#if you get enough you can loop back around to having a positive balance again

[leonsrightarm]

me: i'll keep working after one ror2 run

the ror2 run:

[creepy-spooghetti]

Jeff the killer, ticci Toby, masky and any other pastas of your choosing with an s/o with a fainting disorder. How would they react to s/o fainting infront of them for the first time??? Thx!

Ohhh I really like this idea actually!

Jeff:

Man will go completely still for like six seconds.

He just looks at your fallen form in disbelief, eyes wide, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that you just dropped like a duce with no warning whatsoever.

After he somewhat comprehends what just happened, he'll softly speak your name.

"...Y\n...?"

Poor dude doesn't know how to handle this.

Will definitely poke you to make sure you aren't faking.

Once he realizes you are actually unconscious, he'll shake your shoulders to try to wake you up, and if it goes on for too long he'll pick you up bridal-style and take you to Jack to get a professional opinion.

After you wake up and he has confirmation that you won't be dying anytime soon, he'll be salty.

"How could you do that??"

"Jeff—"

"No, don't talk to me. I'm sulking."

Toby:

Panic mode.

Absolute panic mode.

"Y/n? Did you just die??"

Will leap from his seat in an instant and go absolutely berserk as you lay motionless on the ground. He checks to make sure you're still breathing, and when he sees your chest rise and fall, he'll let out the loudest breath of relief.

Except now he has to find some way to wake you up. So, he calls the only one he knows might be prepared to handle something like this.

Yup, you guessed it: Jack.

Dude still doesn't know what's wrong with you, and his terror can be heard over the phone. "Y\n, unconscious, don't know what to do, get over here!"

"Calm down, Toby—"

"I AM CALM!"

When you actually open your eyes, he will pull you into the tightest hug, pleased beyond belief that you're okay.

"God, don't...don't do that to me again."

Masky:

Will catch you before he even knows what he's doing.

One moment, you're standing, perfectly fine, then the next you're not. He doesn't know what to think about that.

"Don't play games with me, dumbass," he'll warn oh-so-sweetly, arms looped beneath your back so you don't fall and bust your head.

When you're unresponsive, he'll lay you on the floor so he can get a better look at your features. You seem fine, you're not hurt, so what happened?

"Hey. Wake up."

He'll sit down beside you, not willing to admit this turn of events slightly concerns him, and waits for you to stir. After not too long, you do, and notice his position, then realize what happened. "Masky?"

"You better not make this a habit," he snaps, observing your puzzled expression. "I have more important things to do than stay here with you 'cause you're too fuckin' lazy to keep consciousness."

"If that's the case, why'd you stay?" You smirk, rubbing your head and rising. He'll huff, grab your arm, and hoist you up, careful not to let go until you've gained back your balance.

"Shut up."

Liu:

An instant 'oh shit' expression graces his face as he drives forward to snatch you up before you have a chance to hit the ground.

With one arm locked around your torso, he'll examine you, trying to find something that could have caused you to pass out so suddenly.

If you're near a couch or bed or anything else that could be used as a seat, he'll be lifting and taking you there so he won't risk you slipping from his hold.

He'll take his phone out of his pocket, trying to remain calm, and dial Jack's number while he brushes some hair out of your face.

Overall much more mature about the matter than the former three.

When Jack arrives and you wake up, Liu will stand to the side and watch somewhat nervously as you're tested to ensure you're coherent enough to move around.

He'll thank Jack for rushing over so quickly, and once he's gone, he'll take a seat beside you, wrapping his arms around you and allowing his breathing patterns to settle.

"Next time, tell me if you think you're about to faint. You scared the shit outta me."

[97-liners]

hockey player scoups x figure skater reader

words: 1.2k

fluff, tenderness, pointless romance, etc etc

based on this au by @bfwonu

Knees loose, core tight, focus on the glide of ice beneath steel.

You breathe in and out, counting the beats on the music that streams through your wireless earbuds. How long have you been here again? You’re not sure, but then again, time passes quickly when you’re on the ice. You inhale again as you build speed, feeling the chill wind on the back of your neck as you glide across the rink backward, balancing on one skate. And then there’s your musical cue and you bend your leg and you jump, taking off on the back outside edge of the blade.

For a moment, your world drops away and time slows. Once. Twice. Thrice. But your last half-spin is short, and you know it. You land, off balance and tilted. There’s no way for you to land on your butt and the next thing you know, your entire right side is smarting as you slide across the ice. The breath is knocked from your lungs on impact, and you groan in pain.

You think you hear a shout, but it doesn’t matter because your next musical cue is coming, two double flips following the failed triple loop.

You grit your teeth and somehow manage to pull yourself back to your feet, letting the residual momentum from your fall guide you upright. Breathe in, breathe out, count to the beat. You swing your free foot back, but when the toe pick hits the ice, your legs suddenly turn into jelly. You fall again, this time harder and directly onto your hands and knees as you pitch forward.

“Fuck,” you grunt, sliding across the ice as you feel yourself collapse. It feels like you skid for ages before you slowly drag to a stop. Your legs are covered in chips of ice, which begin to melt through your leggings and onto your tender skin, cold seeping into your bones.

You lay there for a moment, catching your breath and looking up at the dizzyingly bright stadium lights illuminating the rink, when out of the corner of your eye, you see movement.

Sighing, you take one of your earbuds out as you turn your head toward the gate. It’s Seungcheol, dressed in ratty old sweats with his hair shoved back into a beanie. He vaults over the wall easily, bypassing the gate, and jumps onto the ice. Even as the rest of your long program plays through the tinny speakers of your earbuds, you can hear the way his hockey skates shred the ice, a horrible, grating sound that sets your teeth on edge.

“What are you doing here,” you scowl, making no movement to get up. “It’s my rink time.”

“Not anymore,” Seungcheol says, coming to a stop beside you and kicking up a spray of ice. “My team’s time starts soon.”

“How has it been three hours already,” you groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position with some difficulty. Your right arm aches terribly, your ribs feel tender and sore, and you’re not quite able to suppress the wince that flashes across your face.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol lowers himself to a squat by your side. “You took some pretty hard falls just now.”

“Obviously,” you snap. Your eyes ache and you know they're about a moment away from erupting into hot, angry tears. This is the most ambitious long program you’ve attempted— ambitious enough to take you to the world championships if you do it perfectly. Maybe it’s too ambitious, but you’re not ready to admit that. “Are you here to gloat, or what?” You turn toward him, ready to chew him out, but he doesn’t look particularly smug. Instead, he looks… worried.

“Take a break,” he orders. “No skating tomorrow.”

“You can’t order me around,” you huff, but he silences you with a sharp frown.

“Take. A. Break.” Seungcheol’s tone is steely and for a moment, just one moment, you see the leader in him that everybody talks about. The reliable Captain Seungcheol, the team’s source of strength.

You blink and the world blurs. Embarrassed, you turn your head away from him as you feel tears beading on your lashes. “I’m so close to getting it,” you choke. “If it’s not the rotations, it’s the angle. If it’s not the angle, it’s a stiff landing. I’m always just one step away, but I just can’t… get there.”

You don’t know why you’re telling this to him, a lumbering brute of a hockey player who couldn’t tell an axel from a lutz, but Seungcheol nods understandingly, and somehow, you feel like he knows.

“You just need to focus.” Seungcheol sits too, planting his butt solidly on the ice. “I know you’re capable. You know you’re capable. It’s not a matter of ability, it’s all in your head.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you mumble.

“Here.” Seungcheol takes your hand in his. You jerk your head toward him, wide-eyed and panicked as he peels the knit glove off your right hand, but then you hiss in pain as the yarn pulls away from flesh.

You’ve somehow manage to split the skin where the heel of your palm meets your wrist bone, likely when you were breaking your fall earlier, and in the adrenaline of the moment, you hadn’t even noticed it.

“I saw you bleeding,” Seungcheol murmurs quietly as he lays your palm gently in his lap. “That’s why I came out on the ice to check on you.” You watch as he pulls a small foil packet from the pocket of his sweatpants and tears it open to pull out an alcohol wipe.

Seungcheol gently cleans off your wound with the wipe, wincing too when you wince at the painful sting of the alcohol. “Sorry,” he says, apologetic, like it’s somehow his fault. “Here.” You watch as he takes out a band-aid from his pocket and carefully places it over the wound, his fingers pressing down the adhesive, impossibly gentle. You feel your skin tingle where he touched you, almost like the phantom of Seungcheol’s fingertips brushing across your palm.

“All done,” Seungcheol says, shoving the spent wrappers back into his pocket as he stands.

“Th-thank you,” you bite out. Why are your cheeks so hot when the rest of you is so cold? Your legs shake when you try to pull yourself to your feet, both from the cold and from exhaustion. You stand for a moment, thighs aching, before your knees give out and you collapse.

But instead of meeting the ice again, you feel Seungcheol’s arms around your waist, holding you up and catching you as you fall. You gasp, instinctively reaching up to cling on to him. Your fingers close on his large, firm biceps, defined even through the thick cotton of his sweatshirt, and you furiously will yourself not to think about the shape of his body.

You pull yourself up and try to take another step, but your muscles are limp and feel like they’re out of your control.

Seungcheol grins. It’s a grin that you’ve come to hate, and the next words that come out of his mouth make you hate him more. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” he says, cocky, confident. Just like that, the tender stillness of the moment is broken and you shove him away, slapping his shoulder in the process. Somehow, you’re grateful that the tenderness has been stripped away. It’s easier this way, this familiar antagonism, the carefully maintained distance burning between the two of you.

“Fuck off, Choi Seungcheol,” you snap as you hobble your way toward the wall, trying your best to ignore the way your legs tremble and your hip throbs in pain. “Fucking prick.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he calls out after you, “you’re welcome!”

You hate him, you tell yourself. You detest him. But it’s getting harder and harder to convince yourself that it’s true.

[f1-birb]

25 pando

25. my love is your arm stuck in the claw machine. you were going to steal that prize for me?? oh my gosh. let me rescue you and also show you how to actually do this

This is definitely not one of his finer moments, Pierre thinks.

He twists slightly, putting more of his weight onto his leg and easing out some of the tension in his shoulder. He's so close to sitting down, he can feel his hip just grazing the floor, but trying to sink the extra few centimetres needed pinches his arm and he lets out a quiet curse.

That hurt, he thinks, that really hurt, no sitting.

His back pocket vibrates and he groans. It makes sense, he has definitely been gone for longer than he said he'd be, but he really doesn't want to have to confess as to the reason why. He balances carefully, pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping at the screen.

Where r u????

He must not reply quickly enough for Alex's liking, since a second text comes through straight away.

I'm coming to find u

Pierre knocks his head against the machine and texts back. He's immediately sent a string of laughing emojis and then he hears the real thing.

Alex leans against the arcade machine that had been hiding him, one hand on a knee and the other wiping at tears. "Oh mate."

"Shut up." He hisses but there's no real venom. There can't be, Pierre knows he looks like an idiot.

"Let me take a picture and then I'll help you."

"Alex!" Pierre glares at him, and it must make the picture even funnier when his friend cracks up again. He watches as Alex takes a deep breath, raising an eyebrow when a few more giggles escape as he kneels down to help.

"Sorry sorry, I couldn't resist."

It quickly becomes clear that Pierre is very much stuck, when between the two of them they barely shift his arm an inch where it's stuck inside the claw machine. If anything, the situation is worse, the new position pinching even more at his elbow and his skin stinging where he's sure he's been scratched. The sound of approaching voices has him banging his head against the machine again.

"What are you two doing?" Pierre doesn't need to look to hear George's raised eyebrow.

"Someone got stuck." Alex replies far too cheerily, and Pierre kicks him. "Ouch! You are stuck, I'm stating facts."

It's Lando's laugh that grab his attention, pulling away from hiding his face against the machine and looking at where his boyfriend stands with Charles' arm wrapped around his shoulders, the two of them giggling. Lando's eyes are crinkled at the edges, long lashes making it almost impossible to see the colour of them, and his pointy canines are on display with how wide his grin is. Pierre's never seen anything cuter.

It almost makes it worth being stuck in a claw machine. Almost.

“Just help me.”

Alex takes a step back, holding up his hands and Lily rolls her eyes, pulling him out of the way. George crouches to take a look, but doesn't get any further than Alex did, although Pierre is grateful that the sharp pinch around his elbow has disappeared. Charles is too busy taking more embarrassing photos to help free him, which leaves him with his boyfriend.

Lando tilts his head, biting at his lip as he makes his assessment. He kneels down, hands gentle where they reach into the machine and start pressing against Pierre's arm. There's a flash of pain, and he winces, but then Lando’s holding his hand as he sinks back to sit on his heels.

“He's been freed!” Alex cheers, letting out a soft ‘oof’ when Lily elbows him.

“Are you okay?” Lando asks softly, and Pierre squeezes his hand. “You're not hurt are you?”

“Only my pride.” He laughs, and sees the way the others slowly drift back towards the centre of the arcade to give them privacy. He squeezes Lando’s hand again, smiling warmly when Lando shifts to sit next to him, using their joined hands to loop Pierre’s arm around his shoulders.

“Good. Why were you even stuck in the first place? Why did you come back to the machine?”

Pierre feels the heat rise in his cheeks, the flush crawling across his face to his ears. He won't lie though, never to Lando, and he keeps his eyes averted as he answers. “Because you really wanted the mini IKEA shark. You were so disappointed earlier when we couldn't get it, so I thought I could sneak back here, win it and surprise you.”

He braves looking at Lando’s face, and all he sees is love reflected back at him. Lando’s eyes, the swirling blend of blue and green that shifts with the light, are so warm and affection-filled that he can't even feel embarrassed about being found with his arm stuck inside an arcade game.

“I love you.” Lando says softly. “I kind of love you a lot.”

He grins, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Lando’s lips. “I kind of love you a lot too.”

Lando giggles and nothing else matters. Then he remembers.

“Your shark is still in there by the way. I grabbed it, and it stayed grabbed but when it dropped in the prize bit it got stuck.”

“Oh.” Lando chirps, and Pierre watches as he doesn't hesitate to stick his arm into the claw machine.

“Lanno!”

“It's fine, I'm literally an expert. Oli used to have me do this all the time when things didn't drop all the way because I was so small. I know the tricks, don't worry.”

True to his word, in under a minute Lando is pulling his arm out of the machine, the tail of his shark clutched in his hand. He flips it around, hugging it to his chest as he stands, and then he's beaming at Pierre as he offers him a hand to help him up.

Once on his feet he finds himself with an armful of Lando, the shark sandwiched between them, and he can't help but press a few kisses into Lando’s curls. “Come on, let's go find the others, I know Charlie said something about bowling and I need to get my dignity back.”

Lando laughs, high and light, and he presses a kiss to Pierre’s jaw as they walk. “Don't worry, babe, me and Pear will cheer you on.”

“You're naming him Pear?”

“Uh yeah, after my favourite person of course.” Lando rolls his eyes as if the reason should have been obvious, nudging him in the ribs and tilting his head back to aim a smile at him.

“I really do kind of love you a lot.” He says.

“I know, you got stuck in a claw machine for me.”

I am so sorry this took so long for me to get round to but hey it also ended up a lot longer soooo...

Ao3 link

[conceptsformyowner]

A long day

We're lying in your bed, it's a bit late, but that's alright, tomorow's saturday. At 23:45, your alarm starts going off.

"Oh, what's that for?"

Without acknowledging my question, you turn off the alarm and get out of bed. I watch you get up and leave the room for a bit -can't follow you since I'm chained to the bed, as usual- and then return with the pack of gear. I quietly stare, not really knowing what you're planning.

You take the mittens out and place them on my hands. You tighten them such that I can't slip out of them, and then lock then both with little padlocks.

Then you take a collar and start putting around my neck. This is strange since I'm already wearing a locked chain necklace ever since we saw how daily collar wear was hurting my skin. You tighten it and then lock it on, not that you need to, you have already rendered my fingers helplessly useless.

You then grab some cuffs and place them around my wrists, then the other set further up the arms, so my elbows are starting to be forced together.

You grab the various belts and tighten them around my body: above the knees, around the waist with my elbows pressed against my torso, and slighly above my already cuffed together ankles.

You grab the long chain and look at me for a while, as if deciding what to do.

Wait, are you...making this up as you go?

You seem to have decided. You loop it around the link joining my ankles and then bend my knees and loop the chain through my collar, and then pull until I'm choking, my neck being bent back towards my feet. You look at me struggling for a bit, then loosen it just enough so that I'm ok, but nothing near a comfortable position.

And so it goes on and on, until you've used every single bondage implement we have. I'm completely immobilized and suffering from the stressful position and the tight bondage. I also can't see, or speak, since my head is wrapped and hooded.

However, it's not unbearable, you're good at managing that balance.

"You look so pretty like this."

You gently caress my hood.

"You're always so much prettier tied up. Alright, here's what's going to happen. You know how I've kept you in chastity for a couple weeks? And you've been so good at it, my precious toy." You caress my arm as I whine and struggle. "Well, I will reward that, because I want you to see I'm fair."

I stop struggling, now listening carefully.

"In exactly 24 hours, you may have earned an orgasm. These will be the hardest 24 hours you have ever endured. I will not show mercy, I won't release you of anything that isn't absolutely necessary. You will be in pain, desperation, hunger, thirst, and heat, and for each hour that you endure, you will get an edging session. At any point, you my use our signal to ask for a single item to be removed. I will choose which one. But it's not free. If you keep everything on, you are guaranteed an orgasm at the end of your 24 hours. But for every item I remove, the chance of it will be less and less. You have 20 items on right now, when the time's up I'll throw a D20, and if the number I get is equal or less than the amount of items still left on your body, I will fuck you until you cum. If it doesn't, you get another two weeks until we try again. So if you ask to remove things 10 times, you'll have 50% chance of me fucking you until you scream.

Anyways, I'll leave you here on the ground by my bed so you can signal during the night, but fair warning, if you wake me up to remove something I'll be grumpy and not very merciful in what I choose to remove.

Good night toy, can't wait to edge you until you're sobbing.

I love owning you."

You gave me a kiss on my forehead, and climbed back on your bed.

[hamsolo]

☄️

(note: Star Wars and any recognizable characters/ settings/ ideas do NOT belong to me.)

Thank you for your patience with this! I hope it was worth the wait!

send me an emoji and I’ll write you as a SW character

"Master Ty, watch your back!" Lasers rain down from above. Dank ferrik! These droids may be dumb but there are so many of them.

