaration of war my mind has not known rest.”

While talking, you open your bedroll and slink inside, letting the warmth envelope you in a fabric embrace. The inside was coated with sheep’s wool.

Back in Erbus you had it commissioned when you had gotten a lucky break and raked in more gold than usual one month. It was large and cozy, its weight on top of your body was comforting and familiar. 

Hyunjin turns a knob on the lantern and the flame inside goes out.

You stare up at the top of the tent. “I do fear that my exhaustion will affect my abilities tomorrow.” The last confession comes out a bit quieter than your previous words. “But no matter how hard I try, I cannot rest. I believe it may be driving me mad.” you let out a gentle laugh with the last bit.

Hyunjin stared at you for a long moment, watching you get settled in your bedroll. He cocked his head from side to side, as if weighing something in his head.

Finally, he lets out a sigh.

“Make room.” he says suddenly, crawling towards you.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Make room for me in your bedroll, mercenary.”

You looked at him as if he had three heads. Your eyebrows pulled together in a shocked manner, your mouth hanging open slightly.

“Did you hit your head again?”

Hyunjin scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you want to sleep or not?”

“And how exactly would me letting you in my bedroll make me sleep?”

He lifts an eyebrow and smirks down at you. “What sort of thoughts are you having?”

“What sort of thoughts are you having?” You repeat his question back at him, your voice raising.

“Hush.” He quiets you down and lifts the one corner of your bedroll. “Make room, Y/N.”

You yank the blanket back from him and scoot away from him a small distance, balking. “Explain yourself first!”

He reaches forward and drags you back towards him by the blankets, you clutch them closer to you. His hand grabs your wrist through your bedroll, the grip is tight, but not in a painful way.

“Will you please trust me, Y/N?” he asks. His voice took on a different tone. It’s softer, calmer, as if trying to soothe you.

He looks down at you with such a pleading look to his eyes, he genuinely wants to help you. You just wish you knew what his plan was.

You sit there for a few extra moments, staring at his face closely for any sign that he was pulling a stunt. “You truly are going to help me sleep?”

“Aye, you have my word, Y/N.” He places his fist over his chest.

You sigh, “Fine.” You lift the corner of your bedroll and scoot backwards, leaving him with plenty of room. “But by The Six, if you do anything I will-”

“I will not.” he says sternly.

Hyunjin nimbly crawls inside your bedroll; the bedroll that felt extremely roomy only a few moments ago now feels close, but not suffocating.

Maybe it’s because you’ve never had a second body inside of it.

His body heat immediately fills the fabric. The chill from outside is nowhere to be found inside this enclosed space, it’s like you have your own personal hearth right here in the tent. 

The mage shuffles around, trying to get comfortable, he leans over and grabs his own pillow, stuffing it under his head and turning on his side to face your body. 

How are you supposed to sleep? Your body is now on high alert, you’re aware of every single movement he’s making, every breath he’s taking.

You’re laying on your back, he’s shifting around to your right. 

When he finally settles down, he speaks up. “Come here.”

Your head snaps over to look at the mage, he’s turned on his side and is fully looking at you. Again, your expression pulls into an incredulous stare. Before you can say some nonsense, he preemptively cuts you off.

“Y/N, just come here.”

You roll your eyes and hesitantly turn on your side to face him. Suddenly, he reaches one arm out and wraps it around your body, bringing you impossibly close to him. Both of your faces are centimeters away.

Your eyes widen.

Hyunjin’s hand slowly trails from your waist, up your side, over your shoulder until he finally cups the side of your face.

His fingers are so soft, you half-expected them to be calloused from battle and working primarily with fire. But the skin is so smooth and settles on your face nicely. His thumb swipes under your eye and along your cheekbone, his pinky and ring finger caressing your jawline.

In the darkness, you can see his lips part and his eyelids droop a bit. 

For a few seconds longer, he stares at your face. Both of your eyes lock and your breath hitches. His deep red gaze is hard to break away from. It’s like he’s caught you in a trap. A dazzling, scarlet trap.

Then, you feel it, his hand begins to warm up even more. But it never turns hot, it only stays warm, like he held them over the fire for a minute. A slight tingle pricks at your skin where his fingers rest.

It’s not unpleasant in any way.

Slowly, his eyes close and his brow furrows only slightly in concentration.

“Relax.” Hyunjin whispers, the exhale fans over your own lips.

How are you supposed to relax when your exhales are mingling with one another? When you can practically feel his heartbeat as if it was your own?

You do not close your eyes, you continue to stare at his doll-like face unabashedly. Everything about him is absolutely perfect. There’s not a single blemish to be seen on his face, smooth, soft skin and silky hair. 

He had it down loose for sleeping. The chunk of red is still present. 

After about three minutes, your eyelids begin to droop in a way that you haven’t felt in so long. It feels like there’s tiny weights attached to each of your eyelashes. That always present straining headache begins to dull and fade.

All of your muscles relax and untense, even your jaw slacks slightly.

“Relax,” Hyunjin repeats again, his words a soft whisper. And again you feel both syllables against your own lips.

With each blink, your eyes close more and more.

A calmness washes over you. Your bedroll is suddenly comfier than your bed in the keep. The sleepiness that you’ve craved for so many nights now is finally taking you.

The hand on your face moves slowly and cards through your hair, gently brushing away any strands that fell in your face. His fingers comb through the locks gently, lulling you further and further into dreamland.

“Rest now, Y/N.”

Just as your eyes close completely, Hyunjin leans over and presses his lips to your forehead. Like a shockwave, a flood of peace goes down your body at the contact.

You’re not sure how long he keeps his lips to your skin because by the time you could register the action, sleep finally took you.

----------------------------------------------

Warmth. An unbelievably comfortable warmth surrounded your entire body. It wrapped around you like a serpent and kept you in its tight hold.

Voices of soldiers outside stirred you from your first real sleep in two or three weeks. Your eyes no longer felt as though they were straining in their sockets.

Everyone was packing up for the battle. It was time.

“Hyunjin,” you hear Changbin’s voice from outside the tent, “Wake up, we leave in thirty minutes time.”

His footsteps recede from outside the canvas tent.

Hyunjin? That’s right, you were in Hyunjin’s tent.

He used some sort of magic to finally allow you to fall into a restful, dreamless slumber. 

The weight on your waist suddenly tightens and you’re held tighter against something solid. Is that…?

A soft groan comes from behind you and your body tenses up. It absolutely is. 

Hyunjin moves around a bit from behind you, his arm still tightly wound around your midsection, bringing you flush against his long, lithe form. Every part of you was molded against him. From your back to your feet, every body part interlocked with his.

As he’s waking up, his body writhes and his hips move against yours a bit. Much to your chagrin, it sends a shock wave up your spine and into the base of your neck. 

He lets out a long yawn, the heat from his breath blows over the back of your head. Hyunjin’s head dips down slightly and is pressed between the top of your shoulder blades as he stretches out his legs. The arm around you is only getting tighter.

Does he know you’re awake? Does he realize it’s you that he’s holding like this?

With one final stretch, he releases your waist and runs his hand up your side like he did last night. He traces each curve of your body and stops at your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he says in your ear. When had he leaned forward? “You can quit pretending to be asleep.”

You stay quiet for a moment longer before opening your eyes, it’s still dark outside. 

If the army was going to make it to Fort Mire by first light, you all needed to leave soon. 

Hyunjin rolled his body away from yours, peeling himself from the bedroll. When he lifts the blanket, a rush of cold air finds its way inside the warm blankets.

You hiss and curl in, grabbing the blankets closer to yourself. He only laughs at you. 

A silent moment settles in the tent. 

