#my teeth and jaw ache and it hurts to blink and my skin is tender

[restinthewest]

[mymelodramaticjournal]

Wolfstar after a night out in Muggle London. cw drugs

Sirius’ favourite colour is amber, like Firewhiskey, or the way Remus’ eyes glare violently under the shitty chip shop fluorescents, like muggle streetlights, blinking in and out. Sirius can never be certain if they’re about to tell him to stay or to go. Green, he prays as he hurtles towards them, tires spinning out on the wet asphalt, it’s too late for the breaks, I can’t slow this down, green, green, green or I’m gone.

Remus shoves a chip in his mouth watching Sirius with those liquor soaked beamers, slumped down in the plastic chair, lids heavy. He is sweat-sheened from the heat of the club they’d just crawled out of, his jaw grinding relentless circles, clenching and unclenching, chewing docilely on his food so he won’t gnaw through his own tongue.

Carry on and you’ll dislocate something, Sirius wants to say, just to make Remus hear him, hate him, but he can’t feel his gums.

Remus had sniffed something, probably K, because Sirius could still see those fucking irises like an egyptian honeytrap, like hanging off the edge of the world. Sirius, on the other hand, knew his eyes were blown black because he’d stared in the dingy club bathroom mirror for an eternity at his own blissed-out smile certain there were chunks of flesh in his teeth. That he had a head full of blood soaked bones and he didn’t know what he’d caught with them but he just couldn’t stop looking. Eyes all pupil from the bomb he’d dropped an hour ago. He reckoned Remus hated that this was all he was getting when Sirius got so much of him, that this was all Sirius could be. Black, endless, bottomless Black.

Sirius can be found in each shining thing, because that’s what he’s made of. Eyes sometimes black, sometimes grey, always gleaming like a polished mirror. Something beautiful that invites you to look but does not allow you to see. Dazzling, blinding, brilliant, really. What a clever little trick. What do you see? Just yourself staring back? How much do you hate it? What do you want me to be?

Sirius doesn’t think drugs make this bit better. In fact, he thinks they make it worse. There’s this knowing, seeing on a different plain. Here, in this dimension that is all colour and light and heat, all the things they can’t say, questions that gut, lose their sharp edges. Sirius doesn’t wonder, he just sees. Both of them sit, and stare, and it all makes sense. Aware that they’re waiting for the penny to drop, but they’re so far fucked, so dazed watching it spin, in a trance, out their fucking heads but also so unbearably here, that they don’t look to see how it lands. Schrödinger’s fucking come down. They’re both wound up, up, watching the colours flicker by, spinning out, even though they know it won’t last. Know it’s been tossed, know everything I see you I see everything my bones are bright white and there’s no edge to me and there’s nothing we can’t be if you just don’t look down don’t look don’t look don’t look. Just keep your eyes on me.

Uncertainty never looked so pretty.

When they wake up tomorrow they won’t remember, but there will be an ache. Pressing on a bruise that hasn’t formed yet, softening the flesh so it can make its home faster under your skin. Preemptive pain, empathy for the version of you that knows how it stings. Why do I feel like I’ve just woken up from a dream where you hurt me real bad but I don’t know how? What have I forgotten, why am I tender, why am I scared of your hands?

All Sirius can do is stare ahead, waiting for something, a change in colour, for the fucking bulbs to explode. But Remus furrows his brow and just looks weary, and then suddenly really fucking wounded, disturbed, those copper penny eyes spinning, always seeing too much. Flinches like he’s crawling out of his skin, just realised where he is, who he’s with, what they’re on the edge of, and shoves back from the table and pushes out the door. Sirius watches, he doesn’t go far, but he did leave, taking the answers with him. Lights up a smoke on the corner across the road from the shop. All the neon glare from the city’s insomniac kaleidoscope shatters through the rain smattered window, and Sirius loses him to the light.

[luveline]

hiiiiiii i hope ur feeling better :(((( could i pls request some aftercare with sirius? no pressure take care of yourself!!! thank youuuu

hi tysm for ur request this is so sweet i hope i did it justice <3 NSFW 18+ Please (aftercare, talking about sex)

You gasp. Sirius looks amused and endeared despite his own tiredness, hands falling from your tits where they'd been worshipping rather gently to your thighs, clenched tightly around him. 