"Watch your back Jekk, "I shoot back over my shoulder. This supposed diplomatic mission to Teth has proven to be a whole string of worst-case scenarios. "Agghh!" The laser cut my tunic at the shoulder I hissed at the pain and the smell of burnt flesh. Dumb but decent marksmen.

"Master!"

"I'm fine, get down!" More lasers shot across the rubble in the middle of the street.

Jekk looks like he wants to say something else but another barrage of laser fire descends upon the rubble we're hiding behind. And in the distance, a thermal detonator goes off. A couple beats later, droid parts fly in nearly every direction. One of them attempts to call for backup.

"Master." He tries again.

"Get down! I'm fine," I wince. Force powers can be finicky at the best of times. But in the middle of a battlefield with flying droid parts, blaster bolts, and laser fire?

"But-."

"Shhh...I'm nearly done." With another flick of my wrist the last bit of flesh stitches together. There'll be a scar but what's another one among the dozens I already have?

Boom! Another detonator hits, this time it's closer. Much closer. A statue on the side of the building above breaks clean off of its base and hurtles towards us. Blood pounding my ears, I'm frozen. Rooted to the spot. Thoughts ricochet around my head at lightspeed. If only I hadn't healed myself, if only...

"Master!" Jekk, wonderful Jekk is diverting the statue elsewhere. the motions are fluid and natural. I'm proud and I open my mouth to speak...

"No time, Master! We have to get out of here!" Looping an arm around me, we both get to our feet. He's right, a platoon of battle droids is moving through with heavy artillery.

Igniting our lightsabers, we join the half a dozen or so Jedi left. Blue blades alternatively deflecting the blaster fire and cutting down droids.

Eventually, we convene with the other Jedi and continue to hold the droid army as best as possible.

Swinging and slicing through droids, darting behind fallen architecture. Slowly converging on the city center. Not making a whole lot of progress in an afternoon.

Another break behind a fallen column has half of us wheezing and bent over, hands on knees. And the other half diverting attacks with the Force or lightsabers.

"Master?" Jekk gasps.

"Yes?"

"What...if...we...use the Force to stop them?" he pants.

My mind is figuring out what he means when Shaak Ti gives a thoughtful hum next to me. "It would have to be all of us together, it has to be timed exactly right. But! It could work."

Master Windu nods in agreement, "Good thinking, young one. Containing them not with force but with the Force." He gives Jekk a small but sincere smile.

Jekk's face grows red and I beam with pride. "Let's get to work."

In the few seconds of ceasefire before the heavy artillery is reloaded all the Jedi regroup behind the rubble and the plan is set. With little time to put the plan into action, we work fast.

Now that we've reached the city center, the plan will fall into place with ease. Using the Force, each Jedi and Padawan slips through the shadows or archways, balconies, and alleys to take their position.

I'm barely in place before the droids advance creeping closer to the center of the square. I can feel the vibrations of the Force. The individual vibrations weave together and flow with certainty. I can practically see waves of light ensnaring the enemy.

The trick was to ensnare the droids but not too much all at once. You have to find a balance. Surround them just enough so as contain but not some much as to make it obvious and delay their attack...

C'mon...engage your weapons... We were all thinking the same thing I was sure. I could feel Jekk practically screaming it. At any other point in the battle, time slipped by and actions went by in a blur But now, now the time seemed to stretch and drag.

Then, a shell ejects from a tank, and the army is engulfed in a ball of fire and smoke.

Success! Relief washes over all of us. We did it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dust finally begins to clear and Jekk stands, looking up at the sky. "Do you think the negotiations will be successful, Master?"

I follow his gaze skywards toward Naboo where the Trade Federation ships are clustered.

"We have to trust in Master Jinn and his padawan, just as we trust in the Force."

"May the Force be with them," Jekk whispers.

[coodix]

The Best Resistance Band Workouts To Help You Lose Weight

Anyway, what is accepted and accepted by people is resistance bands workout for weight loss.

Resistance band workouts are becoming more and more popular, especially as a way to get in shape. They’re simple to do, can be done at home, and don’t require a lot of equipment. That makes them perfect for people on the go or people who don’t have much room to work out. But resistance band workouts aren’t just for weight loss. They also offer a host of other benefits, such as improved balance and coordination, stronger muscles, and even better cardiovascular health. In this blog post, we will provide you with the best resistance band workouts to help you lose weight. From beginner-friendly exercises to harder ones that will really challenge your body, read on to find the workout that’s right for you.

The Best Resistance Band Workouts for Women

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The Best Resistance Band Workouts for Men

Looking for a great resistance band workout to help you lose weight? Look no further! These five resistance band workouts are designed to help you tone your muscles and burn calories. 1) Resistance Band Triceps Extension: Start by standing with a resistance band around your neck, holding the ends in each hand. Bend your elbows and extend them toward the ground, keeping your back straight. Hold this position for 30 seconds. 2) Resistance Band Rope Calf Raise: This is a great exercise for targeting your calves and preventing calf strains. Standing on the center of a Resistance Band with feet shoulder-width apart, hold the middle of the band in one hand, then reach down with the other hand and grab the end of the rope circling your foot. Keep your heel planted against the ground as you lift your heels off the ground, then slowly lower them back to the starting position. Do 10 reps. 3) Resistance Band French Press: This is an excellent upper body muscle workout that targets your shoulders, triceps, and chest. Position yourself facing a bench so that both legs hang over it at shoulder height. Cross one ankle over the other knee, then loop one end of the resistance band around that ankle Joint,. Hold onto that end as you press down firmly on top of your thighbone with both hands (keeping your back straight), using enough force to get it close to your chest but not touch it, then press up again until you’ve reached full extension

Conclusion

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[thornedrose44]

supercorp prompt: kara gravely injured, lena at her bedside waiting for her to recover, leading to soft confessions

“It was always you. Always. Even when… even when I burnt everything to the ground. Even when I stood and cried in the ashes, wishing to burn it all down again. It was you.” Lena inhaled shakily, lifting Kara’s limp hand to her lips and placing the softest of kisses to the cool skin that used to radiate ridiculous warmth.

“I felt it from the moment you walked into my office, trying to shift back into Clark’s… Superman’s shadow. But you were never meant for anyone’s shadow. Never meant for darkness and hidden away places. You shine. Did you know that? That was my first thought when I saw you. That you were brighter than the sun. That you glowed.

“My heart skipped a beat when I saw those… baby blues of yours. Later on… when I knew… I always wondered if you heard it. Did you think it was just nerves? A flicker of a lie? It was you. I felt so seen in your gaze. I always feel seen in your gaze. And the thought that I might never… that I may one day have to go without that… without you.”

Her voice cracked, splintering like her heart had when Supergirl fell to the ground and didn’t get back up again.

“It’s tearing me apart. I don’t know what kryptonite feels like and I know you would never want me to know but I wonder if it feels like this. Draining, destructive… I feel so helpless, nauseous whenever I consider-“ Lena cut off, she wouldn’t say the word, not even hint at it, not with Kara still recovering from the precipice her life had dangled on. She wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t entice the reaper to turn his empty sockets to their sanctuary. “I feel like… someone cut my heart out of my chest and left the wound open and raw. Rubbed salt into it and keeps cutting back in whenever it considers healing. It will heal. It is healing… with every continued breath you take, every beat of your heart… it’s healing as you heal. Intrinsically linked.” Lena chuckled hollowly to herself as she defined their melded hurts. “Quantum entanglement.

“You hurt l, I hurt. I get it now…” Lena revealed softly, eyes focusing on the rhythmic way Kara’s chest rose and fell with the ebb and flow of life. “Why you didn’t tell me… you knew it would hurt, truly, deeply hurt. The sheer enormity of it would create a negative feedback loop between us so overwhelming that… all that would be left is ashes…” Lena wiped an inconspicuous tear that had managed to escape off her own cheek. “I hurt which hurts you which hurts me and on and on and on it goes.

“It was you even when there were others. It was you when I was scared, it was you when I was happy, angry, jealous, irritated, delighted, wistful, amused… everything. It was always you. I just want you to know that. Everything I have is yours. Everything I am is yours. I know that-“

Lena bit her lip, teeth digging into the soft skin, ripping into it and staining everything with the smallest drop of crimson.

“I know that it’s not the same for you. That I’m your best friend and that… that’s all you’ll ever see me as and I’m okay with that. Genuinely because that… that position is still sacred, a blessing from the heavens. I get to bask in that… radiant glow of yours and it means everything to me. But you should know - though I will never be brave enough to say these words to you in person - that it's you. For me: it’s you.

“My port in the storm. My lantern in the night. My best friend. My love. My true love. It’s you. It’s always been you and always will be you. I love you, Kara Zor-El.”

And with that, Lena leaned forward out of her chair - still cradling Kara’s hand - and pressed her lips to the uncreased forehead.

“Lena?”

Lena didn’t jump or jerk away at the sound of Alex’s soft voice from the doorway. The redhead knew, had seen the way Lena would blossom under Kara’s light - this little tableau the youngest Luthor had created wouldn’t have taken any of the Superfriends by surprise. They were kind enough - or discreet enough - never to mention it. It was Lena’s secret.

They had carried Supergirl for Kara.

They would carry this for Lena.

Lena stepped back, carefully settling Kara’s hand by her side and tucking the blankets tenderly around her form before turning to face the older Danvers with a raised eyebrow. Alex wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important, wouldn’t even consider pulling her away from Kara unless lives were in the balance or she could assure the task was quick - Kara’s hand not losing all contact heat in the time it took for Lena to complete the task and return to her side.

“Brainy needs your help. Just a quick review of the neutraliser design to make sure it works, he doesn’t want to send us in without being certain it will do the job.”

The ‘after the alien took down Supergirl’ goes unsaid.

“Right, of course.” Lena nodded, making her way to the door, head bowed only to be stopped by a light touch to her wrist.

“Lena.” Alex murmured; it was the gentleness of her tone that made Lena stop, it was a gentleness Alex only ever gifted to Kara, Kelly and Esme. “You should tell her.”

Lena pursed her lips at that, already shaking her head without the need for clarification.

“I appreciate the advice, but I can only stand to lose your sister so much.” Lena confessed. “I’ve already gone without once and I’m not brave enough to risk going through that again.”

“But-“

“I’ve made my choice.” Lena asserted, voice firm yet kind.

“And what about her? What if it’s you for her too?” Alex questioned, brown eyes only showing the smallest slither of regret for eavesdropping.

Lena didn’t have it in her to reprimand for the trespass, Alex’s understanding of boundaries always got murky when it came to her sister - and considering everything the family had suffered, Lena could understand where that moral greyness originated from.

“I highly doubt that.” Lena replied, unable to hide how her shoulders dipped with loss at the prospect.

“But what if?” Alex pressed, hand squeezing Lena’s wrist tighter - not restricting, just reassurance of something solid and tangible to make this real and grounded.

“Then you should do everything in your power to change her mind.” Lena said bluntly. “She can do better. She deserves better.”

“No, Lena-“ Alex spluttered, jaw dropping open as the raven haired woman tugged her hand free and marched out of the room.

“Keep an eye on Kara for me until I return.” Lena ordered, not daring to turn back.

[p33paw]

silent library

kaeya x f!reader

summary | getting fucked by kaeya in a library while trying to keep quiet

warnings | nsfw

words count | ~4.9k

links | ao3

"Don't you have a job?" I ask, tilting my head to meet eyes with the man hovering at my side.

Calvary Captain Kaeya has made it his life's purpose to annoy me. I've had to see him every day since I accepted an internship studying under Lisa. He hovers in the library, doing nothing of use besides staring and occasionally balancing a pencil to entertain himself.

I have to wonder if he has something going on with Miss Lisa, the way he constantly stays in the library, that coy smirk curling his lips, and his stare that makes me jump. I consider him, the glow on his cheeks, and the way he postures his body— scratch that, he definitely has something going on with Lisa.

Kaeya purses his lips, pretending to look at the books next to the ones I'm searching. He runs his fingers along their spines, briefly catching my attention before he steals it back with his voice.

"You know? I do." He says, and that's all he says, before turning back to back to the bookshelf with a smug smile.

I squint, tapping my fingers against the lip of the shelf just beneath where the book I want should be.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be? Anywhere else?" I ask, continuing to stare at him as he coyly keeps his gaze averted. "...maybe even somewhere to do with your job." I draw the last word out, staring him down for the duration, until he turns and looks at me again.

I can tell by the look on his face, I won't like his response.

"What do you mean?" He asks back. "I'm busy helping you."

My eyes roll back in my head before I can stop them. With a huff, I turn away from him, sharp, heading deeper into the library, looking for the missing book.

He's driving me insane.

I slip between the shelves, to a room for storage in the back, and key my way in. I leave the door cracked, walking the room, carefully checking the names of the books, eager to find the last one I need and retreat to Lisa's office for a moment of respite. The book needed takes me all the way to the back of the room, tucked in a corner. I search through the names, glancing away only to catch my eyes on Kaeya as he steps into the room, still following me, quietly closing the door behind him.

I spot the book I need on the top shelf. I lift to my tip toes, leveraging my weight with my other hand planted on a shelf, trying to reach it. I even jump, and nearly graze it with my fingertips. I jump again, but don't get any closer.

I sigh, stepping back. I'll just have to go get the step ladder to get it, as embarrassing as it feels. Before I can turn away, I feel warmth press against the length of my back and something solid wrap my waist. I'm held in place, looking up to watch as Kaeya bumps his chest to the back of my head, reaches over me, and plucks a book from the top shelf.

I know I'm staring, embarrassment warm on my face and my lips slightly parted as I process the proximity. Once it settles, my heart thumps, my hands tightening around the books I already have.

Kaeya lowers himself back down with the book, and though he isn't leaning over me anymore, the arm he placed around my waist to steady me stays there.

"This what you needed?" He asks, dropping the book into my hands. I glance up, startling from my thoughts to view the book in question.

I take one look at the cover, and huff another sigh.

"No, not at all." I say, tilting my head back into his chest to look at him. I try to be confident despite the embarrassment seeding in my core.

He lifts his brows, lifting up to put the book back where he got it.

"Which book?" He asks this time, hovering his hand along the shelf, tightening the arm he has looped around my waist.

I squeak out the name, breath catching in my throat as Kaeya tugs me closer, flush against the front of his body. His fingers press into the spine of another book, tilting it out before he grabs it, bringing it down.

He leans in, until his face is hovering directly next to mine, close enough I can feel his breath against my cheek.

"Am I right this time?" He asks, and my stomach jumps.

"What?" I ask, surprisingly unfocused on what he has to say.

He shakes the book in this hand.

"Is this the right book?" He asks again.

I finally find the wherewithal to focus my eyes, looking at the book, reading the cover.

"Yes." I sputter out, darting my hand forward to lift the book from him and place it with the pile in my arms.

I expect that to end the interaction, but our position holds, Kaeya pressed to my back, his arm around my waist, his hand gripping my hip, and his face—

"Did you need help grabbing another book?" He asks.

"What?" I ask again, swallowing around my tongue.

Kaeya laughs this time, and I can feel it rumbling in his chest against my back. "Do you need help grabbing another book?" He repeats.

"No, that was the last one." I say back, trying to get control of my breath and my racing mind.

He hums, like he understands, but we still don't move from our position.

Do I have to ask him to let go?

Why is he doing this?

His hand does feel nice— warm— his chest is broad— I can smell the mint on his breath, and—

"You're still holding me." Slips from my mouth.

"Oh?" Kaeya says back.

His hand only tightens, his thumb starting to move, petting soothing circles into my hip.

"That's true." He continues, tilting his head in further, until his lips are pressed against my ear. "I didn't think you wanted me to stop." He says, voice low and soft, exhaling a hot breath against my ear.

I shiver, trying to take a grounding breath, stomach fluttering, fingers flexing as I fight to get a grasp on myself.

"What makes you think that?" I ask, the moment I've steadied my voice enough.

Kaeya presses in closer, pushing me in toward the bookshelves, plastering himself against my back. He lifts his free hand to cup my face, stroking the corner of my lips with his thumb feather-light.

"You're making such a pretty face— and your breath is quick." Kaeya says.

He grazes his thumb across my lips, down my chin. His skin is rough from wear as he drags his hand across my jaw, down my throat, and to my chest. He presses against the collar of my dress with his fingertips, slipping them just in, before pausing and holding with his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"—plus," He continues, "Your heart is pounding."

I take a sharp breath, tilting my head back into his chest, feeling the flush of embarrassment blanket my face.

"And, I know that if you wanted me to take my hands off, you'd use your words and ask me to." He says, sounding proud of himself.

That's... true enough.

I turn my face further into his chest, until I can tilt my chin back and look at him, meeting his eyes. I muster my courage, and ask the question burning in my mind.

"Aren't you involved with Miss Lisa?" I ask.

Kaeya splits into toothy grin, eyebrows flying up.

"With Lisa?" He questions. "She's practically married to Jean. What would ever give you the idea that we're together?"

Oh.

Wait—

Is that why Jean is always here?

I drag my tongue along my lower lip as I think, catching his gaze. Part of his smile fades as he roughly swallows, watching my mouth, holding me even tighter.

"I dont— know." I start, "You're always here and— glowing— and— lingering and— following me— and—" I start, slowing down as I say the words.

Huh, I'm kind of stupid— aren't I?

Kaeya watches me come to my conclusion with a quirked brow and a grin.

"Oh." I mumble, blinking at him.

He's here for me.

"Yeah. Oh." He says back.

New embarrassment rolls into my chest. It's cut short by Kaeya suddenly remembering he's torturing me, his hands twitching to move on my body again. He lifts the first hand from my shirt, back up my chest, then directly to my neck just under my chin. His palm is wide where it rests against my throat, his fingers holding either side of my face. He tilts my head to the side, until my neck is exposed to him, and leans in closer, breathing against it. He brushes up the length with his lips, never landing them on my skin, and back up to my ear.

"Are you going to ask me to stop?" He questions, softening his voice again.

I take another sharp inhale, my thighs pressing together as my stomach jumps.

"No." I breathe out, as resolute as I can manage.

I feel his lips warp into a smile, the hand he had on my hip finally releasing me. He uses it to grab the books from my hands, placing them in a stack on the shelf, one by one, until my hands are free. Once done, he lifts that hand to the side of my neck, dragging his fingers along my skin as he brushes my hair away. He leans in, his lips landing on my skin at the joint where my neck meets my shoulder.