“I had not had rest like that in so long,” you admit quietly, Hyunjin stops shuffling around and watches you as you roll over onto your back to look at him. “Thank you.”

The last interaction you had with the mage had ended poorly; truly, it was at both of your faults. 

Hyunjin watches you a little longer before nodding, a slight smile on his face. It’s genuine and reaches his dark red eyes. 

“Aye,” he says simply, “If you need my assistance again, you know where to find me.”

And with that, he ducks out of his tent to go prepare himself for battle. You watch him leave and then look up at the top of the tent, the ghost of his touch still haunting your skin. 

----------------------------------------------

Not a soul was speaking. Every soldier fell in line and marched silently, boots hit grass, armor clinked, horses walked along the dirt.

The legion had crossed over the Amvista by bridge about an hour ago. 

When your boots hit Erban soul, you thought that it would bring about a wave of complicated feelings, but truly you were only met with one: anger. Red, hot, burning anger.

You want to be nervous for this fight, so badly you want your mind to be reeling with every possible outcome, every way for you to fail; but the only thoughts you have are ones of battle induced rage. 

The army suddenly came to a halt at the top of a hill. At the bottom sat Fort Mire. From where you stood, you could not see if Erban soldiers were running around or if your presence was made aware of. Yet.

The sky was lighting up, the sun should be rising any second now.

Changbin sat on his horse in front of everyone. For a moment you could only see the back of his head as he watched Fort Mire for a long moment. He turned his horse around and stared out among the sea of his soldiers; men and women all ready and willing to give their lives at his command.

He squeezes his thighs and his horse slowly walks parallel with the front line. The commander continues to look out among all the faces.

When his eyes find yours, he hesitates for a split second. You nod your head as imperceptibly as you could, he does the same and looks away.

“Today marks Day One of the war that history will remember.” He says strongly over the sea of soldiers. His voice is even and confident. “On this day, you will raise your sword for the Elven lives that were cruelly taken from this world. No more will these sinful devils torture the innocent lives of our brothers and sisters.”

Changbin reaches down and unsheaths his sword and holds it up in the air. “Today we fight for the voices that were stolen! You will fight for each and every soul who was beaten down into the dirt! You fight for them!”

He holds his sword up in the air and every soldier around you issues a mighty battle cry. Some hit their swords against their shields, others stamped their feet in the dirt making the ground vibrate. 

“Today we take Fort Mire!”

Another scream.

“Archers ready!”

At this point, you’re able to spy a lot of movement happening down at the Fort. Soldiers were scrambling to wake up the ones that were sleeping. 

The front line of archers in front of Changbin take out their bows and knock their first arrows, each movement is almost synchronized.

Changbin turns his horse to face the Fort, his sword still held aloft in the air.

“Erbus will know the wrath of Miroh! On my mark!”

You pull your sword from your hip with other soldiers. Everyone starts shifting on their feet in anticipation. 

Loud yelling is echoing up from the Fort.

“Aim!” Changbin yells and each archer pulls their arrows back, bows aimed up at the sky.

You suck in a large breath, your body humming.

“Fire!”

[mywritingonlyfans]

Can you write about how Al would be with his little one, like a babygirl??? Please, I like you a lot ♥️

I like you too, sz! I'm bubbling my heart out with this, ugh :,)

Daddy's girl // Alex Turner X Reader! (Fluffly)

prompt: just a heart to heart conversation between dad and daughter

words: 1,4K.

You leaned against the door, observing Alex in a white tank top, his hair tousled and clearly showing signs of fatigue. He was in the bathroom with Daisy, both facing the mirror. Her eyes seemed somewhat sad as she held the toothpaste tube between her small hands. Alex had his hand on her back, ensuring that she didn't fall off the bench that brought her to his level. Despite her hatred of brushing her teeth, Alex remained patient with her, as he always did.

Just moments before picking up the brush that Alex had prepared for her, Daisy dropped it gently into the sink. Her eyes welled up with tears, and with the silence in the room, both you and Alex realized that the issue this time was not the tooth brushing itself. It wasn't a tantrum, if it were she would be kicking like hell. 

Alex gently held her face, turning her towards the mirror. His large hands almost covered the girl's entire face. He kissed her cheek and moved up to her forehead, making her chuckle nervously before snuggling into his arms. "What's wrong, pumpkin?" he asked in a calm and caring voice, wiping away her tears with his fingers.

The girl sniffled and shook her head. "I don't know...I just feel sad," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alex hugged her tighter, planting a soft kiss on her hair. "It's okay to feel sad sometimes. Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice full of understanding.

The girl nodded, her tears still streaming down her face. Alex continued to hold her, patiently listening to her as she poured out her heart. He knew that sometimes, all a person needed was a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. And he was happy to be there for her little girl, every step of the way.

 "Daddy, do you like my hair?" Her cautious voice reverberated throughout the bathroom. Daisy was hesitant, but it was clear that despite feeling embarrassed, he trusted Alex and didn't even consider that he would belittle her words.

"Why are you asking?" He furrowed his brow, observing her as her fingers traced down his arms. Her gaze wasn't sad, but still concerning, and she avoided meeting his eyes, even through the mirror. "I love your hair. It's a perfect blend of your mother and me," he reassured her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She hugged herself, appearing downcast, but even so, seeing her standing on a bench in front of the mirror was the most adorable thing in the world to him. Just as it was for you, the two of them together were irresistible. 

"I wish mine looked like yours," she said, her eyes filling with tears and breaking his heart.

 Noticing that she would turn to him, and knowing that whenever she cried, she would snuggle into his chest for a safe haven, he held her in place and lifted her chin slightly. "Hey, you're beautiful as hell," he whispered, causing Daisy's eyes to widen. 

"Still," he shook his head, not allowing her temporary negativity to take over. "I won't let you say anything mean about yourself, pumpkin," Alex hugged her waist, studying her face in the mirror. "Don't you think you're pretty?" Daisy remained silent, briefly glancing at him. The answer never came. 

"Okay, look at me," he said, waiting for her to comply. "You're beautiful, like the most beautiful girl in the world. Your hair is gorgeous, just like all of your features. I love hearing your voice, seeing your eyes shine, your freckles, and so many other things about you," Alex poured his heart out all at once. Daisy felt embarrassed but a bit better, with her lips between her teeth to hide a smile and her eyes free of any trace of tears after her dad's words. Alex felt good in his role as her father, and he would never let his girl think less of herself. "Now go ahead and say that out loud." 

"What?" She tensed up in his embrace, looking at him with suspicion. "Yep, exactly what I said. Repeat after me, okay?" she agreed. "I am beautiful," he said in his calm voice, with a smile on his face to encourage her. Daisy took a deep breath, gazed at him, lowered her arms to her sides, closed her eyes, and repeated it aloud. God, you couldn't love Alex any less.

 "Perfect, see?" Alex reassured her, nodding his head excessively, which made her burst out into a hearty laugh. "Now, with your eyes open, say 'I am an amazing girl'," he encouraged her.

"I am an amazing girl," she said, keeping herself cheerful and radiant before his eyes.

"I am powerful, capable, and smart," Alex continued.

"I am powerful, capable, and smart," she repeated even louder this time, warming Alex's chest.

"I'm very proud of you, girl!" Alex exclaimed, noticing you smiling beside the door. You shook your head, as if asking him not to mention that you were there. He knew you wanted to make it their own moment, even if you always said the same thing to her every morning before she got up. 

"Can I have braids though?" she asked, taking his attention away from you. She already had a scrunchie on hand and his cell phone ready for him in case he needed it. You could already imagine yourself holding back a laugh as Alex certainly didn't know what he was doing. Daisy was trying to help him, with all the excitement she had in her, but that was just getting in the way. He was patient with her, just like he always was.