My eyes immediately flutter, my head tilting in his grip to give him better access. He kisses soft, first, a barely there peck like a warning. He pauses for a moment, waiting until I nod in his grip, then presses back in. This time, he kisses with purpose, his lips pressed firm. He opens his mouth, scraping against my shoulder with his teeth, pushing his scalding hot tongue out to brand my skin.

My breath catches, both of my hands darting forward to grip the bookshelf and steady myself.

Kaeya keeps one hand firmly planted on my throat, but the other grazes down my side, across my body, until he reaches the middle of my thigh where my dress rests. He plays with the hem, pressing another sloppy kiss to the bend of my shoulder before his mouth moves up to my neck. He hovers there, letting out an exhale as warning before he lands his lips on my skin, open mouthed. I hardly have time to gasp before his mouth tightens, teeth pressing into the soft flesh as he works the skin, sucking to bruise.

I let out another gasp tailed by a soft but needy moan. I tilt my hips, pressing back into the hard line of Kaeya's body. He follows my lead, using his full weight to press against me, crowding me against the bookshelf as I finally feel his lap connect with my ass, and his thigh force between my legs. His hips roll, grinding himself against me. I squeeze his thigh between mine, then press against it. I move with him, a barely louder moan escaping me as I feel his clothed cock jump against my stimulation.

Kaeya pulls off my neck, digging into the soft flesh of my throat and thigh with his fingers.

"Stay quiet." He whispers.

I find the wherewithal to open my eyes, glancing around at our surroundings, suddenly remembering the fact that we're huddled in the corner of a back room in a public library, and that anyone could walk in on us right now.

Do I care enough to stop? No.

I lift one of my hands, stuffing my mouth with my sleeve to muffle myself as Kaeya's hand slips just under the hem of my dress.

"Good girl." He breathes out, brushing with his fingertips along my stomach and up. The praise makes me warm, melting in his hands.

He continues higher, until he reaches the bottom of my bra. He hooks his fingers into it at the center, lifting the piece until it's over both of my breasts, exposing them under the dress. His hand is quick to move higher, dragging the roughened skin of his fingers against my breast and nipples. He stimulates my nipple with his thumb, playing with it until it stiffens to a peak, lifting his thigh to press between my legs.

It feels fucking good.

I'm suddenly very thankful for the sleeve stuffed into my mouth, quiet whimpered moans escaping from low in my throat like a near constant, my body rolling back into Kaeya's with purpose and desperation. He grunts in return, only playing with my breasts more roughly, groping them, pinching my hardened nipples until I whine. He only slows to kiss my neck again, his tongue burning where it drags against my skin.

I drop my sleeve from my mouth, letting out an unmitigated gasp.

"I'm— surprised—" I breathe out, eyes fluttering as I struggle to focus. "I almost thought your mouth would be— ah— cold—"

Kaeya's hands pause as he releases a breathy laugh. Suddenly, where his fingers rest against my breast there's a shift. His fingers go ice cold, raising goosebumps where they touch. He moves them toward my nipple, and I flinch away as they connect with a sharp breath.

"Kaeya—" I chastise, whining in protest.

Before it even feels like he's started, he stops, and his hands return to the same warmth. He laughs again, brushing his now-warm fingertips down the center of my chest. He follows the line down, between the middle of my ribs, to my stomach, until he's resting with his finger tips at the waistband of my panties. He waits.

"Can I?" He asks, then presses another kiss to my neck, rocking his obviously erect cock against my ass.

I close my already half-lidded eyes, fight to steady my breathing, stuff my mouth with my sleeve then nod.

Kaeya wastes no time, his hand immediately pushing past the waistband of my panties, his fingers sliding against my pussy, dragging through everything soft and sensitive. He moves with ease, collecting slick with his fingertips as he slides between my lips, quickly finding my clit with a practiced ease. He moves slowly, gently, petting my clit as I go limp, sighing in relaxed pleasure.

"How's that?" He asks, breathy, right against my neck.

I make a noise muffled by my sleeve, loosely nodding.

I hear another laugh. "That good?" Kaeya asks.

I make another noise, my eyes rolling back, my free hand gripping the bookshelf in front of me to keep me upright.

I let out a sigh, nodding again.

His fingers push back, moving deeper, until he finds my entrance. With no warning, he pushes in, two at once, and my second hand darts forward, also landing to grip the shelf and keep me upright. I let out a wild moan, uninhibited.

Kaeya grunts, quickly lifting his hand from my throat. He covers my mouth with it, gripping tight, trying his best to quiet me as I moan against his palm. Despite the mishap, he continues, burying his massive fingers inside of me as deep as he can get them.

He keeps his mouth on my neck, moving his lips and tongue against my skin. He curls his fingers inside of me, and I nearly buckle, whimpering against his palm. I feel myself throb from the stimulation, gripping down on his fingers, milking them, trying to drag them deeper.

"You take my fingers so well—" Kaeya breathes out, quiet and soft, pumping his fingers inside of me. "God, you're going to take my cock so well—" He voice starts to take on a desperation. "Won't you, good girl?"

I nod into his hand, eyes rolling back. I'll do any goddamn thing he wants if it feels like this.

Kaeya laughs again, pulling his fingers out from inside of me. He slides them forward, refocusing my clit. He circles it in a rhythm that makes my thighs twitch. I rock my hips into it, into him, desperate enough to ride his fingers.

He notices, and takes a rougher pace, flicking his fingers against my clit fast enough my brain stutters and my hips pause. All I can do is grip the shelf in front of me, melting into his control.

Kaeya's mouth moves up my neck, pressing sloppy kisses as he goes, his fingers never pausing in their stimulation. He kisses the length of it to my jaw, mouths the tendon there, then moves higher, until his lips are pressed to my ear again.

"You're making such a pretty face— so desperate like that—" He breathes out.

I blink hazily, parting my lips only to mouth at his fingers. He presses a kiss to my ear, then nips the lobe before coming back up, breathing hot, heavy breaths against the side of my face.

"Come on my fingers so I can fuck you." He says, voice stern. "Let me watch that pretty little face come for me."

I blink rapidly, nodding into his hand, hips jerking as he continues to expertly stimulate my clit. I feel the pleasure start to build, heat spiking in my stomach, unfurling up, numbing my legs and arms. A tremble starts in my core that branches out, until I'm barely upright with my shaking legs, whimpered moans escaping me into his palm.

It happens like a crash, a wave of numbing relief and pleasure as I gasp into Kaeya's palm, guttural moans ripping through my throat.

He makes a noise as well, a low moan, something like desperation. His hand immediately drops from my mouth, exposing my soft needy noises as he drags it down and back.

"You feel so— you feel so good—" I pant out.

"I know." He says back as I hear a click and zipper, what sounds like him obviously fumbling with his belt, before my panties are roughly jerked down my thighs.

I manage to look back with half lidded eyes, watching Kaeya wrap his hand around the base of his cock. It looks healthy, pretty like him, flushed red at the tip and painfully hard. He pumps it in his hand, staring back at me.

"Lift your dress." He demands.

I loosely nod, still coming down from my orgasm. I lift one hand behind me to bundle the fabric of my dress and lift it up to my waist, holding it there.

Kaeya reaches forward with the hand not holding his cock, and grips my ass, dragging his thumb through my pussy, then holding it open. It's beyond embarrassing to feel the cold air hit the sensitive skin of my pussy, knowing he's staring right at it.

He takes a moment, pressing just past my entrance with his thumb, then pulling it back out and dragging the slick down to my clit. He makes a pleased noise from behind me as he watches it, playing with my pussy for fun. I make a noise, tilting my hips higher, arching my back, trying to invite him in and get him to fuck me already.

He pulls his hand back, using it to slap my ass before he moves it back down, holding my pussy spread as I grip on air.

"Bossy, aren't you?" He chastises, finally tilting his hips forward until the head of his cock slips between my pussy lips.

He rubs against me, dragging his cock through my slick, rubbing against my clit, then resting flush to my entrance, paused just before pushing inside.

"You want my cock, don't you?" He breathes out. "Show me how bad."

I whimper, nodding, then brace myself against the shelves. I tilt my hips, trying to keep steady as I ease back, forcing his cock to push inside of me. The initial stretch pulls a high noise from me that Kaeya catches. He covers my mouth with his hand again, this time forcing his fingers into my mouth. I wrap them with my lips, then fuck myself back onto his cock, finishing burying the length inside of me in one smooth motion. I relax, feeling the full stretch of his cock buried inside of me.

Kaeya's free hand darts up, planting on my hip and gripping down tight. He digs into the flesh hard enough bruise, then holds me in place as he starts to snap his hips against me. His noises are quiet, controlled, just audible beneath the sound of our skin as it connects. His pace is rough, his hips pulling back just to snap forward, fucking me audibly.

Both of us lose our words, solely focused on the friction between our bodies and the fight to keep quiet as we connect, Kaeya's hard cock fucking in and out of me with each roll of his hips. I'm a slobbering mess against his palm, constant moans and whimpers dripping from my throat as he fucks me hard enough I bounce against the bookshelf I'm propped against, holding on for the ride.

Kaeya's hand adjusts, keeping a firm grip on my hip to hold me in place as he fucks himself into me from behind. He finds a rhythm, his hard cock pulsing inside of me as he uses my body to stimulate it.

I crane my neck, looking back to watch his face, staring at his blissed expression, half-lidded eyes, just parted lips. His eyes are locked down, watching where he's burying his cock inside of me. Once he looks up, catching me staring, he smirks, slowing the roll of his hips.

"You look so pretty under me like this." He praises, dragging his hand from my hip to my ass, then up my back to my waist, instead holding there.

I hate how smug he is.

Tired of being a pathetic mewling mess, I take the control that I can. I tighten my pussy, gripping down on Kaeya's cock, pulsing along the length. His reaction is immediate, his hand gripping down hard on my hip, the other dropping from my mouth, his hips stuttering to a stop. He nearly buckles, leaning into me.

"Fuck—" He pants out under his breath, not moving other than to rock himself against me. "You feel so— you— you feel so—"

"Good?" I breathe out. "I know." I try to copy his earlier attitude, giving him what he gave me.

He huffs a laugh, followed by a moaned sigh as I flutter my pussy around the length of his cock. He leans in until he can land his lips back on my shoulder, lifting his hand back up to cover my mouth, forcing his fingers back between my lips.

He presses a single kiss before opening his mouth, dragging his tongue out to taste my skin. He licks, then bites down hard, holding tight. Finally, he snaps his hips again, his moans and grunts muffled by my shoulder as he snaps against me. I do my best to keep myself tightened, gripping down on his cock, milking his orgasm out.

His hand fumbles at my waist, his fingers forcing themselves back between my legs. He slides them against my pussy, going back to feel where he's fucking himself into me first, before landing on my clit. I nearly jump when he presses in with his fingers, focused, stuttering them against my clit rapidly.

I arch my back, having to bite down on his fingers to keep muffled, another orgasm rapidly building with the ebb low in my stomach. He keeps his mouth planted on my shoulder, muffling his own moans, snapping his hips against me hard enough the books on the shelves knock together.

I barely realize I'm about to cum before I do, shivering into an orgasm, gripping the bookshelf as it overtakes my body, pulsing where I'm split on Kaeya's cock. He doesn't slow, instead quickens his hips and fingers, until I have to dart a hand down, scrambling to dig my nails into his wrist as I fight the urge to cry out.

He's quick to listen, lifting that hand to my stomach and supporting me as he loses his rhythm, pounding himself into me with desperate uneven thrusts, grunts low in his throat as he bites harder on my shoulder.

I shiver in relief when I feel his cock jerk, warmth spreading low in my abdomen as his hips snap the final few times, then pause as he rocks against me, fucking his softening cock and cum as deeply as he can get it.

We hold for a moment, collecting ourselves in eachother's arms, wrapped tight, before we remember where we are.

Kaeya pulls his fingers from my mouth, lifting his own mouth from my sore shoulder, leaving it wet where air hits it. He shifts his hips slowly, supporting me with both hands as he pulls out.

"So good— such a good girl—" He repeats murmured praise, low and slow, voice rough. "You made me feel so good."

I'm fucked out of my mind, too far gone to care, only focused on the tremble of my legs as they fight to hold me up. I turn toward Kaeya once he pulls out of me, letting my dress fall back into place. I watch through half lidded eyes as he tucks his cock back into his pants, fastening his belt.

He catches me staring and grins, looking at me with a relaxed look. He takes a step toward me, landing his hand to cup my chin, then finally presses a kiss to my lips.

I consider it our first real kiss, sweet and chaste. He pulls back from it quickly, pressing another kiss to my forehead, then stepping back and looking down my form.

"You're such a mess." He chastises, dragging his eyes down my body.

I finally find the mental power to look for myself, greeted by the sight of cum drooling down my thighs toward my rolled panties tangled at my knees.

Kaeya drops to a crouch in front of me, looking up with a reassuring smile as he reaches forward and pulls my panties off for me. I'm confused for only a second, until he reaches forward, wiping up the length of my leg with the panties to clean the cum off of me.

It's sweet, in a weird way.

He lifts to standing, hovering close to me, the panty cum-rag in one hand, then, the door creaks open.

Kaeya startles, his hands flying behind his back to hide the panties there. My head snaps toward the door as well. I'm left speechless as I make eye contact with Lisa who looks from me to Kaeya, back to me, then her brows lift.

"Are those books giving you trouble?" She looks me up and down after her question.

"No ma'am—" I say quickly, turning to lift the books in question, willing my legs to not give out. "—I found them already."

Lisa's brows lift higher.

Damn. Maybe I shouldn't have told her that.

"Oh." She says, briefly eyeing Kaeya again. "Stop by my office whenever you're done in here, then." She says, then turns and walks away.

I grimace, turning to look at Kaeya. He turns toward me, meeting my eye contact and relaxing into a softer expression.

"I think she might know." I mumble.

Kaeya curls into a smug grin, a glint in his eye. "Good observation." He says, dripping with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at him, lifting a hand to pinch his cheek. I don't expect the way he leans into my touch. I decide, suddenly, that if he's kissed me, it's only fair that I kiss him. I move until I'm in front of him, lift to my tip toes, then press my lips to his.

Kaeya chases it with his whole body, his free hand darting up to my cradle my waist and pull me in. I hold it for a good few seconds until I move, kissing the corner of his lips, down to his chin, then to his neck.

There, I dart my tongue out before latching my mouth on, holding with my teeth as I tighten, sucking to bruise. Once I'm sure I've left a mark on his skin, I pull back, satisfied, smiling up at Kaeya. He looks blissed out, even more than before.

I lift my hand to his chest, brushing with my thumb.

"You should go do your job." I say, grinning.

Kaeya's lips twitch to smile, then he shakes his head. "I'd rather bother you."

I smile right back, pushing away from him by shoving his shoulder, walking for the exit of the room. Kaeya keeps close, following me out, plastered to my back.

Calvary Captain Kaeya has made it his life's purpose to annoy me. I've had to see him every day since I accepted an internship studying under Lisa. He hovers in the library, doing nothing of use besides staring and occasionally balancing a pencil to entertain himself... but, nothing makes me happier.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

changes (best friend!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol

Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader

Word Count: 17k (holy shit)

A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3

{masterlist}

Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.

This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London.  However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.

Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor.  Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas.  Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.

This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.

Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother.  Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off.  Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there.  Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world.  Just typical teen things.

However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever.  They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother).  Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition.  Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.

They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating.  Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other.  However, their answers were always the same.  Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more.  Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything.  Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.

Until now.

Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest.  His entire body glistens with water from the shower.  Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—

Her breath catches in her throat.  Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.

“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.

Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”

Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.

Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes.  Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times.  The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times.  But she’s never seen him like that.

When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child.  Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.

Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror.  She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did.  Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.

As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up? ��Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman?  Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?

Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach.  Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago?  That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?

The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed.  Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before.  She likes it more than she should.

After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child.  She isn’t a child.

Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.

Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.

Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand.  His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.

“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”

Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did.  Woke up a bit early, though.  Thought I’d shower before brunch.”

Right.  Brunch.  They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before.  Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked.  I forgot you slept over, and—”

“It’s fine, Y/N.  I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal.  Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No.  You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”

“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”

“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.

The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love.  It’s fine, promise.  I don’t mind that you saw.  I’m very comfortable in my body.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”

“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.

“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes.  There is.”

“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”

Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone.  The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night.  Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.

Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted.  There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.

And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.

I’m on the last flight back to London.  Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together.  You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.

Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through.  Harry’s already on the plane.  So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.

Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life.  She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks.  She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes.  She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.

When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago.  The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.

“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug.  One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”

“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States.  I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”

“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone.  And I wanted to be with you.”

Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon.  I have dinner ready.”

Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.

“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six.  Stop pouting to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”

Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first.  You smell like a plane.”

Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely.  Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.

Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV.  When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first.  It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.

As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second.  They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous.  And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them.  They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.

Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent.  His words slur together as well

“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer?  Feels nice.”

The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says.  Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.

Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes.  Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.  

“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.

“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”

Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”

“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”

If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him.  She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.

But Harry is hardly awake right now.  And it wouldn’t be fair.

“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.

…

It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time.  While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal.  While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.

A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple.  He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.

Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”

Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out.  Not anything good, anyways.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”

“We can go out.  We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard.  Why don’t you use it?”

“Yeah.  Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”

Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job.  I’m on the clock for another two hours.”

“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”

Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”

Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini.  However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency.  Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning.  She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.

Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you.  Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”

“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water.  Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.

“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day.  You really would’ve liked it.”

“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“All musicians are narcissists, love.  At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”

“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry.  The pool is for swimming only.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do.  She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.

She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool.  Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.

“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”

“The pool is for swimming only.  I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”

“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”

“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”

“Right.  Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”

Harry just grins at you.

…

“Want one?”

Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.

“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.

Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah.  I’m not very good, though.  Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”

“So high maintenance.”

Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha.  High maintenance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”

“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.

Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly.  To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.

“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now.  I’m sophisticated.”

Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”

Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”

“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”

His Y/N.  That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core.  Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.

“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.

“She doesn’t take shit from anyone.  She gets drunk fast and high faster.  She’s always down for a laugh.  And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.

“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.

The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.

“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.

Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah.  Just haven’t done that in a while.”

“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.

Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly.  She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.

Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.

Y/N really doubts it.

“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”

Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face.  Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.

“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that.  Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”

“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”

“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul.  Neither was I, honestly.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”

Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”

“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”

As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her.  He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.

“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall.  Did you two ever…?”

“What?  Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.

Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah.  I guess so.”

“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun.  But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”

Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip.  Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes.  His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.

“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter.  Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”

The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.

“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”

“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why.  You usually tell me everything.  You always have.”

Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”

Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.

After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright.  I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater.  Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it.  Social distancing, and all that.”

Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No.  I sleep better with you beside me.”

When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall.  She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.

Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her.  Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.

Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done.  The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry.  Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.

Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers.  He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders.  Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

The tender action leaves Y/N speechless.  The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other.  But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.

Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again.  Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly.  It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.

…

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout.  His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face.  His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.

“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”

“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.

Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.

Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later.  It’ll be fun.”

…

“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”

“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone.  Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface.  There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.

“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon.  Try a cupcake.”

Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth.  She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.

Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah.  They’re good.”

Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing.  He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah.  Sweet.”

The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk.  They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.

“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”

Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”

Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”

Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know.  I miss sex so much.”

“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”

A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face.  Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching.  I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”

Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”

“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching.  It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.

She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”

Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass.  You know exactly what I meant.”

A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge.  He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that.  If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.

“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair.  She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping.  The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”

Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else.  He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”

Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”

Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”

“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching.  Intimate touching.  And…being touched intimately.”  

Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah.  I miss that too.  Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”

“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”

Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”

Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair.  You know that.”

Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass.  Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions.  And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.

“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”

Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too.  That’s always nice.  I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”

“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H.  Isn’t that strange?”

Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control.  Have someone else…”

“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah.  I’m more like that, I think.  I usually let someone else decide.  But I like the in-between, too.  Like…both exploring each other.”

“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.

Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”

Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”

“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”

Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah.  I do.”

“And remember how nervous you were?”

“Yeah.”

“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you.  Kind of like…a breathlessness.  And you looked at the other person and knew they…”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know.  I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice.  I like it.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually.  But nice.”

“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine.  What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee.  He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”

“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me.  And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”

“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”

Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H.  That’s good. That’s…brave.  You’re not afraid of how you feel.  Most people are.”

“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.  

Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth.  She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.

Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position.  His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Who have you been in love with?” He asks.  His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.

“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university.  We were together for two years.  That’s it, I think.”

Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really?  No one else?  No one since Christian?”

Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know.  I didn’t love any of them.  I was…infatuated.  But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark.  Nothing prolonged.”

Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment.  He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”

Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”

“Yeah.  Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left.  Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”

“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry.  We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you.  And you were…”

“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”

Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression.  His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.

“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”

…

“Good morning.”

“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”

“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”

“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.

“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m used to it.  I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites.  She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.

“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.

Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink.  You chose to.”

“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”

“Exactly.”

Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”

Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”

“Of course not.  I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”

“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”

It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other.  They’ve never acted any other way.

Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.

Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry.  But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before?  Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?

Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.

“Look at them.  Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose.  Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.

“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms.  She likes how warm he feels.

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her.  Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”

Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so.  Do you?”

“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice.  He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.

They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.

“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”

Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it.  This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”

“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.

Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls.  She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this.  She wonders if he notices it, too.

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

…

The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side.  What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.

“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”

Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“I’m a terrible artist, Harry.  You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”

“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”

“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”

“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”

“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.

“That’s why I want you to do it.  I want it in your handwriting.”

Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.

“You do?”

“Yeah.  I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”

Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”

“No.  Be a little more creative than that.�� Harry scoffs.

“Why do I have to be creative?”

“Because I want you to decide what I get.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”

“I am!  Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”

“No.  Absolutely not.”

…

“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.

Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”

“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”

Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.

Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”

“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters.  She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”

“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.

“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.

“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”

“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.

“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”

“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”

Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose.  Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.

“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”

True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish.  When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.

“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”

Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face.  There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”

“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”

“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”

“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”

Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”

Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”

Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.

They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them.  It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.

“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”

“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right?  Being touched?”

Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah.  I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done.  Find someone there.”

He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”

Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan.  Not right now, at least.  It’s not what I…want.”

“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”

“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random.  I want sex, but I want to be…intimate.  Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”

Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”

“No.  It would be nice, but no.  That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares.  I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”

“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.

Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah.  Intimately touched.”

“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”

The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”

“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks.  And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”

“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…?  I mean…”

“I—yeah.  I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that.  We’ve just never…discussed it.”

“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild.  If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”

“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.

Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”

“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”

Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”

Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged.  His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.

Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly.  His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions.  However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.

“Like this.  Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly.  His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”

“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.

Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch.  His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.

“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.

“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah.  Good.  But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck.  If you’d like.”

Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck.  He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body.  Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.

Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it.  Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.

She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.

“H…”

“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.

“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.

For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him.  She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now.  Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something.  And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more.  She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.

Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed.  Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.

“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly.  If anything, she thinks, it’s worse.  She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.

“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.

Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was.  She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.

“Is it okay if I…?”

The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love.  Go ahead.”

Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch.  Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others.  She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore.  She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.

Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles.  She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.  

Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.

“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish.  He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.

“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.

“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”

Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm.  Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve.  With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.

“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.

Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance.  His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed.  His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it.  There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own.  Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose.  Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm.  Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.

“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.

Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”

Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath.  He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.

“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.

“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”

Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”

Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach.  His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once.  She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.

“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.

Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body.  When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.

Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones.  She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair.  She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular.  Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.

“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.

Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching.  She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts.  Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him.  However, she’s not sure if they should.

Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”

Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know.  I have no fucking clue.”

“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”

“Yeah.  It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”

“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you.  I’ve always wondered if—we—”

“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves.  Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”

“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day.  I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”

A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

“This isn’t the alcohol talking.  I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you.  And I think…I think you need me too.”

“I do.  I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends.  This is going to change that.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless.  You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know.  All I know for sure is that I want you.”

Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.

“I want you, too.” She says simply.

Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N nods.  She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.

Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away.  Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.

When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.

Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement.  Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation.  This kiss is the exact opposite.

Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate.  Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top.  His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.

Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before.  Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time.  Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark.  She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.

Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.

Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side.  Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.

“You’re not done.” She says simply.

He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again.  This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.

Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure.  With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.  

With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious.  His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.

“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”

“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.

“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that.  Touch me like that.”

Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction.  Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.

Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them.  Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence.  She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to.  She doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”

He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep.  Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.

Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple.  He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.

When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.

“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger.  The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”

Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth.  He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.

“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”

Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad.  Yeah.”

Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed.  Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.

Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top.  When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.  

“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”

Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there.  In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.

Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes.  She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.

When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair.  She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.

“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down.  Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.

Y/N loves him for it.

Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair.  She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.

“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”

Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.

“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”

Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”

Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.

“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.

Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”

“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry.  Just relax, yeah?  It’s just me. I got you.”

Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center.  When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.

“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.

Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.

The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties.  Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.

The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure.  Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.

“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”

Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”

“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.

“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”

Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her.  YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.

“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”

Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”

“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”

He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt.  His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.

“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”

He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can.  Y/N continues to whimper above him.

“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”

Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him.  However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.

“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”

Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth.  He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.

“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”

“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H.  I’m going—”

Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before.  Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.

Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.  

Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes.  Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.

Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness.  He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.

“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again.  She doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently.  She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.

“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”

Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”

The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H.  I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours.  Always.”

Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”

“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you.  Feel your weight.  Feel you close.”

With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between.  He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them.  He’s teasing himself just as much as her.

“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”

“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”

“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”

As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between.  I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah.  I’m sure.”

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling.  A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.

The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before.  Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete.  He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.

“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”

Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”

Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up.  While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her.  This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.

Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her.  Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer.  As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her.  As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop.  Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.

They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible.  Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication.  Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language.  When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being.  When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.

Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.

Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”

Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.

“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.

Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge.  He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.

Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”

“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you.  Yours.”

Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her.  He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.  

As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again.  He can’t think of anything else to say.  He can’t think of anything else worth saying.

When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her.  She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance.  It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.

They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are.  Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one.  The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm.  Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring.  And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.

Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly.  He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.

Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.

“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”

Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom.  Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes.  Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.

Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed.  He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.

“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”

Y/N nods again.  She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.

Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know.  Almost done.”

Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later.  His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.

He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H.  Just…tired.”

“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”

“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”

Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.

…

The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry.  Of course it’s Harry.  It’s always been Harry.  In every way.

Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry.  She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.

Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm.  Barely.”

A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungover.  A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.

Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers.  She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time.  He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.

Y/N wonders if she looks the same.  If she looks as pretty.

“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.

“Well…it is, actually.  I made your drinks.  And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.

“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”

Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”

Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”

“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”

Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No.  I don’t.  Do you?”

“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”

A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it.  It felt—you felt like heaven.”

Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms.  So that was a first for me.”

Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment.  It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.

“I did.”

“You said you were mine.”

Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.

“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”

Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”

Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead.  Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H.  Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”

Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N.  I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”

Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach.  Not right now.  And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you.  I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N.  I still would, and I always will.”

Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out.  Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.

“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug.  He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl.  You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always.  Don’t you know that?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades.  Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost.  I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it.  I’ll make it work.  I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”

Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H.  I do.  I need you.  I told you that last night.”

“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”

Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this.  I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”

His low voice makes her shiver. “No.  It feels right.  Really right.”

“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”

“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”

Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”

“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”

“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.

“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it.  At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”

“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent.  Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”

Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t.  But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N.  I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something.  I’ve loved it.  I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will.  I’ll never get sick of you.”

Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”

“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”

“Yeah.  It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”

Harry nods. “I am.”

“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”

Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”

“I’m just saying!  We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”

“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”

Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah.  We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.

Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”

“I’ve already admitted it!”

“So have I!”

“Not as well as I have!”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”

“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”

“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”

“Just—”

“You’re so irritating—”

“I’m irritating?  You—”

“You’re the worst!”

“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”

“Okay.  Nope.  Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”

“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love.  Come back to bed.”

“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.

“Come here!”

“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”

Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.

“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”

Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body.  He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together.  One less record for you.”

“Good.  Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”

“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”

“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”

She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”

“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”

A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”

“Harry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”

“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.

Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”

[divinerulerluvr]

Angelic

You and Warren decide to make a sex tape

Pairing - Warren Lipka x fem!reader

Words - 1.8k

Warnings - smut, being filmed, stoned sex, some praising, sir kink, basically just really dirty because yeah, thigh riding

A/N - Honestly, I don't know what to say here so I'll just let you read the smut. Also, why is this gif so hot?

- - -

“God, how much longer for you to set that thing up?”

Warren fumbles with his camera, trying to get it to click into the tripod stand it rested on. “Don’t rush perfection, okay?” he says to you, finally getting it to work. “Aha! Told you i’d get it,” he says triumphantly.

You roll your eyes playfully, looking at the Sony camera he had just gotten. Warren had been really into filmography recently. Ever since he stole the camera, he’d been fucking around with it and filming every single thing.

Warren smiles, walking to where you lay out on the bed after clicking record. “Do I look good? I want my first sex tape to look good,” you ask him.

He stands at the edge of the bed, reaching down and running his hand down your cheek, “You always look good. Especially in that cute red lingerie I bought you,” he says, his horny personality showing through.

“You stole it, baby,” you counter.

He grins, nodding proudly. “Easily,” he brags. You smile, running your hand down his bare chest and torso. You bite your lower lip as your hand reaches the waistband of his sweatpants, the sight of his boxers peeking out from the top of his sweatpants being awfully hot.

A soft sigh falls from your lips as you eye fuck his body. “You have a very nice body,” you compliment, your thighs pushed together. “Well, I’m blocking the camera’s view of you so are you done?” he says, turning to face the camera he stood in front of.

You shrug, smiling widely. He moves out of the camera’s way, running his fingers through his messy hair. He kneels on the end of the bed, leaning forward and looping his fingers under your panties.

Complying, you raise your hips up from the bed to help him get them off. A part of the lingerie was stockings being held up by little red garters with a metal heart on them. Warren liked that. Hence why he stole the lingerie set for you.

Tossing the panties aside, he glances at the camera before looking back at you. “What do you want me to do, Sir?” you ask, adding the name on playfully. You close your legs, looking at Warren from where you lay on the bed.

He grins, actually liking the name. “Touch yourself for me,” he instructs you. You smile, nodding obediently. You trail your hand down your chest, skimming over the lacy bra you wore and down your stomach until you reach between your thighs.

You spread your legs, causing Warren to drool at the sight of your pussy. Your fingers find your clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling.

Warren runs his hand up your leg, watching intently as you pleasure yourself. Your back arches off the bed, your fingers slowly picking up pace as you indulge in how it felt. You roll your head on the pillow and look at the camera, smiling as you see the red blinking light on it.

“You’re gonna… jerk off to this in the future. Am I right?” you comment, your ragged breathing making it difficult to speak. Warren nods, chuckling like a perv. A very, very hot perv, though.

Warren becomes tired of just watching and leans over you, pulling you into his lap. You giggle, your legs saddling his thigh. His hands hold your back, keeping you in place as he kisses you. You impatiently kiss back, turned on by the camera that films the two of you.

You grind your hips down on his thigh, your fingers threading through the shaggy hair that covers the back of his neck. You pull back from the kiss, your head falling back slightly as you continue to ride his thigh.

“You’re so fucking hot, Y/n,” he admires, his hands moving down to your ass and squeezing. You smile, heat rising through your body. “Get that joint,” he instructs.

You lean back, grabbing the joint and the lighter from the nightstand beside you. You place it between your lips, Warren taking the lighter and pressing the flame to the tip. You inhale, your eyes on his as he pulls the lighter back.

Exhaling the smoke deeply, you pass the joint to Warren as you continue to ride his thigh. Your breathing grows heavy as Warren puffs on the joint, blowing a steady stream of smoke into your face. You inhale his smoke, smiling happily as he places the joint back between your lips and allows you to inhale as he keeps it in his hand.

Your hands rest on his shoulders, exhaling your smoke as you moan quietly. “I’m so fucking horny,” you comment. Warren smiles, letting you take another hit from the joint and taking one for himself before he wraps his arms around your back and moves you so you lay on the bed, him over top of you.

Giggling softly, you reach your hand up and push some of his hair from his face. “I really like you,” you say. He smiles, settling comfortably between your open legs. “I really like you, too,” he replies.

He leans back, pulling his sweatpants off as you unclasp your bra and toss it onto the floor. You look at the camera, smiling at it and sticking out your tongue.

“What’re you doing?” he asks as he settles back over top of you. “Smiling to future you who is probably jerking off to this,” you tell him, moving so that you could kiss him. He kisses you back, his clothed boner rubbing against your pussy.

His hands find your breasts, squeezing them in his palm as he always does. You go straight for his boxers, pulling them down. Warren chuckles into the kiss at your eagerness, his hands trailing down your chest and going directly between your thighs.

“Your skin is so soft, angel. I could touch you forever,” he whispers, his lips grazing over yours as he pulls back from the kiss. “I’m fine with that,” you reply, looking into his beautiful eyes.

He quickly locates your clit, your body jolting as he just barely touches you. You moan, your head falling back against the pillow as he spreads your wetness through your pussy. “I knew you’d like being filmed,” he comments slyly.

You smile weakly, whining as he pulls his hand from between your thighs. “Such a needy thing,” he says. You run your hand down his back, only to drag your nails back up to leave a trail of scratches behind.

Your eyes go to between your bodies, focusing on how he pushed slowly into you. You suck in through your teeth, never quite used to the feeling of him filling you up.

He pets your hair, his eyes focused on how beautiful your face looked as you adjusted to his dick. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, your walls tightening around his dick. “Relax, baby,” he says softly, feeling your chest heave against his.

Bottoming out in you, he slowly draws his hips back and thrusts into you. Your breath catches, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“God, Warren,” you pant as he picks up a steady rhythm that was both sensual and rough at the same time. He was good at that. You push your hips up against his, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Your chest presses against his, his hand finding its way to your wrists and holding them bound above your head. You moan softly, your noise being cut off as he kisses you again. The kiss was sloppy and slow this time, his tongue exploring your mouth.

His lips trail down to your jawline and starts to make sure to leave hickeys on your neck and collarbone. You moan, a smile on your lips as he fucks you. “Warren…” you pant out, your eyes watering.

“Call me ‘Sir’ again. It’s hot,” he says into your skin.

“Yes sir,” you reply, weaving your fingers through his hair.

Your response lit something in him and he flips the two of you over, laying on his back and keeping himself inside of you as you settle on top of him. Understanding what he wanted you to do, you start rocking your hips back and forth.

His fingers dig into your left hip, his right hand grabbing the joint and inhaling it. You start bouncing up and down on him, your hands placed on his chest for balance.

Your eyes flutter shut, your lip stuck between your teeth as you try and reach your orgasm. “Fuck,” you curse, not sure if you could last longer than two minutes. Warren lays back with a dazed expression, his eyes focused on your tits as they bounce with your movements.

Just on the edge of an orgasm, Warren decides he wants to switch positions and gets you back under him. You giggle softly, laying back on the bed as Warren starts to thrust into you again.

He grabs your hand, placing it on your lower stomach and holding it there. “You feel that?” he asks, referencing how his dick thrusting in and out of you was visible in your lower stomach. You nod, pressing your lips together as you feel your legs quiver.

Using the hand he had placed on top of yours he pushes down just slightly. You exhale shakily, your pussy clenching as he presses onto your lower stomach.

“Sir, I’m so close,” you pant pathetically, writhing on the bed underneath him. “Mm, how can I say no to such a good girl?” he smirks, his tone enough to make you cum already. “You can cum,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear.

His fingers lace with yours as you cum, a suffocated moan leaving your lips. Your hand grips his, your entire body vibrating with pleasure.

Warren soon follows, cumming inside of you as you were in the midst of your high. You shiver, your hand still tightly tangled with his. Warren’s thrusts slow and he soon pulls out. You watch tiredly as he grabs the camera, too drained to even bother.

He pulls your legs back open, the camera pointed directly at your pussy that was filled with his cum. You chuckle, letting him do what he wanted because you knew he wasn’t going to do much with this video.

“All mine. See, I even claimed it,” he comments jokingly, running his fingertip over your hypersensitive clit. Your body jumps and Warren chuckles.

“Stop being stupid and come cuddle with me,” you say, watching as he turns off the camera and sets it on the nightstand. Warren gets into bed finally, pulling you onto his chest. You tangle your leg with his, your fingers lacing with his as your head rests on his chest.