 The way he arched his brow, with a small pout on his lips as he struggled to understand a braid tutorial on YouTube, was the cutest thing ever, and all you needed after hours of work. It was obvious that the braid would be all messed up, but Daisy liked it because he had done it himself for her. 

 Alex looked confused, as expected, but you found it endearing. When he finished, he looked back at you, smiling at your bright eyes. You had given your approval. As soon as he was done, he handed the brush back to Daisy, who seemed reluctant but still didn't hesitate. Alex chuckled, which made the little girl laugh at her own tantrum, and then he started brushing his teeth with her so she wouldn't have to do it alone. She seemed to enjoy it, and both you and Alex knew it would become a tradition.

"You're doing great, Daisy!" Alex said, his own toothbrush foaming with toothpaste. "Just like that, keep brushing."

Daisy beamed up at him, proud of her accomplishment. "Thanks, Daddy!"

Alex grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem, kiddo. We'll make sure your teeth are nice and clean." He kissed her cheek quickly with the foam, making her laugh even harder in his arms.

You watched the scene unfold, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It was moments like this that made everything worth it. Alex was an amazing father, just as a lovely partner as well. And you were grateful to have him in yours and Daisy’s life.

"Let's go, my girl," he helped her dry off and placed her on his lap. "Let's give mom a kiss and go to sleep, okay?" He smiled warmly at both her and you, walking over to where you were waiting with open arms.

As he approached, the little girl leaned over and gave you a sweet peck on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mommy, I love ya," she said, her voice sleepy and content.

You kissed her head and cheek, repeating that you loved her too very and very and very much, several times, before doing the same to Alex and causing her to bubble up in more laughter as he was getting red in the face. And then you were filled with that all-too-familiar feeling of gratitude for this little family that you had created. As you headed to bed, you knew that no matter what challenges came your way, you would always have each other. And that was all that mattered.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @bloo-wisteria @indierockgirrl (if you wanna be added or removed just let me know!)

[bellarkeselection]

Could you do a king Henry were he has a fight with his mother and y/n mother about her haveing a child

England’s Romeo and Juliet

“Henry, we can’t hide this anymore. I must run off because my family name has already been shattered when I laid with you.” I told the love of my life the King of England Henry Tudor. I was a highborn lady sent to find a husband but instead I fell for the already married king and lost my virginity to him ending up pregnant. Staring at myself in the mirror he came up behind my wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder since I was shorter than him unless I wore heels but right now I was just wearing some flats since they were more comfortable. I was wearing one of his loose tunics since my dresses we’re getting tighter. “You don’t have to worry Y/n. I am the king of the England now. And I want you. I don’t care if I am married to that York daughter. I want only you.” He declares turning me around in his arms so I was staring up into his bright brown eyes.

The door to his chambers suddenly opened the moment I leaned up on my toes kissing him. He tugged me closer deepening the kiss until his mother’s voice rang through the quiet room and she yanked him back by the collar of his shirt. “Henry Tudor, how dare you have a romantic affair with a random highborn girl that isn’t your wife!” He stumbles backwards before she stomped up over to me grabbing me by shoulders eyeing my grown belly. I wasn’t full term but enough for someone who was once with children could clearly notice. “And you’ve put a now bastard babe in her belly…You are a disgrace to your name and family. I should place you in the dungeon for this-“ Henry stomps over to us braking his way in between us glaring at his mother. He glanced over at me seeing that I was on the verge of bawling tears at her words.

"I choose her, mother. I wish to marry Y/n and take her as my wife, queen and mother of my children." He spoke towards her seeing her face turn into a look of disgust at the thought. His marriage to Elizabeth was arranged before he took her father’s throne. And I didn't feel worthy of being his queen sometimes. Margaret glared at me throwing her hands up. "You had a destiny to be from the moment you were born. Don't you dare throw it away on some half witted noble whore!" Wrapping my arms around myself I headed towards the door grabbing the door handle until I felt Henry grab my wrist halting me in my tracks. He spins me around with my hair falling in front of my eyes where he cupped my face in his hands crashing his lips onto mine. I gasped gripping the fabric of his tunic shirt in my fingers deepening the kiss until we were both breathing heavily and he turned to his mother. “If you want me to remain on the throne then you will undo my marriage to Elizabeth of York. Then allow me to wed Y/n and declare her your queen.”

She gasps nodding her head yes heading around us and towards the door with only few words. “Yes, your grace.” She bowed her head and once the door was hit behind her I spun around to Henry flinging my arms around him. He wrapped his arms around me burring his face into the crook of my head kissing my cheek a few times. "See I told you there was nothing to worry about my darling future queen." He nuzzled his nose with mine making me giggle and lightly blush feeling nervous about ruling. "You were right but...what if I'm not a good queen?" Henry shook his head suddenly picking me up bridal style sitting me down on the bed ditching the shirt I was wearing alongside his own pressing his lips deeply onto mine. "You will be the greatest queen ever and I intend to please you until you see yourself the way I do. I love you." He pushed me down onto the bed with over top of me while my fingers knotted into his curls bringing him in for a hungry kiss. "I love you too, Henry."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[slafkovskys]

knies making u watch him fuck u in a mirror… my god😮‍💨😮‍💨

warnings: mature content (18+), language, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones

“excuse me,” you freeze at the familiar voice of your mother. you turn your head to find her standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows raised, “weren’t you supposed to be out of here thirty minutes ago?”

“i could ask you the same question,” you send her a nervous smile that she doesn’t buy and your shoulders fall as you slump against the wall with a huff. she taps her foot once and you scramble to come up with the best excuse that you could for still hanging around your house when you were explicitly told not to, “celeste and i decided to go see a movie and i need my big purse to sneak snacks in.”

you can tell by the look she sends you that she doesn’t believe your story, but with a wave of her hand she dismisses you, telling you to “make it quick.”

with a sigh of relief, you turn and quickly make your way to the top of the stairs, pushing open the door to your bedroom. you cross the floor and push the curtain out of the way, looking into the backyard. you see a lot of the boys that your father trained during the off-season (some you recognized, some you didn’t) but not the one that you really wanted to see.

your shoulders drop and you let the curtains fall back into place while you start looking around for what you had originally came for. you find it sitting on the top shelf of your closet and when you go to reach for it, you nearly scream as a pair of arms wrap around your waist. there’s a breathy chuckle against your ear and only then do you relax because you realize who it was. his arms loosen, but he doesn’t let you go, “did i scare you?”

you turn in his arms and shove at his chest, “you’re going to get us in trouble.”

“not if you stay quiet,” matthew mumbles, running his hands down your waist and playing with the hem of your sundress that you had so stubbornly worn, “can you do that for me, babe?”

you nod your head, unable to form the words that he wants but he’s having none of that. he sends a sharp slap to the upper part of your thigh and you take a deep inhale, squeezing his biceps, “i’ll be quiet, matty. i promise.”

“good girl,” he puts two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him, “now i’m going to tell you what’s going to happen and you’re going to listen, responding with words. i need to know you’re okay with what’s happening. i may not be very nice about it because we don’t have a lot of time, okay?”

“yes sir,” it slips from your lips easily and he grins, pressing his mouth to your own. you grab onto his wrist like it was a lifeline, keeping you grounded as he walks you over to your bed. he sits down and pulls you down on top of him, “matty-”

“this is what’s going to happen, honey. i’m going to fuck you and you’re going to watch me do it,” he says it so normally, so casually, and your cheeks burn. he chuckles at the confusion that takes over your face, turning you in his lap so you’re facing the mirror positioned across from your bed. everything clicks into place then and he places a kiss on your shoulder, “you’re going to ride me and you’re going to walk out of here with me dripping out of you. you’re not cumming so don’t think you are. if you do this for me, i promise i’ll make it up to you later. are you okay with that?”

his fingers slip under the hem of your dress and you nod your head. before he can reprimand you, you swallow the lump in your throat, “i’m okay with it.”

he pushes your dress up and chuckles when he finds you bare underneath, “you slut. did you come over here expecting to get fucked? tell me the truth.”

“i- maybe. i didn’t know if you were going to be here.”

“you didn’t know if i was going to be here? so you would’ve gotten it from anyone then?” his fingers dip between your folds collecting some of the wetness that had formed. on instinct, your legs close around his hand and he scolds you, “if that’s how you’re going to act, i’ll just go back downstairs…”

“no, i- it’s, i wouldn’t have gotten it from anyone. only you. it’s just yours. i’m yours.”

“i know that you are,” he pushes your legs apart, “now i want you to watch me and tell me what i’m about to do to you. if you close your eyes, i stop. do you understand?”

“i do,” you let out breathlessly as he rubs his thumb over your clit before sinking his fingers into your heat in one go. you tense against his chest and he uses his free hand to pat your thigh, reminding you of your task, “you, you’re going to fuck me and i’m going to watch.”

“what are you supposed to do, honey?”

“ride you,” your eyes connect in the mirror and he has a smirk on his lips as he slips a third finger beside his ring and index. you gasp in surprise, “matty-”

“keep going, y/n. they’re going to notice i’m gone soon.”

“i need to ride you and make you cum, but i- i can’t. i’m going to be good though so that i can,” you take a deep breath, “and when you’re done, you’re gonna make me walk out of here with you dripping out of me.”

“damn right i am,” his hand wraps around your neck and forces it back, pressing his lips to yours roughly. he lets it last for a second, still working you open before he pulls away enough to utter the words, “get my dick out. i can’t wait anymore.”

he brings his fingers to his lips while you pull his cock free, rubbing it up your slit a few times to gather the wetness on it before starting to push it in. you gasp, the stretch like nothing you had felt before and having to view it from this angle was a different type of stimulant. when your dress slips, matthew grabs it in one hand and pulls you back against his chest once your are fully seated on his lap, “look at how well you’re taking me, baby. taking me like you were made for me.”

“matt, i-” you try to reach for something, “i can’t-”

“you need help, honey? are you still okay with this?” his eyes flash concern for a moment as tears slip from your eyes.

“i’m fine, i just- help,” you utter and he grins, wrapping his big hands around your waist. his nails dig into your hips and you groan throwing your head back onto his shoulder as he thrusts up. he lets you get away with it for one, two, before there’s a pop to your thigh. “i’m sorry.”

“i think that you were made for me. never letting you go anywhere. look at how pretty you look taking me,” he mutters in your ear and you tilt your head forward, watching the way his thick cock stretches you open because at that point you had just become pliant on his lap, holding off your own release.

you can tell by the way his thrusts start to get sloppy he was close and when he reaches his hand between your legs to thumb at where you were most sensitive. you whine, “matty, you-”

“i know what i said, y/n, but you look too damn good right now,” is his only explanation and who are you to argue with that?

it doesn’t take long before he’s filling you with a quiet grunt and you follow not long after, him covering your mouth with the hand that wasn’t working you through your release. you feel his lips against your cheek, muttering praise about how good you were and how this was absolutely not the last time you would be doing this.

“matty, i-” you take a deep breath, leaning into his chest as his hands slowly rub at your thighs, “i don’t think that i can walk.”

“oh honey,” he coos, a little mean about it, “you know that you can.”

he gives you some time to recoup on his lap before he’s gently nudging you away. you stand on shaky legs while he tucks himself back into his shorts, a stupid little smirk on his lips as he watches you shift your weight from side to side. he pulls you in again and you gasp as his finger traces the line of his cum that had begun to slip out. he’s almost proud when he says, “keep your window open. as long as you're good, i’ll come back and clean you up tonight.”

with a final pat to your leg, he stands up and slips out of your bedroom, leaving you frozen in the middle very aware of his implication of what cleaning you up entailed…

and you couldn’t wait.

[1-800-ur-cyber-slxtt]

𝜗𝜚 If Not You, Him 𝜗𝜚

summary: Another hook up leaves the reader hurt again, he'll never treat her right but maybe his bestfriend will.

pairing: Eddie Diaz x fem!reader, Evan "Buck" Buckley x fem!reader.

warnings: Asshole Eddie Diaz, !!SMUT!!, rough sex, no aftercare, toxic fwb type relationship, unrequited feelings, lowkey seems a bit like Buck's being used, !!not a Buddie x reader fic!!

word count: 1.4k

notes: Shit's messy. The end could be so much better but it's almost 2am and I want to sleep. Probably some mistakes, as I said it’s almost 2am.

Maybe a part 2 which goes more into the relationship between Buck and the reader?? Idk comment ideas.

———————————————— 𝜗𝜚 ————————————————

The sun warmed my body, a cool breeze blowing my hair ever so lightly. I stood between my step mother Athena, May and Maddie who had a distracted Jee-Yun on her hip. We sipped on our cold drinks and chatted, enjoying another 118 family barbecue. 

I could feel his gaze burning into me, my suspicion confirmed when I turned my head to see Eddie sitting in a chair with his eyes glued on me, beer in hand and legs spread wide. Heat rose to my cheeks and pooled in my abdomen. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. 

I send him a knowing look and a quick head tilt motioning to inside, a pang of guilt tugging at me as I did so. He nodded his head discreetly so only I knew he understood and he turned back into his conversation with Buck, Bobby and Chim. 

I made my way inside the house and waited in the bathroom, using the time to fix my hair despite the fact it would undoubtedly be made into a mess again. 

A knock finally came at the door. When I opened it his hands and lips were on mine in an instant, groping at my body with a hot need. Desperate and animalistic he pushed my body flush against his and backed us up to the bathroom counter. The evident bulge in his pants rubbing against the fabric covering my skin. 

My fingers tangled into his dark hair, lips fighting against his. I could still taste the beer that he’d been drinking with my father on his tongue. His stubble grazed my chin as our faces moved against one another. 

His fingers trail up my thighs, lifting my short sundress higher up my hips to slowly reveal the lace panties beneath. He hooks a finger in each side and yanks them down, I step out of them obediently, my lips barely leaving his. 

Eddie’s kisses trail down my jaw and neck, stopping to lick a stripe along my exposed collarbone. Soft whimpers leave my reddened lips, begging for him. 

We both knew we had to be fast and quiet, the thrill adding to the wet heat pooling between my legs. He doesn’t bother ridding me of my dress, instead pulling the straps off my shoulders and the bust down enough for my bare tits to spill out. The black of his pupils grow as he basks in the sight before him. 

“I’ll never get over how beautiful you are, mi amor.”, he groans, taking one tit into his calloused hand. My mind was too clouded to argue back at him, I didn’t want to be his little secret anymore but I still came back to him every time. He was my one weakness. 

I hastily fiddle with his belt, struggling to get it undone. Eddie chuckles and gets his pants undone himself. 

His hands cup the underneath of my thighs and lift me up roughly onto the counter, the cold surface sending goosebumps across the skin of my legs. 

In a swift movement he shoves our hips together, I gasp unexpectedly at his cock entering me. His thrusts push the edge of the counter into that back of my thighs repeatedly, his pace relentless and unfaltering. 

My hands wander up his button up, feeling the defined muscles of his torso beneath it. The map of his body was ingrained in my mind, an image I’d often go back to.

Heavy breathing fills the small room, moans and grunts muffled by each other. One of his hands reaches up and presses against my lips, his eyes giving a stern warning to keep my vocals down. 