“‘Night,” you say, already half asleep. Warren plays with your hair, his eyes looking at the ceiling. “Goodnight,”

[thenovelartist]

ABC Fluff Headcanons - Vyn Richter - Tears of Themis

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

If this was a fairytale, it would be Beauty and the Beast. Except he was simply the Beast and you were his magic rose he got to watch bloom. But instead of watching you under glass, he preferred it to be removed, even if it shredded your innocence in the process, but oh, watching you grow anyways, both blooming beautifully while growing fierce thorns to warn anyone before they touch, just to spite the adversity you were faced with was his truest pleasure. Your fortitude; that was what he truly admired about you.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

You’d think it’s your eyes, being the windows to the soul and all. But you’d be wrong; it’s your hands. Specifically, your tender touch. It’s gentle, warm, and safe. Being able to hold your hand feels intimate for him, and he actually enjoys when you tap his arm to get his attention, then let your hand linger when he gives it. It’s like a reward and a comfort all in one.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

He does enjoy a good cuddle, but hugging you from behind might be his favorite. Whether sitting together on the couch with you on his lap or spooning you in bed, he likes when he can nuzzle the side of your head or rest his chin on your shoulder.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

He will have planned this to a T because he’s not much for spontaneity. And it would involve a walk together, flowers, and he will either have made you a dessert or the two of you will make something together. It’s something quiet and intimate for you to enjoy time together, talking about anything and nothing while the date is riddled with affectionate touches and some kisses.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

Good grief, this man’s emotions are… complicated. He’s very logical, but he’s not ignorant to his emotions. It doesn’t seem like it, but he frequently tempers them, only to bring them up again in full when he records his diary so that he’s able to manage them.

But you have ruined him. His carefully kept emotional balance has been thrown to the wind. You make him feel intensely and strongly, to the point it almost trumps his logic, which makes him uncomfortable. His diaries have been getting longer as his inner turmoil increases, and that’s all your fault. It’s something you notice, too, watching his even temperament waver more and more frequently around you as the emotion inside him wars with his rationality. You will have to give this man time. Time to open up and be honest with himself, and you, about his emotions. Be prepared to validate his emotions in his moments of weakness. It’s the only way he’ll get better about honestly expressing them to you.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

He wouldn’t be opposed to staying childless. He also wouldn’t be opposed to having a child, and you could probably talk him into two if the first goes well. Little humans would be fascinating studies, after all. (“Dear, do not psycho-analyze the children.”)

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

He does not care for trinkets. Nor does he care about giving you them. Gifts should be practical.

At least… that’s what he likes to think. His one exception to this is when he gives you something to wear. It’s his way of marking you and wearing it will spark a possessive streak in him.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

He likes—no, needs to be either touching or holding your hand in quiet, private moments. And he wants to hold your hand when he’s jealous. Especially when he’s jealous. And you know when he is because he holds tight as though reminding you that you’re his while also sending passive-aggressive signals to the cause of his jealousy. When you’re just out walking, he will sometimes hold your hand, but he also likes when you loop your hands over his elbow and he can escort you like a proper gentleman. (It also causes you to pull yourself in close to him, so he actually quite enjoys when you do that.)

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

Depends. Minor cuts or burns are treated with care and, occasionally, a kiss. Get into an accident, and he gets shockingly worried about you. However, if you end up hurt because of a reason to do with NXX, he’ll be sick with emotions. Guilt, fear, anger; all of them brew for a deadly concoction. He will not rest, even to the point of abusing his own body, until he finds the person who hurt you and sees to it they are paying dearly for their crime.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

He doesn’t always joke around, but when he does… this man is a wicked tease. Don’t expect to get off the hook easily. You better learn how to tease back, or he’ll use words and puzzles to twist you exactly where he wants you, which normally is you as a blushing, stuttering mess.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Sweet kisses off-the-cuff are quite nice, and so are the passionate ones, but the ones he likes best are the slow, lingering ones that take place hidden away in your own world. They convey so much with no words. There’s no frantic holding or clinginess. Rather, it feels like a moment of security, coming together and staying. He likes the comfort they provide him and the way they actually settle his heart.

L = Love Confession (how do they confess?)

He actually was super nervous to confess. He’ll have practiced and planned this confession before it happens. Which you never would have guessed because it was in such a smooth conversation during one of your outings that he admitted he held feelings of a romantic nature for you.

M = Marriage (What does the wedding look like?)

He wants it small, intimate, and preferably outdoors in a garden. He wants it nice but not overly fancy. He won’t fuss over the smaller details. Besides, he doesn’t realize it yet, but he will barely remember anything beyond how utterly stunning you look in your wedding dress, anyway.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

He hates being a failure, but if he’s everput in a position where he fails you, he will never forgive himself.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

This man has literal decks of cards of only one kind of card. You want a 52 card deck with all ace of hearts? He has that. Ten of spades? He has that too. Four of clubs? Yup. You don’t know why he has them, and he won’t tell you, but you think it’s literally just because he’s highly amused the way you wrack your brain over it.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

He’s classic. Love, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart. But he’s half-German (At least, that is my best speculation considering he was called “Vilhelm” and is canonly mixed-race), so “Liebling” is also an endearment he calls you, and my guess is he saves that one strictly for the sweetest, most tender moments you share.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Calm setting, electronics put away, and preferably some form of physical contact with you. This could be working together in the garden, side by side, or going out to walk around town together, but those are not his favorite. Baking with you is one of his top ones, though. Expect him to tap some sort of batter or frosting on your nose. His other favorite is lounging together on the couch, your back leaning against his chest, and just talking. Communication is important to any relationship, and he finds it a joy to communicate with you.

R = Romance (how do they show their love and affection?)

He’s the kind that shows his affection by giving you his time and attention. He’ll show it in the little touches exchanged back and forth and in the way he’s attentive to your well-being, particularly your mental well-being.

He’ll also show he loves you by playing mind games on you until you’re a blushy, stuttering mess. He’s usually forgiven with a kiss and “I love you”. You know you’re too soft on him, but whattcha gonna do?

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

He is an onion you have to peel back layer by layer to get to open up to you. And like an onion, there’s likely going to be some tears shed as you do that. Time will determine how many secrets he’s willing to share with you, and it’s likely going to take years for him to fully open up to you. But keep at it. You will be rewarded with his innermost thoughts and feelings and the discovery of how insecure this seemingly unflappable man is.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

This man doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but falling hard and fast for you? That he did. One of his biggest hurdles he had to get over was logically evaluating his feelings and what he thought your feelings for him were as well as coming to terms with the way he’s been treated in past relationships (And not just romantic ones. He has an… interesting way of creating carefully crafted ties to people.) So it might take a little time for him to get comfortable enough to ask you out. And throughout the relationship, he’ll probably still be working with his past demons, so be prepared for that.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

He’ll comfort you the best way he can if you’re a sad upset. A mad upset, and he’ll probably give you a little space to work yourself out while offering his guidance. And upset at him? This is where a good chunk of your arguments happen, to be honest. So then you both have to calm down before coming together again and talking it out. But you always do and are stronger for it.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He’ll never admit it, but he loveswhen he can leave you impressed. It thrills him if he can show off a trick or his general intelligence and have you praise him for it. Occasionally, he’ll search for ways to impress you just because he wants that attention. But never will he admit it.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Well…he’s all okay with fighting as long as it’s not physical fighting. If you’re going to verbally spar with someone, he’s more than happy to let you go, and he takes pride in the fact you usually wipe the floor with your opponent. But the moment it’s going to turn into a physical altercation, he’s your shield. Part of him thinks that in times he is unfortunately not around, it might be good to have some self-defense under your belt, but at the same time, he’d rather you just flee instead of fight. Because he knows you well enough that if you had the ability, you’d probably knock someone’s lights out if they came at you.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

He’s a psychologist; he can already read you well. But on top of that, you are his favorite study, and he will catalogue everything he learns about you away to pull out for future reference. So while he already reads you well early on into your relationship, give it a few years and you have basically no secrets from this man.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

He will never forget the “surprise over romance” opinion on proposals you shared with him. So, determined to give you the best, he sets up an elaborate puzzle for you, getting all the important people in your life to get in on it. Together, the two of you will trapeze the town hunting down little clues—in places, that you only realize later, hold significance to both of you—before he’ll “conveniently” take his leave so you can finish out the last leg, which ultimately ends up leading you to his office, the place you first met. And there he is, sitting behind a house of cards sits made solely from the Ace of Hearts with a ring in the middle of the top tier which was made from two different cards: the king and queen. Only once you realize that and he revels in your joy and tears will he properly get on one knee and ask you to marry him.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

When everything is “right” in his world. His patients are doing well, he’s got no massive cases on his plate, nothing requires his immediate attention, and you are close by, doing well in your own right.

[ignitification]

What the Future Holds

“It is the temptation of war to punish; it is the task of policy to construct.” (Henry Kissinger). 

There has been a lot of debate around what is going to happen after (the heroes win? AfO is defeated? The Villains are saved? - are all valid hypothesis), right at the end of BNHA. Long ago, though, someone asked - what would be the reaction of the civilians at large when this all goes down? We know for a fact that while, more or less, our protagonists are in the loop of what exactly went down with the villains (or at least that they have not had a lot of positive experiences and possibilities to grow up as good as them), the civilians know close to nothing (apart from Touya’s broadcast, which in hindsight should be at least enough to make space way for the possibility of civilians understanding the woes of the villains and trying to accept the change which this ending will brings, and yet) when it comes to this matter. Will they be able to accept ‘a hero’ saving ‘a villain’? Will the change in society, the abolishment of a Quirk Society in general and the aftermath of the war (likely the cancellation of the hero rankings, and just the demotion of the title hero as profession) be accepted eventually?

While these are question to which I would like to answer ‘It depends’, I’d say that it might be the case, but the change will be slow, gradual and likely painful. Let’s take the example of Heteromorph Quirks, which, so many years after the discovery and establishment of quirks, are still looked down upon. This highlights the struggle with which this society adapts, and that it adapts to only certain parts of the society (which are usually the pretty parts, while the ugly ones are or ignored or just thoroughly refused to look at). It is the same principle we see in not only the narrative of Lady Nagant (and the rose-colored glasses with which civilians see society and pro-heroes), and the villains themselves (as their Quirks made them unfit for the general public to be displayed or used) but also in the same narrative which Izuku carries - he struggles to accept himself as someone who is Quirkless, and takes his chances to inherit All Might’s power, a little because of his dreams and more because that way he can also be part of that same society who treated him like shoe’s dirt before he gained ‘power’ and a standing as a UA student with a Quirk fit to be a hero.

We can see and take a little bit from what is probably going to be the reaction to the ending, both by seeing the reaction we have to Dabi’s broadcast, the press conference of the Top 3 and Izuku going rogue and looking villainy, as well as the public’s reaction to him coming back to UA.

Being likely familiar with these scenario, it definitely does not hit as a positive-filled situation, but rather the outage of the small mindedness and the expectancy of a perfect world division in villains and heroes by the civilians. Yes, it is the famous panel of the dichotomy of heroes and villains and look who already did foresee this so long ago: a villain, which is hilarious in itself but also pretty logical if you think about it.

The thing is, that as told millions times before the core problem of this society is that it does not understand nuance (and so doesn’t this fandom, for that matter): everything should be white or black, good or bad, hero or villain. But in reality, this dichotomy falls short of understanding what is hidden behind the curtain: the ugly truth of the fact that sometimes there is no good or bad, and that maybe sometimes the good is not as good and bad is not as bad. And as said million times before again, this stems from the fact that a. society has been kept in the dark from the deeds that the HPSC has done all these years, therefore conditioning and manipulating society into believing that a distinction exists; and b. it is rather easier to separate the good and the bad guys by a simple principles like a working label and to stick to it, even in front of rather compelling evidence. In the end, it is clear that the public has trust issues at their finest, but it then shows what a shaky base these society has been built on: a rather fine balance, which has been topped over once the castle of cards has been knocked down. 

It is in the hands of the new generation then, to attempt and change how thing have been so far. Retributive justice, just like in the quote above, is always tempting - and it is no brainer that it will be likely very hard for the civilian to accept whatever is thrown at them in the end, which does not involve the imprisonment and therefore the punishment of the villains. But at the same time, it is also true, that slowly but steadily things are staring to look up: we have Shouto who wants to save his brother, and Izuku who instead is trying to understand the villains and why they become such, stemming from his will to understand and help Shigaraki. After all, their main power is to change things up: a change which, hilariously, can be seen concretely by Bakugou’s words in chapter 323. Bakugou, who is a byproduct of that same society, is admitting his faults and the fact that it happens at this moment is likely a foreshadow for a major scale change: after all, the entire society owes an apology to the villains, big time. It is not a case then, that the narrative is putting everything to its places and showing us the before, and the tough process of change and the consequences of it. In this scenario, Izuku, Shouto, Bakugou, Ochako and generally the UA kids play the role of policymakers: they are looking in the future, trying to get an overview of the situation which they know as true and the one the villains consider as true and then trying to do ‘the right thing’: unfortunately, there is never a right thing when it comes to these matters, and no shoe-fits-all solution. It will therefore be interesting how exactly things will play out and whether society (in a not so distant future) might accept the fact that the villains can be victims, and in search for the satisfaction of that same retributive justice they are trying to enforce on them. In my opinion, the effort made by the young generation in this matter will be crucial: some people will refuse to accept such a thing (blaming the villains for everything that went wrong since day 1), other will struggle with accepting it and likely will remain neutral (which, in hindsight, is even worse as it is somehow similar to the civilians that thoroughly ignored Tenko when we was clocharding of the streets) and the who begrudgingly might accept the fact that exactly like Dabi said, pro-heroes are not always heroes in private too and they have as much harm potential as villains, it just does not get publicly displayed. And maybe, slowly, society will come to the consensus that while not always the case, offering a hand to those who struggle, might save a life - and why not, maybe at one point they will stop classifying people as ‘heroes and villains’, and instead accept themselves as humans altogether. But such is the human struggle: lost in the will to put a label on things, and forgetting that unlike labels, humans have the infinite capacity to grow, expand and change.

[tsukishumai]

sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader word count: 1.8k tags: fluff, slight internal turmoil, accidental confession (kind of) summary; Why should Sakusa care if you make plans with his captain? a/n: for my bby @imarizaki

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“I’m going to the cafe with Tsukasa-senpai this weekend.”

Sakusa couldn’t stop the words from repeating in his head as he jumped up and hit his serve. He winced at the impact, the force of it being much harder than he had intended. The flick of his wrist sent the ball flying over to the opposite side of the gym, crashing loudly against the metal bars that protected the windows.

Sakusa bent over to place his hands on his knees, and sighed deeply.

You had looked so excited about your upcoming plans, and the image of your beaming smile suddenly flashed in his mind. He supposes he should feel some sort of happiness for you, but at the moment, the only word he could use to describe his emotions would be frustration.

He always thought volleyball managers were useless. His teams always had one, and they hardly ever did anything other than compliment his serves and gave him water.

But perhaps that said more about his previous classmates than it did about the job itself, because ever since he’s been on this team with you, he’s not sure he could have it any other way.

He remembers when he walked into practice, three weeks into your stint as their manager. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing a mask during practice, the black cloth fitted snugly across your face as you happily bounced over to speak with him.

“I researched different wrist exercises online,” you had said, handing him a stack of paper you had printed, “These seemed to be the ones that had worked out well for others.”

He nodded his head in thanks, not telling you that he already has these exact exercises memorized -- appreciating the effort you had put into helping his game.

He thinks back to when he arrived back from a training camp in a sour mood; feeling angry, frustrated, and insecure at the rate of his growth in comparison to the famous Ushiwaka. He grabbed his issue of monthly volleyball from his locker, flipping it open to the aforementioned ace’s page when his lips burst into an incredibly uncharacteristic smile.

On his rival’s photograph were devil horns drawn on his head, his front tooth blacked out and his eyebrows penned into a unibrow, your writing nearly inscripting “Ushiwaka Stinks! Sakusa Rocks!”

As he walks back to the volleyball cart, his mind wanders to when you let him borrow your manager notebook, and as he flipped the pages filled to the brim with your scribbles, he realizes that you were taking notes on much more than just Itachiyama players — your attention to detail had left him in a state of awe. Though, now he’s figuring out that you seem to do that just by existing.

It dawns on him that he seeks your attention past your daily scheduled practices. His routine has changed, and instead of eating his lunch in empty classrooms, he walks out to the courtyard of his school, passed the crowds of people and to a bench situated under a tree, so he can find you saving a spot for him next to you.

Every time he hears his phone buzz, he wishes it was you. Every time he wins a game, he looks to see if you’re watching him. His so-called useless manager.

He feels more uneasy as he wonders why he’s even thinking about such things in the first place. He turns and grabs another ball before taking his position behind the end line.

If you wanted to go to a cafe with tsukasa-senpai, then you had every right to do it. Who was he to be upset about it? Wait, was he upset? The sinking feeling in his gut and the irritation swelling in his chest tells him that he is.

But why? It’s not like it was a date. Or was it? But you just said you were going to the cafe. You never told him it was a date.

So what if it was?

Sakusa throws the ball into the air, and smacks his palm against the blue and yellow leather. The stinging in his palm matched the velocity of which it flew across the room yet again, and he curses at his lack of control.

“You’re still here?”

He snaps his head to the doorway, the echo of your voice mingling with the bouncing of the volleyball reverberating on the walls.

“I thought you went home,” he said, walking to his bag placed on the bench, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“Something told me to come check on you before I left,” you said, walking into the gym.

“Well, you should get going,” he said, in a much sharper tone than he had intended, “It’s getting dark.”

He ignored the way you frowned as he grabbed yet another volleyball, and repeating the same movements he has done for the past half hour since practice ended. He could feel the way your eyes burned into his back as he landed gracefully on his feet, clicking his tongue when his ball not-so-gracefully catches into the net.

“What’s up with you,” you quip, crossing your arms and popping your hip, “First, you ignore me all day, now you won’t even walk home with me?”

Your question only serves to confuse him even further. Is not walking home together now considered an odd thing? Since when did that happen? Had he really been so lost in your presence that he didn’t notice? He hadn’t realized things had gotten this far -- to him, time with you never felt like it was enough. And right now, he’s not sure if he likes that. Not when the end result is this.

He didn’t reply, choosing instead to walk over to the other side of the court, and collecting the balls that had gone astray.

But he should have known you wouldn’t have let things go, and he should have expected your footsteps marching behind him.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” you say sternly, and it irritates him even further.

What, do you think that just because you say his full name, he’s going to bend to your will? Is that the kind of hold you think you have on him? The audacity of your familiarity was bothersome and aggravating.

Because it worked.

“You’re going to the cafe with Tsukasa-senpai tomorrow.” he says quickly, turning around to face you. You nearly collided with his chest, stopping abruptly in place. You blinked your eyes at Sakusa dumbly, trying to comprehend what he’s saying.

“Yes… and?”

“Is it a date?” he cuts to the chase, no longer wishing to prolong the agony he’s been in all day.

You looked at him in surprise, jaw hanging slightly and dropping your arms to your side. You quickly regain your composure, straightening your back before giving him a hard look.

“What, am I not allowed to go on dates?”

“I never said that,” Sakusa fumed, wondering if you were trying to dodge his question.

“Then why do you —“

“Can you just answer the question?”

You huffed a little at Sakusa’s interruption, and shot him a half hearted glare. Sakusa stood his ground, looking dead into your eyes.

“It’s not a date,” you finally respond, and Sakusa let’s go of a tension in his shoulders that he had no idea he was carrying.

“Good,” he said, turning around to continue his previous task of collecting his equipement.

“Why is that good?”

Sakusa shrugged, balancing four volleyballs in his arms as he made his way back to the cart. “You shouldn’t be going on dates with guys like Tsukasa-senpai.”

At this, you scoffed in disbelief. “Excuse me? And pray tell, o wise Sakusa-san, just what exactly kind of guy should I go on dates with?”

“Me,” he said before he could stop himself. He stopped all his movements for a moment, time suddenly freezing as he comprehends what just slipped from his lips. A feeling of dread soon began to slowly creep up from his gut, spreading across his body until it reached up and grabbed hold of his heart.

He pretends he never said a thing, depositing the volleyballs back into their rightful place before heading over to collapse the net. In his peripherals, he could see your shocked expression, eyes following his every move as he starts to lower the net. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead like bullets, but he continues on.

“So...what you’re saying is,” You finally broke the silence, walking over to the other side of the court to help Sakusa with his task. “You want me to go on a date with you.”

“I never said that,” he replied, quickly gathering the material that had bunched up on the floor. He felt awkward doing this errand in front of you, something you must have picked up on, because you finished the job for him.

Still the ever dutiful manager.

“No, I’m pretty sure you just did,” you say, grabbing onto the folded up net before walking over to place it into the storage room, not giving him a chance to reply.

Sakusa uses the ten seconds you were gone to slap himself in the face.

He solemnly walks over to gather his things, the silence growing louder and louder by the second as you choose to continue closing the gym instead of saying anything further. He takes his time switching out of his gym shoes, and slowly looped each side of his face mask on his ear.

He was zipping up his jacket when you stood in front of him.

Goosebumps raise in his flesh when you glare at him, tapping your foot on the wooden floors.

“Well?” You ask.

Sakusa tilts his head. “Well what?”

“Are you going to ask me out on a date?”

Sakusa is thankful for the fabric covering his face, though surely redness spread across his entire visage.

He was sure steam was wafting up from his head, the clock in the wall ticking tocking his nerves deeper into his bones.

You raised your eyebrow at him, and he wonders if this is a trap. Or perhaps a cruel joke. But regardless, he couldn’t keep you waiting.

“Will you… go on a date with me,” Sakusa spoke slowly, coughing into his hand before continuing, “This weekend?”

You smiled at him, brighter than he’s ever seen before. He feels as if the skies have opened up, and the sun herself graced him with his own personal ray of warmth.

“Let’s go home, Omi,” you beckon him out of the gym before turning off the lights, “I got a big date to get ready for.”

You don’t see his smile, but you se the way his joy crinkled at the corner of his eyes.

“Preparing already?”

You laugh. “I’ve only been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

He hadn’t realized things had gotten this far — though, he realizes he doesn’t mind if the end result was this.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

6:39 PM [From: Captain Tsukasa] :

so? did it work?

6:42 PM (To: Captain Tsukasa) :

senpai… ur kinda scary

6:45 PM [From: Captain Tsukasa] :

I know my little kohai better than u think 😌

[cinnamonest]

I've discussed slut Lumine and Consequences™ before and I've somewhat discussed slut Mona briefly before, and the imperative of Kokomi being nonconned but... Slut!Kokomi though. Let me tell you.

Her family name isn't enough to earn her that high ranking spot, maybe she could have been a high rank, but to be in her exact position she needed a bit more than that. And, well, it certainly... Wasn't her ah... Combat capabilities (or lack thereof) that people chose her for. No, no, Kokomi got to her position the classic way -- sucking and riding her way to the top.

Kokomi has a body count rivaling the most prolific of serial killers. Kokomi literally does not know how many guys she's fucked before, she lost count after a hundred or so. She has, at some point, slept with literally every man in the resistance, at least twice.

The older, more important dudes... eh, she can get what she wants, a lot of them will agree to anything when they're in that post-orgasm state, all zoned out and tired. But she doesn't like dealing with them too much, they're a little more clever, they know what she's doing, they see through her with ease. She can't have that. No, she much prefers using her tactics and strategies (you know, the ones for guys, not the ones for war) on the young, subordinate boys that make up the bulk of the movement.

A lot of the young boys that come into the resistance movement idolize her. So when she gives them the slightest bit of attention, they do anything she wants. They're too naive to realize that they're just one out of twenty or so current flings (all of them for practical goals, none out of actually liking them) she has going at any given time. She comes up to them with that sweet face and voice and they can barely even hear what she's saying, their horny teen boy brains are consumed with "!!!!" because!!! Her Excellency is talking! To him! Directly! She's looking at him!!!

They don't even stop to consider how dangerous the favor she's asking for is, not when she smiles and covers her mouth with her sleeve in that cute little gesture. No, they do it without a thought, bodies on autopilot in an adrenaline and testosterone high, weak in the knees and stumbling around in a spaced out haze as they replay the part where she said she'd have a reward for them and gave a little wink, over and over in their head.

They're still sputtering out love and praise and worship while she finally pulls them into her room and lays back, loops her legs around their waist while they fuck her, cups their sweet face and murmurs that they're so cute and sweet. What a handsome boy, she says, and pulls off that little girly giggle, the one she's practiced to perfection by now, the one that makes boys shiver when they hear it. It has the intended effect -- their soul practically leaves their body and they cum within seconds. Which is what she wants -- the sooner she gets this part over with the better, ugh... But that sentiment would never, ever show even in the slightest on her face or in her voice.

And they're so naive, they believe excuses. Well, she stopped coming to them so much because she's busy with her role. She'll come back to pay attention to him again eventually. And she truly will -- she kinda... Rotates. She only has so much time and pussy to go around, so she has to balance which boys get it this week to keep them in the palm of her hand where she likes them.

Those older dudes she originally wormed her way above, now don't dare challenge her. She has more or less an army of white knights ready to defend her viciously should she just shrink back, quiver her lip and sniffle a bit -- that's all it takes to get them to come rushing to her defense. She's untouchable. When she makes mistakes, her strategies result in failure, again, they rush to her defense. Even the best leaders make mistakes, right? It's not her fault.

The thing about her though is she goes to great effort to keep up the ~pure~ appeal. I mean, look at her. That cutesy demeanor and high voice. She goes to great lengths to present as a sweetheart, pure type. She doesn't outright lie, she just... Implies some non-truths. Says things like "oh, is this how you do it...?" as she pumps cocks and rides, acting as if it's something foreign to her and not a practiced specialty. Puts on wide shocked eyes and makes surprised little noises as if this is the first cock she's been fucked by in her life, and not the seventh one in the past 5 hours. Says "don't tell anyone about us..." and acts as if the reason is she doesn't want everyone to know she has a boy she fucks because it would cause a scandal if she was sleeping with someone... and not that the real reason is she doesn't want them finding out she's doing it for *all* of them.

When Kokomi steps away from the crowd or soldiers or guests and gets behind closed doors, her voice drops like 2 decibels, her face falls to a resting bitch face or a scowl. It's all an act, the cutesy princess appeal. It's a lot of effort, keeping it up all the time. She hides behind the door and pretends she's not there when some of the more desperate, oblivious boys come searching for her, calling out to her because they want more. She's mastered the art of making sure no one knows where she is, so she can get a moment of peace and quiet.

She needs to go to these lengths. She knows that the thread she clings to is a fragile one. That if they started actually using their brains, they might start thinking about how tiny and weak she is, how the only thing keeping her in power above them, the only thing allowing her to be where she is, is them themselves. They might get ideas. She can't have that. And gods forbid they find out the truth, and get mad, or turn on each other... Or gang up on her. The thought makes her shiver.

It would be such a shame if one of said extra-devoted worshippers happened to follow her... She knows some of them get a little creepy, so she always looks over her shoulder, but sometimes feels like there's... Eyes on her. She blows it off as paranoia. She's just a little paranoid because, well, it *would* be rather bad if someone were to follow her around and find out about her... Habits. But she reasons that none of them are quite that devoted.... Right...?

When her worst nightmare comes true and they do gang up on her, she doesn't do the humble thing, she doesn't bow her head and accept the consequences, no. She stammers and makes excuses, keeps up the sweet little act, tells them I'm sure there's a misunderstanding, let's just all calm down and talk together, okay? And puts on her sweet smile... But it's not working. They don't look happy. Her voice wavers and she stutters, she takes a few steps back before her back hits the wall. And she decides to bolt... but when she looks to her left and her right, she realizes she's already surrounded on all sides, and she's left to just slowly shrink back, quivering and her smile twitching, nervously questioning ah, you guys....? before she finally gets grabbed by the wrist and dragged away, squealing and pleading, but no amount of begging is going to help now.

[after-avenging-hours]

Under Consent of the King: Steve x Reader x Bucky

This story is inspired by the myth that the word ‘fuck’ comes from Fornication Under Consent of the King, where sex had basically been outlawed unless permitted by the king. I have spun the myth a little to make it so that sex out of wedlock can be permitted by the king. This fic follows an established poly-relationship between King!Steve, the Reader, and Knight!Bucky.

Word Count: 10,481 (holy cow this is the longest one-shot I have ever written)

Warnings: NSFW Content (18+), Poly relationship, m/f/m, oral (f/r), unprotected sex, oral (m/r), threesome

The metallic twang of clashing swords rings in your ears. The sound travels through your eardrums as a vibration, just as the power vibrates through your arms with each hit. You ground your feet into the dirt below you, planting yourself like a tree to be unmovable as your opponent tries to force you to yield.

In a battle of strength, you and Natasha are fairly evenly matched. You know that she’s testing how tired you’ve become. Sweat beads down your temple and makes the cotton of your loose tunic stick to your back. Your chest heaves for breath, the air burning in your lungs from the exertion of the fight.

The weight of her blade is lifted and you immediately shift your stance. No longer planted down, you move light on your feet as the two of you circle each other. You keep your balance easily with the leather boots on your feet and your movement is unencumbered by the tight breeches you wear.

Both of your hands tighten their grip on the hilt of your sword as you prepare for her next attack. You don’t have to wait long. She darts forward and your swords meet with another clang. There’s an uncomfortable screech of metal as your blade slides down the length of hers until you have locked the hilt of your sword against hers.

Natasha’s momentum is still driving her forward as you twist to the side while your swords remain locked. Her eyes widen a fraction as one of your hands slips from the hilt of your sword to grip one of her wrists. You use her momentum against her and while she careens forward, you unlock your blades and tug at her arm. This forces her to flip forward before she lands with a harsh thud on her back.

With the wind knocked out of her, she lays motionless for a second. Just long enough for you to place the tip of your sword at her throat and call an end to the match.

She coughs the air back into her lungs before her lips split into a wide grin as she looks up at you. “You’ve got some new tricks up your sleeves.”

You grin back, sheathing your blade and holding your hand out to help her to her feet. “I may have picked up a few things on my travels.”

“I do hope you’ll share.”

With a hold on each other’s forearms, you lift her out of the dirt. “In time. I do thoroughly enjoy the idea of using them to best you first.”

Her green eyes narrow, but her smile continues to shine.

“Are the two of you quite finished?” you both turn your gazes to the approaching knight. Dark brown hair falls in waves just passed his stubble chin. Focused and piercing blue eyes capture yours. A small frown tilts his plump lips. “She had barely stepped foot on the castle grounds before you whisked her off to a duel. At least let her rest from her journey, Natasha.” Though he speaks to the redhead beside you, his gaze is solely trained on you.

You can hear the snicker from your friend. “He’s been insufferable the entire time you’ve been gone,” she tells you, low enough that he can’t hear. “They both have.” Releasing your arm, she takes a step back and gives a sweeping bow. “I leave her in your capable hands, Commander Barnes.” She smirks knowingly before heading off.

Taking Natasha’s lead, you place a fist over your heart and bow. “You bless me with your presence, Lord James.”

“Stop that,” he chastises lightly as his frown deepens.

He catches sight of your cheeky grin when you straighten back up. It’s infectious and melts the frown from his lips. His eyes soften as he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek. His gaze sweeps over your features, taking in everything within sight. “How was your journey?”

“Sam should have given his full report to the council. Were you not paying attention?” Your eyes light with mischief and amusement. You had spent the better part of the last four months on a diplomatic mission with one of the King’s most trusted advisors, Sam. You traveled the neighboring kingdoms, reviewing terms of the treaties in place to keep the peace between your lands. Sam, with his charming smile, kind eyes, and fair-weather attitude had been perfect for the task. He could ease tensions between two bickering nobles with a grace and finesse like no other.

You had been assigned as part of his protection detail. Though it was really only a formality. Sam Wilson was more than capable of taking care of himself. But as the Black Rose of Brooklyn, a name granted to you by your King upon achieving your knighthood status, you had a reputation of your own to uphold.

James narrows his gaze at you. “Yes, I paid attention. I’m not asking about the diplomacy, I’m asking about you.”

You laugh, enjoying the fact that you can still so easily get under his skin. Looping your arm through his, the two of you walk side by side as you leave the training grounds and head for the gardens.

“Did any of those idiot noblemen give you trouble?”

You grin to yourself, sensing the jealousy in his voice. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“They try to touch you?” he presses, his jaw tightening at the thought.

You look at him with amusement, “They couldn’t have even if they wanted to.” Pulling him to a stop beneath the shade of a large tree, you turn to stand in front of him. “If it’s my virtue you ask about, you needn’t be so concerned.”

With just a few short steps he has your back pressed to the trunk of the tree. Blue flame flickers behind his gaze, as the heat from his body seeps into yours. “How can I be concerned over a virtue I have already taken?”

His lips are on you before you can respond. You moan into his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair and pull him closer. His hips rock forward, grinding the beginnings of his arousal against you. You realize that he must have already been half-hard after seeing your duel with Natasha. It’s no secret that watching you wield a sword gets his blood hot.

You can count on one hand the number of men you would willingly relinquish control and submit to. James knows that he’s one of them. He dominates the kiss and controls your body as if it were his own. One of his hands slides passed your hip and over your thigh, slipping beneath the sword strapped at your waist to lift your leg up and more easily slot his erection between your spread thighs. He locks your knee against his hip and thrusts into you.

A whimper escapes from your lips as he pulls his away.

“I missed you,” his hushed confession wisps over your face.

“Yes, I can tell,” you giggle teasingly.

His eyes blaze in warning before he gives a harder thrust against you, catching the head of his cock against where you’re certain that your own arousal is beginning to seep through your pants. “Did you miss me?” he prompts in question.

Your teasing smile turns tender, “You know that I did.”

He brushes his nose against yours and kisses both of your closed eyelids. “I will have you again tonight,” he pledges with promise.

You hum languidly, pulling your hands from his hair to rest them over his broad shoulders. “You will need consent from the king.”

His eyes flash with desire. “Meet me tonight when the moon is at its peak. You know where.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He gives you one last bruising kiss before escorting you back to the castle and returning to his duties. You make your way through the castle to your personal chambers where lunch and a hot bath are already waiting for you. A soft smile curls at your lips as your heart flutters for the man you know is responsible for ensuring these were made ready for you.

A grape is plucked from the lunch platter and popped into your mouth, the sweet flavor bursting on your tongue as you bite into its flesh. Your hands then move to the belt at your waist, undoing the buckle with familiar ease and resting your sword against the wall. You discard the remainder of your clothes and choose a few scented oils from the selection in the basket left near the tub. Once the desired fragrance has filled your senses, you sink into the delectable heat of the bath.

The lunch platter has been strategically placed on a table within arm’s reach from your reclined position, so you continue to enjoy your lunch while simultaneously basking in the bliss of your bath. After the months of travel and the strain of spending days at a time on horseback, your body is more than happy to receive a little pampering. Your muscles relax with the swirling heat and your head floats on sweetly scented clouds.

With the platter mostly cleared and the water beginning to cool, you take the time to wash away the sweat and grime from your skin and hair before stepping out of the water and wrapping yourself in a drying cloth. With a full belly and sated muscles, you spend the rest of your afternoon cooped up in your chambers, allowing yourself to indulge in the rest you know your body is going to need.

It’s late in the evening when you finally emerge. Most of the castle is asleep. With a finger curled into the loop at the side of the metal holding dish, the single candle helps to light your way as you travel through the darkened halls. Your bare feet are silent on the plush red carpet that stretches over the expansive hallways. The material of your dressing gown swirls around your legs with each step.

You climb a set of stairs and follow the length of another long hall before reaching your destination. Your free hand reaches out to caress the ornately carved wooden doors. They are certainly a welcomed sight after spending so long away from the castle. Curling your hand into a fist, you rap two sharp knocks against the wood.

It takes a short second before the door on the left is pulled inward. Icy blue eyes catch the light of your flickering candle as his gaze sweeps over you. James smirks and steps back, permitting your entrance into the grand chambers. He takes the candle holder from your hands and indicates for you to step deeper into the room with a jerk of his head.

Following his line of direction, you spot the seated figure in the middle of the spacious bedroom. The fire burning in the hearth at the far corner of the room casts shades of red and orange through his normally golden locks. He watches your approach with a sharp gaze. Gathering the folds of your dressing gown between your fingers, you stretch the fabric out and fall into a curtsey. “Your majesty,” you greet humbly.