My back arches, head falling back to lean on the mirror. One of my hand grasps onto the brunette's shoulder, nails digging into his soft flesh while the other grips the edge of the counter. 

“I needed you as soon as I saw you,” he rasps out between grunts, “In that little dress. God, Hermosa.” His head leans into my body, tongue gliding across my nipple and swirling around the swollen bud. Every compliment used to convince myself I was enough for him, retold again and again in my head. 

My leg’s tightened around his waist, the knot in my stomach tightening with every one of his hard thrusts. “Eddie.”, I whimper around his almost suffocatingly large hand. 

“Be a good girl for me, okay?”, he husks. I nod my head up and down, screwing my eyes shut as my orgasm began to rock my body. At least he was good for one thing. 

His pace only fastens, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slammed our pelvises together until we both came undone on one another. 

Not even a moment later with a grunt he pulls away and absently he kisses the top of my head like he does every time, thinking somehow that it would convince me he cares more than a little. 

Without a word he fixes himself up, tucking himself back into his pants and doing up his black belt. I watch him, my chest still pounding trying to steady my breathing. 

“Don’t come out yet.”, he glances up and orders me, running a hand through his hair. I don’t protest and let him leave, closing the door behind him. 

I sit there for a moment collecting my thoughts, legs weak and sore, left yet again with a feeling of disappointment in myself. My underwear lying discarded on the tiled floor, cum dripping down my exhausted legs. 

I tug a piece of hair behind my ear, a silent tear falling down my flushed cheek. 

How did I keep letting it happen?

———————————————— 𝜗𝜚 ————————————————

Eddie 10:45pm

Come over. 

The message was short and simple, one sent and received many times before. But as hard as it was I had to say no. I had to break the cycle once and for all. Reluctantly and with a shaky breath in, I fired back a text. 

Y/n 10:47pm

 No. I’m not doing this anymore. I’ve found somebody else. 

Several minutes pass by before my phone chimes again, I had started to think he wasn’t going to reply back at all. I felt sick, both wanting to get it over with and wanting to not look at it at all. I picked it up, scanning my eyes over the lit screen. 

Eddie 10:56pm

okay.

That’s all it read, ‘okay’. My heart sank. I hated that he didn’t care but even more I hated that I thought he would have. It had been weeks since that time in the bathroom, our hookups came and went. Each time a failed attempt of breaking it off on my end. But over those weeks I had found solace in his best friend, Buck. 

The two of us had grown closer than ever and one thing led to another. Unlike Eddie, Buck was not afraid of letting our relationship be known. Rather he was excited and proud. The cherry on top was that my father was surprisingly supportive of it, I knew that would really rub it in Eddie’s face.

Eddie hadn’t been made aware of the relationship, only now finding out I’m seeing someone from that message and now finding out that someone is Buck as I walk into the fire station arm in arm with the blond. 

Eddie sits on the end of a workout bench, laughing along with something Chim or Hen said. But when his attention changes course onto us his smile is dropped. 

Buck and I stop walking. We turn to face one another and I smile up at him as he does the same to me. The way he looks at me is different to any way Eddie ever did and it makes my stomach flutter. “Have a good day at work, baby.”, I tell Buck, finally happy and able to show love to someone I adore who equally if not even more loves me back. 

He leans down as I reach to cup for his face, our lips meeting in a tender display of affection. A smirk tugs at my lips, I could feel that familiar stare on me, only this time it was better. I hoped it hurt him, like it hurt every time he left me. 

If he couldn’t love me then his best friend would.

[lemmetreatya]

may I request connie x blk fem! reader really anything tbh, i’ve been having a brain rot of him recently

🧺 been watching sm of baby shelanda’s stuff over on insta and i cant help but think connie would be that typa parent 😭💖 🧺

“yo babe, babe!”

upon hearing connie shout for you from within the apartment, you automatically stopped what you were doing. seeing as it sounded urgent, you quickly jog to where you last left him before assessing the situation.

“what? what happened?” you frantically ask.

connie seems to have a smile on his face as he meets you in the hallway. instantly, your guards down, but you start to wonder if this was a milestone for your child instead and so you return his smile.

“come look at this.”

he says with a low voice, his hand softly clamping around your wrist as he pulled you into the bathroom to see.

upon entering, you were in fact, unamused.

“connie.”

you look back towards the man before hovering behind your daughter as she sat in the bath sink with a raggedy blonde two plait wig on. upon seeing her mother within the mirror in front of her, she babbled. only being the tender age of one, her speech was entirely limited, but you couldnt deny how the side eye she gave the both of you through the lopsided wig, was amusing.

“boy, what i tell you bout putting them wigs on my child’s head?”

you pout but your lips were on the brink of breaking out into a smile. seeing your light hearted reaction, connie grinned as he squeezed into the bathroom pass you and horizontally held your daughter underneath his arms, as if she was a piece of timber wood.

“but its funny, come on! she likes them too, don’t you bubba?”

he hypothetically asks. your daughter only gargles with laughter at the position her father held her in.

connie turns the child vertical so that she was sitting just on top of his arm. as the girl squealed in delight, the man occasionally kissed her chubby cheeks, bathing her in assuring and words full of love. he then held her securely by holding his other arm around her small milk filled stomach.

looking down at your kin in your man’s arms, you could only sigh. connie always liked to dress your daughter in such outlandish fits. you personally think he does it to try and push your limits but you’re not too fussed about it. as long as he don’t let her go outside looking like that, you’re okay with it.

for once, you decided to play along with it.

“woooow! baby, look at the new hair daddy got you! you like it?”

bending down to hold her hand, she surprisingly replied with a babble that sounded a lot like a ‘yeah’.

with a face of surprise, connie looks in your direction.

“ha, see i told you!” he cheeses, bopping your child even more.

you roll your eyes at the childishness of his antics but you primarily ignored them. shaking your head with a short laugh, you fold your arms over your chest as you nod your chin in the direction of the hairpiece your daughter was now tugging at the edges for.

“where’d you even find this wig?” you ask.

with a shrug, connie swaps arms he was holding his daughter in.

“dunno. think i found it in the hair shop when i was buying your lip gloss.”

theres was nothing wrong with his answer but concerning you now found out he went on detour missions when doing errands for you didnt please you. especially since most times hed be coming back home with only half the items you requested.

with a sigh, you take the wig off from your daughter’s head. she doesn’t complain, only watch up at you with her big curious eyes. it did however seem to not sit well with connie as he made a loud whiney noise.

“noo! the miss elsa wig!”

you can only giggle as you transition the wig onto connie’s head, the piece barely fitting. with a surprised expression, he doesn’t even have enough time to retort something back before his daughter is hysterically laughing at the predicament.

[fridamoss]

IS THIS LOVE (THAT I'M FEELIN'?) | BOB FLOYD X LOOT (PART 2)

Archive of Our Own // Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Summary: Bob & Loot go on their first date.

Warnings: Smigde of weight issues mentioned. Flufffffffffffff

Word count: 1,603

‘Let me just check…you’re a nervous driver but you’re cool with going transonic in the F18?’ Loot regarded Bob with disbelief.

‘Well, in my head it makes sense. The other planes are further away, no chance of taking off your wing mirror.’ Bob expressed himself with his hands, this was the first time you’d seen him speak so much. He smiled his crooked smile a lot, looking off to the side with a grin each time you challenged him on something.

‘Whatever you say, Bob. Not that any of them could just shear your aircraft in half with little effort and leave you to fall out of the sky…’

Bob scoffed, ’that could happen to you once in your life, how many times you had a fender bender?’

You shook your head, ‘I’m a great driver, actually. I’ve never hit any one and fell out of the sky…’

‘Ok ok, fine.’ Bob raised his hands, his cheeks were hurting, he’d never met anyone who could make him smile as much as you. He’d thought about trying to secure a second date, but you’d only been on the first for two hours.

Usually that’s how long the dates lasted before they realised he was too shy, too awkward, too quiet.

The waitress came by to squeeze more plates onto your already cramped table. Tapas is always a good idea, you thought sharing some food would be a way to open him up a little. Bob would steal glances at you when you stuffed something into your mouth, you’d always had a good appetite.

‘My mother used to joke that when I wasn’t eating, I was thinking about food.’

‘Food is awesome.’ Bob pressed his lips together on hearing himself. ‘If you got nothing important to say, say nothing.’ Is what his father would tell him.

‘Too right food is awesome.’ One of the parma rolls was lodged in your cheek as your face lit up from a smile. ‘When I joined the navy I had to get into serious shape,’ waving a hand to let Bob know he didn’t need to picture you several years ago. ‘Body composition never mattered to me but it seemed to matter to every one else.’

‘I think you look perfect.’ Bob blurted out, spearing some potato onto his fork.

His eyes were looking everywhere but at you, he’d embarrassed himself again. Every time he had that look, you wanted to reach across and grab his chin and kiss him right on the mouth.

Maybe later, you didn’t want to scare the man away.

Plates empty and virgin cocktail glasses drained, Bob felt a nagging feeling in his tummy, he didn’t want the date to end. Luckily, he’d chosen a restaurant which was a bit away from your apartment, so at least there would be the drive home.

‘Hey, um, do you maybe wanna,’ Bob was scratching the back of his neck nervously. ‘I’d like to go on another date with you.’ The strong voice was coming back. Tell her what you want, it said.

‘If we do,’ you started, Bob felt himself deflate a little, maybe you didn’t want to see him again.

‘There are a couple of rules. Number one, no group dates, I want you all to myself and no trips to the movie theatre, I pretty much want to actually see you the whole time.’

‘Deal,’ Bob almost yelled, the tips of his ears turning as pink as the sunset they were watching.

You had your feet dug into the soft sand, arms wrapped around your knees.

‘Maybe we can hire a boat.’

‘I’d like that,’ he nodded, honestly he would agree to almost anything as long as he could spend more time with you.

‘A row boat, specifically.’

‘Why specifically?’ Bob mirrored your sitting position, his cream coloured vans almost indistinct from the sand.

‘So not that I’m a creep or anything but I’d really like to see you sweat. Put you through your paces, ya know?’

Bob threw you a look, ‘no one has ever really flirted with me the way you do. It’s nice,’ he added softly.

You leaned in to bump his shoulder, wondering what he’d look like without his shirt and his dark green sensible jacket.

‘But for real, I just like boats. I originally thought of joining the navy to go to the submarine division. Then I realised I don’t like the confinement, the thought of being stuck somewhere kinda brought up old feelings.’

‘Old feelings?’ Bob urged.

‘This sounds stupid but I grew up cut off from a lot of things, like a cult situation.’

Bob raised his eyebrows in surprise, of all the people he’d met, you’d seemed the most care free, world wise and interesting. ‘I don’t wanna seem dismissive but I find that hard to believe.’

You shrugged, ‘that was part of the reason why I choose this life. Far, far away from the old one. I still want the structure but oddly enough, the navy gives me more freedom than I’d had before.’

‘I get that. My dad was navy, so I was expected to join but honestly, I love it.’

‘No matter where you come from, you end up right where you need to be.’

Bob turned to look at you, your eyes were glazed over a little, looking back at him.

Now is the time to kiss her, confident Bob suggested.

Leaning in, his lips found yours. Softly at first, just a lingering kiss before he felt your hand on the back of his neck pulling him in closer.

His glasses shifted and he moved away, looking down at your lips, still puckered, opening a little.

‘You’re real nice.’ His brain was beginning to misfire, he wanted to put his hands on you but he didn’t know how to ask.

‘Bob,’ you whispered, ‘stop thinking and kiss me.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

After a moment of sweet kisses, Bob gingerly placed a hand at the back of your head, rubbing this thumb softly against the lobe of your ear.

Hearing your satisfied sigh, he chanced touching your waist with his free hand.

Bob

A delicate whimper of his name spurred him on, kisses becoming greedier, harder.

Pushing you onto your back in the sand, he hovered over you, eyes meeting yours as he pulled away, silently giving him consent to continue.

Boldly, the hand that was sitting at your waist began exploring, the backs of his fingers running along the bare skin above your waistband.

If he had shoved his hands down into your panties right then and there you would not have protested. But he was a goddamn gentleman.

The breeze was kicking up, when you opened your eyes you could see it ruffling his sandy blonde hair. You ran your fingertips across the wild strands, Bob’s eyes were searching your face.

Were the kisses over? He really hoped they weren’t.

He was reaching under your shirt, how very daring of him. You could see the desire to continue etched in his expression.

You lifted your head so your lips met his in a chaste kiss. There was that crooked smile again. You loved it. You already loved it.

‘Can I bring you out in a row boat soon?’ Noses touching, fingers sliding up over your ribcage, goosebumps in their wake. You rolled your hips to meet his, feeling him for the first time. Just a quick check, he was growing against you. He cursed under his breath.

‘Will we get the boat now?’ He nipped at your neck, trailing kisses to your collarbone.

His hair was thoroughly mussed from your enthusiasm, he let out a long breath as your nails scratched his scalp.

You giggled in response, this was the perfect evening. Sunset on a beach, with Bob laying on top of you, kissing as much of you as he could.

‘Ok, ok,’ he said finally, pushing himself up onto his knees. ‘I don’t want to get caught canoodling on the beach with a fellow lieutenant, we can’t get into trouble yet.’

‘Canoodling? What decade are you from Floyd? And what do you mean “yet”? I thought you were as far from a trouble maker as I could get.’

Bob ran his hand along your stomach, settling back on his heels. ‘I might surprise you.’

‘You have no idea how sexy you are, do you?’

No, he really didn’t. He blushed and lowered his head, grinning shyly back at you.

‘Come on, I’ll drive you home.’ You stood and held out your hand for him as he dragged himself up and brushed off the sand from his legs.

‘I had a really nice time.’ You were leaning against your car, Bob had his hands on either side of you, kissing you slow, saying some really sweet things when you broke for air.

‘Next time I see you, I’ll be expecting a kiss.’

‘At work?’ Bob squinted, wondering how much trouble he’d be in if he grabbed you for a passionate kiss on the tarmac.

‘Maybe not at work, let’s try keep it professional, kay?’

Bob nodded in agreement while he kissed you. After what seemed like one thousand kisses, he walked up to his door and turned to wave you off. Touching his lips, where yours had been, your lips.

He didn’t remember kissing anyone else that way in his whole life.

He fell onto the couch, kicking off his sandy shoes on the rug. Fanboy turned to greet his roommate, barking a laugh when he saw the lovesick look on his face.

‘Dude, what the hell happened to your hair!’

Part 3

[lokisprettygirl]

The Bodyguard (Loki x Female reader) (Au) (18+)

Read chapter 19 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 20

Summary : Loki tells you about Sameera and you get three days alone with him.

Trigger Warning : 18+, Daddy kink, Some smut, Mention of Suicide, Rape, abuse, sexual violence, Harsh language, bodyshaming, fatshaming, mention of neglect and abuse, emotional abuse, Unhealthy Eating Patterns, blackmail, starving and under eating, implied smut, mention of drug use, some weird feeding kink I'm (loki is) developing

You looked at him from the mirror and smiled, you wished you were getting married to him instead. How happy this time would feel if he was your future husband? He would keep you so pampered, not with things but with love and that's what you needed.

After the dress fitting when you two got in the car, you noticed that he seemed distracted.