You keep your gaze lowered, despite hearing the rustle of fabric as he stands from his chair. He towers over your hunched form, but his hand is gentle when it cups your chin and guides you back upright. Your eyes lift and meet his, watching how they glide over your features.

“How is it that your time away has only made you more beautiful?” his hushed words caress your lips like a teasing lover.

Your heart pounds in your chest and there’s a pleasurable flutter in your stomach. “Thank you, my King.”

He tilts your chin up even higher, baring your neck to him as his own face angles downward. Your body shivers in delight at the way his nose slopes down your neck. He breathes in deep and slow, taking in the remnants of the scented oils on your skin. A low hum reverberates through his chest, sending prickling awareness to your nether regions. “Jasmine and rose. I trust you enjoyed the bath I had drawn up for you, then?” his head pulls back, eyes catching yours once against.

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your dressing gown, trying desperately to resist the urge to reach out for him. “Yes, very much. Thank you, my King.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he attempts to fight his smile. “How many times must I tell you that there is no need for formalities when it’s just the three of us? Why do you persist?”

It’s a losing battle to fight against your own smile. “Because I know how much you secretly enjoy it.”

He loses his own fight as his lips stretch into a tilted smirk. “Well then, your King would like to formally welcome you home.”

The blood runs hot in your veins as your body buzzes with the excitement of what’s about to come. “I accept your formal invitation but hope for a rather informal welcome.”

One of his hands, large and strong, glides against the small of your back, pulling you in closer to his frame. “As you wish,” his mouth slants over yours.

You hum happily into his kiss, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. The hand at your back pulls you even closer until any possible space between your bodies has been sealed. His other hand moves to cradle the back of your head, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Kisses from your king hit differently than those that come from your armored knight. Where Sir Barnes kisses you like you’re in the midst of battle, giving way to hurried touches and fervent desire; King Rogers kisses you like he’s leading you through a twirling waltz, providing languid caresses and passionate yearning. Both men have their own methods of stripping you down to your barest parts. Like fire and ice. Like wind and rock. Two sides of the same coin. It’s a currency only you can understand.

You’ve loved the two of them together nearly your whole life. As the daughter of the Knight Commander, you’d had the privilege of growing up in the castle alongside both of them. In your earlier years, you all shared your literacy and etiquette lessons. When Steve reached his twelfth summer and had finally begun to grow out of the ailments that used to plague his young body, he and Bucky were taken from you to begin their knighthood training. You were forced into new lessons better fitted for your gender. Or so you were told.

One afternoon, after spending the morning watching the boys train from the windows of the library, you’d managed to pin them both down after their lessons and begged them to teach you how to fight. Steve had seemed hesitant but amenable to the idea, but Bucky had flat out refused. He’d told you that a battlefield was no place for a woman. That girls weren’t even capable of wielding a sword. His words made you so angry that you curled your fist back and punched him straight in the nose.

Your mother had been horrified once news spread around the castle about what you had done. Your father, however, had been markedly proud. You had been made to openly apologize to Bucky in front of Lord and Lady Barnes, but you were also enrolled in the knighthood lessons with them the very next day.

Bucky in his later years would eventually confess that despite the bloody nose and bruised ego, that had been the very moment that he fell in love with you.

A moment of revelation had never really occurred for you. You’re not sure when the love of children and friendship had turned into one of romantic attraction. You just know that there had always been enough room in your heart for the two of them.

Bucky had been your first. He had also been the logical choice. His skill with a blade allowed him to rise through the knighthood ranks. It was clear that in time he would replace your father’s position as Knight Commander. He was boyish and charming, kissing you in the spiral stairwells, fleeting touches during combat practice, flirting while you held a blade to his throat. You gave him your virtue one night in the highest tower of the castle, beneath the light of a full moon. It was perfect. It made sense.

But there was still a part of you that seemed to long for your crowned prince.

When Steve caught wind of the budding romance between his two best friends, he began to recede into himself and drew away from the both of you. He dove headfirst into his royal duties as a distraction. He began to attend council meetings with his father, acting as the king’s shadow, learning all the intricacies of running the kingdom.

Your worry for his wellbeing grew the more that he shut both you and Bucky out. He always looked tired and stressed, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. You attempted to confront him on multiple occasions, asking if there was anything that you could do to help ease his burdens. You wanted to be there for your friend and to support the man you secretly loved. But he brushed you off every time.

As it would turn out, Steve’s dedication to his royal duties would be both a blessing and a curse. When the King and Queen of Brooklyn perished at sea during a winter storm, Steve was fully capable and ready to ascend to the throne. Your fear for his health grew tenfold when he completely retreated from everyone during the month of mourning after the loss of his parents. He took his meals in his study, sometimes slept in there too. He buried himself in work instead of allowing his mind and body a chance to heal as is intended for the allotted month before he would be crowned king.

On the night before his coronation, you snuck into his bed chambers, picking the lock with the method Bucky had taught you both as children to steal sweets from the kitchen pantry. Steve had been surprised to see you, curled up in a chair by the fire with a book in his lap instead of sleeping like he should have been before such an important day. When he asked what you were doing there, you’d responded by telling him you were there to support your best friend.

 You remember seeing the hope flicker in his eyes before it was quickly snuffed out like a candle. He attempted to brush you off once again, telling you that he didn’t need anyone. When you stood your ground and told him that you weren’t leaving, he quickly grew angry, unused to your defiance. He tossed the book aside and stood from his chair, resorting to intimidation by lording his bulky frame over yours. You held his gaze challengingly and stated quite clearly that it was impossible for a single man to run an entire kingdom by himself. And that whether he liked it or not, he wasn’t alone in facing the trials that lay before him. You weren’t going to let him push you away any longer.

You had finished your speech by launching yourself at him, burying your face into his warm chest, wrapping your arms tight around his torso, and praying that he wouldn’t force you to leave.

He hadn’t.

For the first few moments of your embrace, he had stood perfectly still, like a statue, unable to reciprocate or push you away as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. And then almost hesitantly, as if he was afraid you might vanish into thin air if he moved too fast, his arms began to circle around you. When he realized that you weren’t going to disappear on him, his hold on you became uncomfortably tight. He gripped you with a desperation that nearly broke your heart. When his shoulders began to shake and your own shoulder grew wet, your heart really did break.

You continued to hold him as he cried. You held him when his legs grew weak and he sunk to the floor. You pulled him in close and ran soothing fingers through his hair and down his neck, encouraging him to let it all out. He cried over the grief of losing his parents. He cried over the fear of the responsibilities and unknowns that would fall to him as king. He cried over the wasted weeks spent pushing you away when being here in your arms was exactly where he’d longed to be.

You sat patiently in his lap, allowing him all the time he needed to work through his emotions. It had been long overdue and you weren’t about to rush it. When he finally lifted his head from your shoulder, he had looked at you like you were everything. It was a look that made your heart race and your stomach flutter, even with his red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. It was in that moment that a confession of love had slipped passed his lips before he pressed them to yours.

Your eyes widened in shock at his unexpected kiss. You didn’t respond, but also couldn’t find the strength in your heart to push him away.

When Steve finally realized what he had been doing he pulled away abruptly with a string of apologies falling from his mouth. In a flurry of movement that your shocked mind had been unable to fully process, Steve had lifted you off the floor and deposited you into the hall outside his chamber door. His eyes flashed you a look of pure heartbreak as one last apology left him before the door fell shut.

You don’t know how long you spent standing there, eyes unfocused and fingers pressed to your lips. In a sort of daze, you made your way through the halls of the castle, barely regaining your presence of mind as your fingers rapped against a different door. Bucky was a light sleeper, so it hadn’t taken him long to come to the door. When he saw the upset look on your face, he knew immediately that something was wrong. All he had to do was ask before a full confession tumbled out of you.

You don’t even know why you had told him the complete and honest truth about what had just transpired between you and Steve. But Bucky wasn’t just your lover. He was also your best friend and confidant. You knew that you could tell him anything and would receive no judgment.

He listened intently and made no comment until he was sure you were finished. Grabbing the sides of your face, he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to your forehead. He whispered words of assurance, telling you that everything would be okay before he took one of your hands within his and marched you back in the direction you had just come from.

In true Bucky Barnes fashion, he barreled his way straight back into Steve’s private chambers. As he made his way straight for his future King a flash of fear shot through Steve’s eyes. You admit that you may have felt a bit of that fear yourself because you had no idea what Bucky had planned to do.

You never could have guessed what was going to happen next. As soon as Steve was within arm’s reach, Bucky’s free hand darted out. In the next second, he was slipping your hand into Steve’s. The blonde gave his friend a look of confusion before his eyes drifted down to where his fingers were curled around yours. Your hand fit perfectly against his like it was something that was always meant to be.

This time, it was Bucky’s turn to provide a confession. He told you that he loved you both more than anything in the kingdom. He admits that he’d always known that he wasn’t the only man to hold a place in your heart and that he believed the love you felt for both of them was not meant to cause a divide between their friendship but was instead meant to be shared. The three of you had always been your best when you were all together. Why should this be any different?

That night, you showered your prince with love and kisses while Bucky taught him all the methods he had come to learn in the art of bringing you pleasure. Like with most things, Steve proved to be a quick study. By the time the three of you collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs across Steve’s expansive bed, the sun’s rays had already started to peak over the horizon. Later that same day, both you and Bucky stood at his side while Steve was crowned King of Brooklyn.

You are pulled from your memories by the slip of Steve’s tongue into your mouth. You moan at the taste of him. You aren’t able to get nearly enough before he is leaning away. A low chuckle escapes him as you attempt to give chase. His hand moves from the back of your head to cradle the edge of your jaw, thumb swiping over the wet saliva clinging to your lower lip.

He looks at you with a hooded gaze. “Tell me, how did the other kingdoms treat our beautiful Black Rose of Brooklyn?”

You give him a knowing look. Both Sam and Bucky would have given him their full reports by now, and yet, he still wants to hear it from you. “I didn’t start any wars if that’s what you’re asking.”

He grins at the bite in your tone. “They have certainly started for less. If ever there were a face that could launch a thousand ships, it would be yours.”

A satisfied flutter tickles your belly as you laugh. “My, haven’t we become quite the flatterer? Those lessons with Bucky are surely paying off.” You glance over your shoulder at your dark-haired lover, who watches your every move with keen interest. You shoot him a wink before turning back to your king. “Has he asked for your consent?”

Steve’s gaze darkens considerably. “He has.”

The deep tenor of his voice makes you shiver. “And did you give it?”

“Not yet,” he releases his hold from your waist and steps back giving a long sweep of his gaze over your figure. “Acts of pleasure are a sin when conducted out of wedlock. Only permissible as fornication under consent of the king. First, you must present yourself to your King for inspection.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, a thrill of excitement running through you at the prospects of that. A teasing smirk tilts your already kiss swollen lips. Your hands fall to the tie at the front of your robe and your hips sway with every step you take backward toward the gigantic bed that’s centered against the back wall. “You both truly believe that I’ve been naughty, don’t you?” They follow your movements with heated eyes and tense shoulders. Two elite hunters after their delectably sweet prey.

With a slow tug, you free the knot at your waist. In one move, the dressing gown is pushed from your shoulders and pools delicately at your feet. The two men look poised and ready to pounce as your naked body is instantly bared to them. Taking it one step further, the back of your knees hit the cushioned bench at the foot of the king’s bed. You lower yourself elegantly onto the soft cushions before leaning back to prop your elbows up on the foot of the plush mattress behind you.

Your gaze flickers between two sets of gorgeous eyes in varying shades of molten blue. You settle back on those of your king. You continue to hold his gaze as your knees lift and pull apart until your feet are settled on the top edge of the bench as far spread as you can allow with your thighs stretched open. “I surrender myself to the king’s inspection.”

Both men swallow thickly, eyes traveling to the apex of your thighs where the firelight makes the slick of your arousal glisten. “Would you be opposed if I took her first pleasure this evening?” Steve asks, eyes still trained on the feast laid bare before him.

Bucky smirks darkly. “It’s within your rights, my King.” He yields, knowing that it will be just as pleasurable to watch while he waits for his turn.

Steve stalks toward you like an apex predator. His right hand grips the back of your calf, lifting your foot off the cushioned bench to hook your leg around his waist. His knee lands on the bench beneath your thigh aiding in locking your leg around him. His left hand falls to the mattress above your shoulder as he takes his place above your prone position.

The open collar of his cream-colored shirt hangs loose in the front, revealing a teasing hint at the muscles of his torso that lie beneath the cotton material. “Why do you conceal yourself from me?” you ask with a pout.

He breathes a short laugh, “In due time, my love. First, you must prove you are worthy of your king’s consent.”

Dropping from your elbows onto the mattress, you reach your hand out to grab his wrist above where his hand holds the side of your knee. You guide his hand as it travels the length of your thigh until his fingers are curled against your wet heat. “I trust that you will be pleased with your findings.” Your breasts heave in anticipation as you hold his gaze with lidded eyes.

His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks as he fights to maintain his composure. Thick fingers circle your entrance, ticking your folds and collecting your slick. He watches your face intently as one finger pushes its way into you. Your lips part in a shaky breath and whatever sound you had planned to make gets caught in your throat.

The king’s brow furrows. Even with the abundance of arousal, your body is slightly resistant to the intrusion of his finger. He works his way into you gently until you finally take him all the way to the knuckle.

“How does she feel?” Bucky’s voice sounds distant due to the blood rushing in your ears.

“Tight,” Steve responds, still looking at you curiously. “She can barely even take a single finger.”

You clench around the single digit, hips jutting against his palm. “Have I restored your trust in my faithfulness?” you ask, your voice breaking from the restraint it takes to not fuck yourself with reckless abandon against his one finger.

Steve’s kingly façade falls away in an instant as a look of tender affection softens his features. “Oh love… your faith was never in question.”

The bed dips to your right as Bucky sits on the edge of the mattress. His hand stretches out to slowly stroke his fingers across your cheek. “When were you last touched?”

Embarrassment prevents you from meeting his gaze until the feathered touch on your cheek makes you turn your head toward him. “The morning I left Brooklyn.”

Steve’s finger pulls out of you, drawing your attention back to him. “You knew that we were joking when we forbade you from any indulgences without us, didn’t you?” He shoots Bucky a worried look, wondering if they had taken their jests too far.

“Yes, I knew,” you assure him quickly. “I never once, not even for a second, believed that you could be serious in such matters. I just… couldn’t.” Your voice falls away, unsure of how to properly explain yourself.

“Did you not think of us when you were away?” Bucky asks you.

Your eyes widen, horrified that he could have such thoughts. You reach your hand out to clasp his and thread your fingers between his. “I thought of you both every moment of every day. My body ached with how desperately I missed you. But… the touch of my own hands cannot compare to how my body lights up when I am with either of you. I know that it had been said in jest the morning of my departure, but my pleasure really does belong to the two of you alone. Relishing in the memories of your touch is not enough to sustain me. I need you.”

“You have us,” Steve promises. “Always and forever.” He leans down and places a chaste kiss over your heart. With his head lifted back up, he meets your gaze once more. “Now four months is a terribly long time to have gone without the touch of pleasure. It would be my honor to bring you to release, my love.”

Your leg tightens around his waist as a shiver makes its way through you. “Please,” you beg. Your body is wound tighter than a bowstring that’s seconds away from the snap.

His hand returns to your leg. With a gentle nudge, he pulls your calf off of him for a brief moment, only to then promptly fall to his knees before you as he guides your leg to rest in place, draped over his shoulder. It’s both a humbling and empowering feeling that floods you whenever your king kneels before you. The man who holds the highest power in the kingdom and he will forsake it in the name of bringing you pleasure. It’s a feeling you don’t get to bask in for very long because once he has his mouth on you, all coherent thought vanishes in an instant.

Steve is an insatiable and enthusiastic lover. In everything he does, he gives his complete and undivided attention. He places your second leg on his other shoulder before clamping his hands over the tops of your thighs and ravishes you like a man starved.

“O-Oh!” you cry out, back arching and body writhing against the onslaught of his talented tongue. He laps over your slit and suckles your folds. Your slick paints his cheeks and his chin with the evidence of your pleasure, and he revels in it. The wet slurping sounds he makes as he devours you whole is enough to send you adrift.

Floating in an ocean of decadent carnality, there is no set course or final destination. There is only the here and now, and that is more than enough.

He pierces your entrance with his thick tongue. He laves at you, long and slow, getting your body to relax and give into him. When you are completely pliable beneath him, he pulls his face back enough to slip his finger back into your moist heat.

He watches how your body takes him as he gently thrusts the one finger into you. The wet squelch of your arousal encourages him to slip a second finger inside you. The resistance is minimal and this pleases him greatly. He shows his appreciation by trailing a series of wet butterfly kisses across your thighs and lower belly, all while continuing to bring you to the brink with his fingers.

They curl into your upper wall, pressing and rubbing at the place he knows will make your thighs shake. By the time his lips begin to descend back down your pubic mound, he’s got you stuffed full with three of his fingers.

His last kiss settles over your straining clit. He knows that he’s been denying her, but that had been his plan all along. Now that he was finally where your body craved him to be most of all, he had no plans on leaving until after you screamed his name in ecstasy.

“Oh my- Ah!” your hips buck against his face as you thrash beneath him. The hand at your thigh hooks over your abdomen to keep you pinned down. He works at your pleasure center from both angles, driving his fingers in deep and curling them into you, while his mouth ravishes your clit from above.

He flicks his tongue over the taut bud and sucks her deep into his mouth. He moans from deep within his chest and the sound travels straight to your core. Your climax starts to come at you like a charging boar. It’s strong, loud, and makes the entire earth quake.

“Steve! Don’t stop! Oh! I’m going- I’m coming- STEVE!”

Your thighs clamp around his head and though they are powerful from your knighthood training, he persists in his endeavor to bring you the greatest pleasure you have ever known. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, feeling how you clench and tremble around them.

When the pleasure becomes too much to handle, you reach your hand down and tug gently at his blonde locks. He releases your clit from the confines of his mouth and blinks his stormy blue eyes up at you. You laugh breathlessly, “If the ladies of court knew what you could do with that mouth of yours, there would be a line from here to Asgard.”

His lips spread into a wide, self-satisfied smile; the evidence of your arousal smeared from cheek to cheek. “Now who is the flatterer?” He carefully removes his fingers from between your legs and presses a soft kiss to the inside of each of your knees as he slides your legs off of his shoulders. When he stands back up, he gives your form one last sweep of his eyes before looking to Bucky. “She’s ready for you.”