"Something wrong?" You asked him as you placed your chin on his shoulder and made him look at you.

"No darling" he kissed your lips softly. He didn't want to worry you or hurt you again.

"Truth? No lies?" You tilted your head so he smiled. Adorable

"No lies, just seeing you in your wedding dress brought back some memories"

You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His ex wife, he used to be married. He used to be a husband once.

"Your ex wife?" He nodded so you tightened your grip around him

"What happened to her? You don't have to share if you don't want to, I just need you to know that I'm here if you want me to listen" his eyes teared up as you said that so he pulled you in for a hug. He wanted to share, he wanted to tell you about his past, bare himself open so there won't be any secrets between you two.

"I was her bodyguard too" he told you and it made you jealous in a very odd way, it wasn't that uncommon for bodyguards to fall in love with their personal clients, same goes for the clients. Your own mother did. You did.

"Sameera was the daughter of the leader of a major political party in Cairo, used to be involved in shady business previously so he had several enemies, I was hired to guard her after an attack, at first I didn't care about her more than I should but she seemed soo–" he looked at you and his eyes were teary again,

"Sad?" You asked him and he chuckled.

"I mean yeah that too but she looked so ..lost, she had been everywhere but never on her own, she craved freedom and autonomy which she knew she'd never get as long as she was there, then her father arranged her marriage with a wealthy Sheik from Dubai and she didn't want that, I caught her trying to harm herself one night"

You linked your fingers with his as he continued speaking, her story sounded hell lot similar to yours until now, and you didn't know how you felt about that.

"I took care of her after that, our bond grew, she kissed me one night and we immediately had sex. When she cried in my arms that night I just felt as if something was snapped inside me. I wanted to free her, take her away, give her a better life. She begged me to elope her and I just knew that was the right thing to do..so I risked my life and took her away. We got married instantly, I kept her hidden because of the few connections I had made in Cairo during my time there. But her father's men got to us finally" your eyes teared up as you noticed the saddened look on his face, his pain hurt you too and that's when you knew that you'd never want to hurt him on purpose.

"Did he kill her?" You asked him and he chuckled as he wiped his tears,

"Noo his men beat me to death while she stood there and watched, afraid to stand up to her father and speak against him" your eyes widened in shock, you weren't expecting that at all.

"Ohhh loki" you got onto his lap and wrapped your arms around him tightly as you peppered kisses on his neck. You just wanted him to stop hurting but you knew how excruciatingly painful memories could get sometimes.

"Worst part is her father actually did care for her, and he would have listened to her. She just had to try but those six months she spent with me on the run exhausted her I guess, the love that she thought she felt for me wasn't love, just infatuation. When she realized that life without extravagant things and money won't be as easy as her old life used to be, she fell out of that infatuation she had for me too. I just wasn't worth the trouble anymore, my love wasn't enough, she didn't pick me"

You cupped his cheeks and looked at him, you have never seen him so vulnerable, you didn't even know he was hiding so much of hurt and betrayal in there, you kissed him softly so he closed his eyes. He was scared this would end the same way and he didn't think he'd be able to survive another heartbreak.

"Is that why you were afraid? You think I'd do the same thing, that if we get caught I won't choose you?" He nodded as you said that, as much as it bothered you that he thought that way, his fear wasn't baseless.

"Life out there won't be like this darling. Private cars, bodyguards, shopping trips everyday, having an assistant who just brings your drink. I have never seen her do anything else" he chuckled and that made you chuckle too

"Honestly Loki I don't know how life is out there because I have never lived it, but the world out there have you right? Then how could it be any bad? Why wouldn't I choose the world that has my loki in it?" He pressed his lips on yours as you said that. He was scared of taking you away from here only for you to turn your back on him when you'll realize that he won't be able to give you all the money your father or Steve can give you.

"They have hurt me loki, they'll keep hurting me, they will never change and what will I do with all these luxuries they throw in my face when the man i'm getting married to hates me, when my own father despises me. I'd rather stay with the man who is holding me in his arms and looking at me as if I'm worth risking it all for. I'd never pick them over you" he nodded as you finished your word.

He was overwhelmed, he never had any conversation like this with Sameera, maybe he shouldn't have kept his heart on his sleeves, she ruined his ability to trust, she made him afraid and anxious. She made him not be able to trust you fully, he truly wished he wasn't like this with you, he wanted to be as carefree as he was with her but maybe time would heal those wounds. You needed him, you needed his love and support, so he knew he would have to keep his fears aside. He had to be strong for you, you are his baby.

"I'm so sorry baby and thank you, I didn't want to make you feel as if you'd do the same thing" you shook your head as he apologized.

"You didn't I promise, I don't want this relationship to be one sided, I might not know how to do basic chores and stuff but I feel everything, I have feelings and most of them are for you" you smiled and that made him smile too. He had to protect you from these monsters or he'd never be able to sleep again.

"You are perfect darling and I don't want you to change, I'll take care of you yeah? I promise I'll take care of you with my every breath"

You didn't have anything to say to him so you grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him passionately. You loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button just so you could suck a mark on him. He was yours, you wanted to leave a print on him. Your hips moved slightly on his crotch so he grabbed them and stopped your movement.

"Ohh baby we are reaching the mansion..get back to your seat please" he commanded you but then he didn't want to sound too strict so he added the please. Luckily he didn't have to say it again, you pecked him on the cheek and fixed yourself up.

Rocky sent Steve to Japan again and you couldn't have been happier. Everytime he left the city or even better the country you wished for him to fall off a cliff or something, you had no empathy left for that man.

However you still had some left for you father, he was never present in your life, as a kid you only had your mom around you, he was always on a trip and away for business purposes. But he started taking interest in your life as soon as puberty hit you, he needed someone he could use to endorse the products targeted for women and who better than his own daughter?

You didn't make it easy for him though, your mom fed you well and it showed on you, that's when your life changed for the worse. But at the end he was still your own father and a part of you cared about him.

As you reached your room, you opened the closet and took out an envelope, your eyes teared up, it did everytime you looked at it or held it. Your mom's handwriting was scribbled on it "My sweetest buttercup, remember that I will always love you and even though I don't deserve it, I hope you'll forgive me someday" you pressed the envelope on your chest as the tears slipped down your eyes. It was still sealed, never opened. For some reason you could never build up enough courage to open it, it was the last thing your mom left for you, her last gift to you, you always feared that you'd lose her completely once you open the envelope and read her last words to you.

You placed it inside the locker safely, your closet was ransacked every few weeks because your dad didn't trust you to not hurt yourself like her. But the locker was yours and nobody was allowed to touch it.

As you laid down in the bed after showering, you thought about Loki and his ex wife, how could she leave him to die like that? Men like him are rare and Loki was one of his kind. So special, and you'd never hurt him like that. You'd never pick your awful family over him.

He went out with Suzzanah so you took out your phone, pulled your nighty down to make your cleavage more noticeable, he loved pulling your straps down so you did it on one side but kept the other one at its place, you messed up your hair, just trying to look effortlessly sexy and clicked a selfie. Then you sent it to him, you didn't want to distract him at work but you were missing him terribly. He didn't take too long to respond either,

You smiled as you reread the conversation, after lunch you didn't even remember when you fell asleep. You woke up to him kissing your neck softly

"Sorry, I just got here I promise, I was about to wake you up I swear" he whispered in your ear so you chuckled. You didn't care, you trusted him.

"You look adorable when you are asleep" you wrapped your arm around his neck and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, he was freshly showered and in a white t-shirt with black trousers.

"Did they leave?" You asked him and he nodded.

"They took Erik but don't worry he can take care of himself"

"I don't doubt that" you giggled as he kissed you. He expected to find you like this in bed. He couldn't stop thinking about you in here after that picture you sent.