Steve turns his back to you and with all the regal confidence that comes with being king, he makes his way back to his chair. He lowers himself evenly onto the plush cushioned seat, back straight, knees spread. He sets his elbow on the armrest and with his chin resting on his palm, he slips the fingers that had just been inside of you into the hot cavern of his mouth. His free hand settles over the bulge in his trousers, stoking at his hardened length through the material.

You feel Bucky’s hands clasp your arms just beneath your shoulders. That’s the only warning you get before he completely hoists your body up onto the mattress. You laugh in giddy arousal at his display of strength. After only one orgasm, you’re already drunk on pleasure. You turn your body to face his and are pleasantly surprised to see that he’s already shed his clothing. He must have disrobed while Steve was having his way with you.

You crawl into his lap settling quite comfortably over his thick thighs. A wide grin stretches your lips as your arms circle loosely around his neck. “Hello, Dearest,” you greet, nudging your nose playfully against his.

His eyes sparkle in amusement. “Did I not say that I would have you again tonight?” he grins in triumph, arms curling around you with his hands splayed across your back.

You run your fingers slowly over the stubble along his jawline. “I do believe the real question here is how will you have me, Commander Barnes?” You rock your hips forward, pressing your wet heat against the hardened length that rests between your thighs.

His hands fall to your ass giving each globe a generous squeeze. “I will have you screaming out my name until the entire castle knows who it is that brings you such pleasure.”

“My, aren’t we confident?” you laugh sensually.

With strong arms keeping your body pinned to his chest, he begins to lower you down onto your back, stretched out horizontally across the foot of the bed to ensure that Steve still has the best view. “I will have you quivering on my cock and begging for more.” He settles himself over you, dark strands tickling your cheeks as they fall in a curtain around your face. “I will have you balanced on the edge of ecstasy, pleading for a taste of sweet relief, but unable to claim it until your Commander allows it.”

He grinds his erection against your folds, coating himself in your slick. He continues to hold your gaze as he balances on one bent arm to reach down and align his bulbous head with your entrance. A gentle nudge is all it takes before be he starts to sink into you.

“God in heaven…” his shaky breath fans over your cheeks. “You really haven’t been stretched in a while,” he grunts at the way you squeeze around him. He keeps his pace slow, moving only an inch at a time. “She won’t be taking us together any time soon,” he sends a smirk over his shoulder to Steve.

The king sends back a dark smile, his fingers falling from his mouth and tracing wet trails over his lips. “We can work her back up to it.”

Both his response and the feeling of the cock stretching you out cause a needy whimper to fall from your lips.

When he is finally sheathed, Bucky guides your legs up around his waist. He grinds into you with slow circles, allowing your body to adjust to being stretched around his girth. He peppers your face and neck with sweet kisses. “I have longed for our reunion from the moment you rode passed the castle gates. Four months is far too long to be without you, my love,” he declares, rubbing his nose against yours. “You are correct in stating that the memory of our lovemaking is nothing in comparison to our actual joining. Nothing on this earth can compare to the feeling of being inside you.”

He pulls out about halfway before slowly easing back in, testing the limits of your body. However, there is no resistance and no sign of discomfort on your face, just complete adoration and love for the man above you. His lips slant over yours as he begins to quicken his pace, so that he may taste your pleasured moans on his tongue.

He slams into you with feverish intent, driven by the sound of skin slapping against skin. Your nails dig into the muscles on his back and your hips rise to his every thrust. There are some nights when you attempt to fight him for dominance, but tonight you are supple and pliant beneath him. Like iron burning red hot from the flames of a forge, yet malleable and ready to be formed into something new. He can bend and mold you into any shape. Pound you down and smooth you over. He’d work his hands to the bone until you were absolutely perfect.

Your moans taste like heaven against his lips. He pulls his mouth back so that he might hear them ring like bells around the room. You gasp for breath and inhale the heady scent of raw sex. Your head falls to the side, eyes a little bleary as they land on your king.

His bare chest glistens in the firelight with a thin sheen of sweat; his shirt discarded to the floor. His trousers have been unbuttoned and shoved down just enough to free his straining cock. He strokes his length with deliberate slowness and watches the sight before him with rapt interest.

Bucky takes the opportunity of your turned head to sink his teeth into your exposed neck. You cry out as pain mixes with pleasure, eyes falling shut and back arching into him. An arm slips between your bowed back and the mattress, locking you in place against him. He sucks on the fresh bite and laps at it with a wet tongue. You shiver within his hold.

When your eyes blink back open and the haze in your vision has cleared, you realize that the chair is now empty.

A small frown of confusion pulls at your lips before you hear the voice come from behind you. “Bring her to the edge.”

A flood of arousal nearly makes Bucky slip out of you at the sound of Steve’s voice. You tilt your head back as far as you can against the mattress. Even upside-down, he’s an absolute vision. He stands naked at the side of the bed, one knee propped up on the mattress, a hand still stroking his cock. It’s enough to make your mouth water.

Bucky uses the power of his hips to thrust your body over the sheets of the bed and to the edge where Steve waits. You are guided into place with your head just hanging over the edge. Your hands quickly reach up to replace Steve’s grip with your own.

You hear Bucky’s low laughter, “Look how eager she is.” He holds himself still, buried to the hilt inside you.

“See? There’s still a way for her to take us both,” Steve grins back.

His hands cradle the sides of your face, palms to your cheeks, and fingers curling over the edge of your jaw. His thumbs slide to the ends of your mouth before pulling back your plump lower lip guiding your mouth open. Your hands bring the fat head of his cock in closer until the salty taste of his pre-cum hits your tongue.

You moan your appreciation, lapping at the slit for more. Steve shudders at the sensation of your tongue against him. Your jaw opens as wide as it can go as you begin to work him deeper into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he huffs, thumbs stroking your jawline encouragingly.

With your head back and your neck stretched, it opens your throat and makes it easier to take his length deeper. You swallow around the head of his cock and use your grip on his base to encourage him to keep going. Both men watch in highly aroused fascination as your neck expands around the intrusion of Steve’s cock down your throat.

You take him all the way, tightening your throat around him and ignoring the tears in your eyes that are welling up from taking him so deep. Steve forces himself to remain still and resists the instinct to rut into your sensitive throat. But god, the way it tightens around him is driving him insane. After a few seconds pass, he pulls himself back to give you room to breathe.

You swallow the excess saliva in your mouth and take a few panting breaths before urging Steve’s cock back into your mouth and down your throat. It’s easier to take him the second time. By the third round, Bucky has begun a gentle series of thrusts, his own cock twitching from inside you.

Both men find a rhythm that works for them without making you too uncomfortable. They work at you from both ends, using your body to fulfill their own needs. Bucky’s thrusts make your throat jolt around Steve’s cock and the abuse of your throat makes you clench around Bucky’s. They take their pleasure from you and you are more than happy to give it to them.

When it starts to become a bit too much for you to handle, a squeeze at Steve’s hip is all that is required to have him pulling back. “Are you okay?” he asks, curling a hand to the back of your head to lift it up and meet your gaze.

“A little dizzy,” you admit, your voice coming out hoarse.

Steve immediately moves to help you sit up while Bucky pulls out of you to do the same. You’re instantly sandwiched between their warm, muscular bodies; Bucky holding you to his chest while Steve molds his to your back. It makes your heart leap at how quickly they can switch from seeking their own pleasure to ensuring your comfort and well-being. You know that your love for them would never have run this deep if they weren’t such caring individuals.

“Sorry I couldn’t-” you try to begin an apology but are gently shushed before you can finish.

Steve’s hand cradles your face and turns it toward him. “You did well, my love,” he assures you. Another reason to love him. There’s no disappointment or resentment that you weren’t able to take him until completion, just gentle understanding and tender affection. He places a chaste kiss to your spit-soaked lips.

When he pulls back, Bucky guides your face to his until your foreheads touch. “If you are feeling unwell, let us know and we will stop now.” You know without a doubt that the two of them would abandon their arousal in an instant if you told them you couldn’t proceed.

You give him a fond smile. “I am alright,” you assure him. “And I will not rest until both my lovers are fully sated and satisfied.”

Steve releases a low chuckle, lips pressed to the hair above your temple. “You may be in for a long night then.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” you grin cheekily. With one hand, you reach for Steve’s hold at your waist. You pull his touch across your stomach until his arm is banded around your torso. Your other hand trails down Bucky’s Adonis belt to curl around the base of his shaft. His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks as you give him a long stroke. “Now, where were we?” you ask breathlessly.

His hands grip the back of your thighs as you rise onto your knees and align him with your entrance. Your body welcomes the now-familiar stretch as you sink down onto him. He grunts low through gritted teeth as he is enveloped back in your wet heat. He’d been close before stopping to come to your aid. Very close. The denied climax has made him overly sensitive. It sits just below the surface of his skin and sends tiny pricks of pleasure up his spine.

Steve pushes in tight against your back, molding every inch of bare flesh to yours. As you circle your hips around Bucky’s cock, you can feel that Steve’s is slotted between the globes of your ass, pressed to his lower abdomen. He grinds hard and slow against the cleft of your cheeks. His heavy breath on the back of your neck makes you shiver.

Bucky leans forward to mash his lips against yours and uses his powerful thighs to start thrusting up into you. The kiss is sloppy and wet. You’re sure that he must taste the remnants of Steve’s cock on your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he may even like it. The wet slap of sweaty skin fills the room, overpowering the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Every bounce on Bucky’s cock makes your ass jolt around Steve’s. Their balls slam into each other’s with a steady thwack and muscular thighs brush side by side beneath you. Bucky’s hands slide up your thighs and grab your ass in a bruising grip. He spreads your ass cheeks, making more room for Steve’s thick cock between them.

Steve’s hands glide up your rib cage and settle over your breasts. He molds them in his large hands and tweaks your nipples until they have grown stiff and over sensitive. Your mouth rips away from Bucky’s as you cry out to the heavens and throw your head back against Steve’s shoulder. You are being worked at from all angles by the two men you love most in the world. It’s pleasure beyond words. Beyond imagination, even.

Bucky uses his grip on your ass to change the angle of your hips just enough to ensure your clit catches against his pubic bone every time he slams home inside you. Your moans are getting louder and higher in pitch. Which is a good sign, because he is seconds away from bursting.

“Oh Bucky!” he hits you deep and grinds against your sensitized clit. The scent of sex is so thick it starts to make you dizzy all over again. Your thighs are shaking from barely restrained release. Every muscle in your body is pulled taut. Your arousal flows out of you in such abundance, it not only soaks Bucky’s cock, but also catches against the underbelly of Steve’s and also flows down their balls.

Your pleasured cries drive them both mad with desire. The heat that comes off their bodies traps you in an inferno. You have one arm tossed back to grip Steve’s neck; the other is thrown over Bucky’s shoulders. You draw them both in impossibly closer, allowing the perspiration on your skins to fuse you together into one being.

Animalistic instinct and carnal desire take over as lovemaking transitions to brutal fucking. Like the collapse of a log consumed by flames inside the hearth, there is a flare-up of energy. The control in both men is ripped to shreds as they rut against you like wolves in heat.

Each thrust is punctuated by their feral grunts and erotic moans. Their panting breaths send scattering waves across your feverish skin, providing only temporary relief from the savage heat that consumes you. Their muscles grow tense, balls pulled in tight, hands leaving bruises from their fierce grip on your body.

With your head thrown back, you cry out their names to the heavens above, alerting whatever God may be listening just who it is exactly that controls your pleasure. Your body begins to shake, hips jerking and breasts heaving as you hit your peak. Your walls clamp tight around Bucky and the muscles in your glutes clench as well.

“Oh fuck!” Bucky cries out before one last thrust results in his euphoric release. His body shudders and he buries his face into your neck as he spills into you.

From behind, Steve continues to rut against you. Once, twice… After the third, he releases a low grunt from deep within his chest, and then there is a hot splash against your lower back.

The three of you hold each other through your shared release; trembling from the aftershocks; covered in sweat, slick, and thick white cum. Some might call it debauched or hedonistic, but all you feel is the unbreakable threads of love that bind you to these two men. The moments where the three of you are able to bask together in your indulgence always seem to last an eternity. You feed off each other and reach new heights that had previously seemed impossible to grasp.

And when you’re ready to finally come back down to earth, it’s the embrace of each other’s arms that you return to. Bucky is nuzzling the hollow of your throat and Steve has his lips pressed to your temple. “I love you,” your voice comes out a little broken and raw. All the screaming certainly wouldn’t have helped after the way you took Steve’s cock.

Speaking of that, “Steve, you…” You hadn’t expected him to finish when he had.

“I know,” he soothes, thumbs gently tracing circles around your areolas, easing some of the aches in your breasts from his unrestrained hold earlier. “It has been a long four months for us as well. I hadn’t realized that I wouldn’t be able to stave off my release until it was too late.” His gentle hands release your breasts so that his arms can tighten around your torso. “No matter. Now that you are home, there will be plenty of time for me to refamiliarize myself with your body,” he pledges to you.

“Only if you are not pulled into council for hours on end,” your lips tug down into a pout.

He turns your face toward him with a touch to your jaw and kisses the pout from your lips. “You know that I will always make time for you. I love you, too,” he promises with one last kiss before guiding you into Bucky’s hold so that he can shift off the bed. Steve pads across the room, in all his naked glory, to a side table where a basin of water and a folded cloth lie in wait.

You are pulled from your observations when Bucky falls unceremoniously onto his back against the mattress, taking you with him. You land in a giggling heap against his chest. There’s a smug grin on his face and a satisfied flush to his cheeks. You fold your hands against his chest and rest your chin on top, continuing to hold his gaze.

You can hear the water getting rung out from the washcloth moments before the bed dips beneath Steve’s returning weight. The wet cloth is pressed to the base of your spine, eliciting a full-body shiver from you.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, “The water was warm earlier.”

“No, it feels good,” you assure him. The cool cloth is like a taste of heaven against your hot skin.

He cleans the mess of his release from you, wiping the evidence from your back and the curve of your ass. When he’s finished, Bucky rolls your relaxed form onto your back and takes the cloth into his own hands. His flaccid cock slips from between your legs. He’s quick to press the cloth against you to collect his own release as it leaks from between your slick folds. He uses gentle strokes against your sensitive channel, treating you with delicate care and sweet caresses.

After they have both made sure that you are comfortable and taken care of, they then clean themselves up before the three of you move to lay beneath the covers of the massive bed. You recline back, propped up slightly on a mountain of pillows. Steve lays to your left, cheek pressed to your shoulder while his fingers brush gentle patterns across your bare torso. He paints masterpieces across the dips and valleys of your breasts and stomach using just the touch of his fingertips.

Bucky is stretched out to your right. He is turned onto his side, with a bent elbow against the pillows, propping his head up to allow him to look down at you. His crystal blue gaze sweeps over every feature of your face. Once he has completed the path, he begins it all over again.

You do the same with him, a content smile tilting your kiss swollen lips. You lift your hand and run the back of your index finger along his jawline. “You are the most handsome knight in all the lands,” you mutter quietly, not wanting to disturb the tranquility that has settled over you. He releases a scoffing laugh with a sharp exhale through his nose, lips twitching in amusement. The smile on your own lips only grows. “Now that I am so well-traveled, I can say that with full confidence.”

Words that were meant to tease instead place a contemplative look on his face. You arch a curious brow as you wait for him to finish his thought and speak his mind. “If you had met someone else on your travels, you would tell us, wouldn’t you?” he finally asks.

Your head tilts in confusion. “I don’t believe I know what you mean…”

“Buck.” The stern tone of Steve’s voice sets you immediately on edge. Nothing ever good comes when he uses that tone of authority with either of you.

You turn your gaze quickly and catch the disapproving look in Steve’s gaze before he has the chance to school his features. “What does he mean?” you ask your blonde lover directly.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait until morning,” he attempts to appease you. When he sees the set of your jaw, he knows immediately that he has said the wrong thing.

You pushing yourself up to sit straight and square your shoulders. “I think I should like to hear it now.”

Steve releases a long sigh and runs his fingers through his unruly strands, sitting up as well. “Letters have been coming in at a constant rate from the other kingdoms over the last few months,” he begins.

“Letters addressed to you,” Bucky supplies next.

You give them both an expectant look, still not understanding the full picture.

“It would seem that in your journey, you left a string of yearning hearts in your wake,” Steve continues. “The letters are from various suitors asking for your hand in marriage.”

You stare at the two of them in blatant shock, eyes sweeping back and forth between their solemn gazes. “And you both thought that meant that I had met someone new…?” You can’t really help yourself when the laugh works its way out of your chest. It starts as a single burst, but quickly turns loud and boisterous until you manage to slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself restrained. “I’m sorry,” you giggle from between your fingers. You clear your throat and swallow the last of your amusement, noting the severity in your lovers’ eyes. “I can assure you that there is no one else. Those letters are only coming from a line of fools who wish to conquer the Black Rose of Brooklyn. They see me as a prize to be won. A trophy after completing their conquest. Nothing more.”

You reach out and take their hands into each of yours. “I know that the love we share is far from conventional, but I promise that my heart only belongs to the two of you. There is no space for anyone else. You will be my only loves for all of eternity.” You bring their hands up to your face and place a gentle kiss on their knuckles. They both give a light squeeze to your hands in return. “Is this why you have both been in such foul moods during my departure? We have spent time away from each other before, but I have been informed that you were both particularly brutish these last few months.”

They both share a chastened look.

“Oh, my loves,” you sigh softly, that look of theirs speaking volumes. You tug at their hands until the three of you are settled back under the covers and are thoroughly wrapped around each other. “Rest well, knowing that I am back home in your arms. That I belong to no other and my heart beats only for you. And when morning comes, you will apologize to the others for your abhorrent behavior.”

The two men share a look, eyes shining and lips tilting.

“Do you believe it wise to order your King and your Commander in such a way?” Steve’s arms tighten their hold around you as he lands a playful nip to the back of your shoulder.

You giggle joyfully. “I have gotten away with it before and I’m certain that I will again.”

“I think a lesson in respect may be in order, my King,” Bucky smirks wide.

“Oh, most assuredly,” Steve agrees.

A shriek of laughter escapes from your mouth as both of your lovers descend upon you. Looks like you’re in for a long night after all…