"I have something for you sweet girl"

"Mmmhmm?"" You both mumbled between the kiss and he asked you to search his pocket.

He moaned as you allowed your hand to wander on purpose.

You took a wrapper out and it was a piece of chocolate

"You're spoiling me" you giggled as you unwrapped it.

"You deserve nothing less" he laughed as he took the chocolate from you.

"Now tell me did you eat lunch?"

"Yes daddy" you whispered in his ears and he kissed on your neck

"Mmhmm had a good portion right?"

"I did I promise"

He smiled as you answered him hurriedly

"Such a good girl, open your mouth" he pressed the chocolate over your lips so you took a bite, it had a creamy filling inside and it tasted so good. Your mother always used to feed you dark chocolate every night, it was good for health she said, but your dad always insulted you whenever he caught you eating one

"That's so good" he fed you another bite and watched you relish in the sweet taste. God he truly loved feeding you.

"I'm gonna feed you dinner tonight you'd want that?"

"Do you even have to ask?" You kissed him and your legs wrapped around his waist, you could feel it, his cock pressing against your core and you lost your mind as he rolled his hips into you.

"Fuckkk dadddy" you moaned in his ears and he had to step away because he didn't think he'd be able to control himself, you drove him insane with lust and desire, he desperately wanted to fuck you but he had to fulfill his promise.

"Don't go please" you grabbed his arm and he sighed.

"I'm not leaving, I just need to calm down" he was standing at the edge of the bed while you stayed in your position, you rubbed his cock with your right hand and he gritted his teeth as he let out a grunting noise. God you'd love to wake up to that sound

"I told you I'll help you, didn't I?"

"Mmhm? I thought we were taking things slow darling"

His voice came out all whispery as you kept rubbing him with your hand,

"We are, I just want to see you, can I see you touch yourself? Please dadddy?" You whined and how could he ever deny you, he'd burn down the world if you'd use that voice on him

"I'll do anything for you sweet baby" he pulled his cock out so you brought your hand to yourself and bit on your lips. You have been with blessed men before but he had the prettiest cock you have ever seen, maybe it seemed that way because it belonged to him, you loved him and you loved everything about him, his large hand wrapped around his thick girth and he gave himself a stroke. He felt so indecent, standing over you with his cock in his hand, touching himself so brazenly

"Goshh you are pretty daddy, take the shirt off please" Cute of you to think you could make demands like that.

"Nooo not yet, this is all you get tonight, now be a good girl and watch daddy touch himself like you wanted" he mumbled as he stroked himself a little faster, his eyes kept opening and closing as he felt the sensation building up quickly, all the pent up sexual frustration already had him on the edge

You squeezed your thighs as the sight absolutely enthralled you and your fingers craved to touch him, your mouth craved to taste him but you wanted to be a good girl. Daddy's good girl.

"I can't wait to have you inside me, I won't stop thinking about this now" you mumbled and he smiled as his orgasm approached him more and more.

"Mmmhm pull those straps down babygirl, show me a little something, give me something to work with" your pussy tingled with the deep rumble in his voice, you pulled the straps down and tried to uncover your breasts but he stopped you, he just wanted to see the curve of your bosom. He wanted to see your breasts almost spilling out but he didn't want to see everything.

"Nuhuh that's it baby, that's all I wanted, you are so fucking beautiful love..fuck keep looking at me yeah?" He whispered so you sat up, your mouth was inches away from his cock, you moaned as he pumped himself faster and faster.

"You love being fed right? I'd love to feed you my cock someday" he whispered and his head lulled backwards as the image of you sucking him off flashed in his head.

"I can't wait to feed on your cock daddy, can't wait to eat your cum"

"Fuccckk baby you're such a good girl, so willing, so obedient, will make you feast on my cum someday ..I promise" he was so close, his voice came out strained and hoarse.

"Mmm daddy cum on my skin please, mark me, I'm yours"

And he did, he exploded all over your chest as heard your whiny pleading voice.

"Fuckk y/n baby you are mine..all mine " he mumbled under his breath as he rode through his high, he legs threatened to give out so he placed one of his knees on the bed, he was panting heavily and he looked so gorgeous in his post orgasmic bliss. You could watch him like this forever.

Once he recovered, he kissed you and picked you up in his arms, you both needed cleaning and you also needed a change of underwear.

You had three days with him, No Steve, no Suzzanah and no Rocky, just you and him in this mansion.

You were going to make the most out of this time, if tonight was any indication, you knew very well how you two will spend this time.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[1dkl0l]

The Fear Of Being Seen/My Own Presence

I’m scrolling through TikTok and video after video pops up: If you’re not doing this, you’re ruining your life. Another one: If people aren’t leaving a conversation obsessed with you, you’re doing it wrong. Misinformation is rampant. My life as a stay at home girlfriend. If you scroll past this you’re a terrible person. How to glow-up, how to get off your phone, how to start loving yourself, how to save Palestine. Scrolling through it I know the algorithm serves me as much as I serve it. The moment you create an account and start scrolling, it's like a newborn baby in your arms. Watching, reacting, learning from all your behavior and movements and storing it away so you keep coming back to hold it in your hands. My feed, the videos I see are dictated by my input. So then why do I feel so terrible by the end of it? It’s like a magnifying glass for all of my deepest insecurities and pointless beefs with myself. My hip dips, my double chin, my not-dainty-or-coquette-at-all feet, my needs, my empty purse and heavy eye bags, my less than streamlined-optimized, un-picturesque life. I stop and stare at the beautiful girls on the screen, probably lip-syncing to crystal castles or deftones. Wishing I was them, wishing I could look away and never see anyone as perfect again. I could never be an exhibitionist but on my phone, I turn into a voyeur. I want to be them and at the same time I hate them, hate them for their beauty and their endless praise, their instant friends and doe gaze. You can’t say things like this outloud though, because it reveals to others something within yourself they’d rather turn away from, in themselves, and also in you. Like a pothole they sidestep in the road to not fall down on, a muddy reflection in the lake. I know I’m an angry person, is the thing. For all the times people have told me, “You’re so sweet.” I thank god they can’t taste how bitter the inside of my mouth is. I think we have to be this way though, and everyone has things about themselves which they’ll go to great lengths to hide. In a world full of shame and secrets, most of us would rather die than feel exposed. But the internet is full of exposure, and reeks of shame in every corner, and we learn from the treatment we witness others receive. For those of us who grew up isolated and cut off from their peers, the internet may have seemed like a safe-haven to hide. You could be anonymous, you could be a loser in real life but a god on tumblr or insane on 4chan or whatever your prerogative was. Especially growing up in an abusive household, the internet was an escape. I could lock myself in my room and go on my laptop or phone to disappear from the scene in front of me or inside me. I found more empathy and understanding from strangers than my own father. But now I wonder how much it has distorted my view of the world and others, and I resent the fact that it raised me more than my parents ever did. How many of us turned to our phones so we wouldn’t have to look at our parents faces? Yesterday I was watching a video on youtube and the narrator said how mothers and daughters are uniquely connected because of the way a mother and daughters amygdala are connected. Mothers and daughters have a unique ability to feel one another's pain. I was in the car with my mom once and she reached over to smooth out the crease between my furrowed brows. “Stop, my mother always did that,” She said, “I would wonder what she was thinking about. You do it too.” And sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t know who I feel more, myself, my mothers finger on my forehead, or the internet. I want to look away from her, to look away from my mother, to reject her as her own mother rejected her, to cut off her fingers from my forehead. But I keep staring at the mirror, I can’t look away from the girl, I can’t turn from my own mother. I can’t take my eyes off of her. How to start loving yourself.