You bend over, touching your forehead to his chest. You like being on top, love the closeness and the feeling of being split open around him, but you forget how shattering it is once you're done. You barely have the energy to move. 

Sirius hands are quick to pet your hair, your sweaty face. "You're alright, sweet thing." 

You nod into his skin, the tip of your nose rubbing into a dark tattoo. 

Your hands, bawled at his hips, flatten, searching up his torso. Sirius shifts underneath you and you gasp, feel the chills of his movement, his cock still inside you. 

"You wanna move?" 

"M'tired," you complain lightly, smiling against his chest. 

He shifts again. You whine pathetically as he sits up and his cock moves ever deeper, feeling tender. His arms come around your back and lift you up, off of his softening cock and against his chest. 

"Good girl," he murmurs, though you didn't really do anything. 

You lighten with his praise and wrap your aching arms around his neck, his dark hair tickling you. He responds in turn, one arm cupping the back of your head and the other rubbing your back dutifully. 

"Better?" he asks. 

"Uh-huh." 

He pepper kisses up your jaw. You blink rapidly, trying to crawl back out of the hole you're in, feeling weak and achy but happy. Squishy fond. 

His mouth is hot under your ear, lips pressed to your skin but unmoving. He sways you gently from one side to the other, his breath hot on your face. 

You deflate in his arms, back and arms relaxing.

You snicker to yourself. "I feel like I'm made of jelly," you confide quietly. 

"Yeah?" Sirius asks, pulling his face back to look at you with sincere interest. "Hurting?"

"No, I feel nice." 

"Me too." He grins, hands coming to a stop at the small of your back. 

"Was it good? For you?" you ask. 

"Yeah, baby, s'always good with you. You're killer, you know that?" 

You tilt your chin up and he indulges you, leaning down for a slow, firm kiss. 

"I love when you're on top. You look so fucking lovely, you have no clue." 

You laugh and hold his face in your hands. "Don't get used to it, pretty boy. I'm so tired. This how you feel everytime?" you ask cheekily. 

"I've better stamina," he murmurs, weaving his arms under your arms. He digs his face into the crook of your neck and you're quick to wrap your arms around his head, crushing soft curls under your arms. "Pillow princess " 

"Excuse me?" you ask with no real vitriol, knowing it's true. Knowing that's how you both like it. 

"Maybe you'll have to run the bath this time, babe. I'm so tired," he continues. You can feel his smile, stubble scratching at your collar. 

"Why are you tired? I did all the hard work." 

"Exactly," he says. You think of all the times he's been on top and taken care of you afterwards and realise you've walked into a trap. You sigh, pained, breathing in the top of his head. He smells nice. 

"Sorry, Siri. I should be kinder to you, huh?" you ask. 

He opens his mouth. You feel his teeth scrape against your collarbone lightly as he plants a small, wet kiss into your skin. "No, sweetheart, I like you just the way you are," he says lazily. 

You shift in his hold, tired thighs screaming on either side of his, a slick mess between you both that's growing intolerable as time stretches on. 

"We really do need a bath," you say. 

"In a second," he agrees, tightening his arms around you even more. He nestles his face into your neck. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. 

"I really liked when you hooked my ankles up over your legs," you tell him, having thought about it. It makes it easier to move on him, and it feels kind of bouncy. You're mostly mentioning it because you want to know how he'd felt. 

"I liked it too," he says roughly. "Loved it, even. And when we were sitting up together." 

"Yeah, when you grabbed my hips. That was good. And I didn't have to do all the work," you add sheepishly. 

He finally pulls away from your skin so you can see his knowing smile. "I'm glad you liked it. We'll have to try it again soon, yeah? Did you have a good time?" 

"You know I did,” you say softly.

“Never hurts to ask.”

He kisses you on the forehead and you take it as your cue to climb off of him on numb legs, feeling pins and needles race from your hips to your toes. 

Sirius is quick to climb up beside you and steady you, laughing as you begin to giggle nervously. 

"I have dead legs." 

"Oh no," he says mockingly, eyes flaring. 

"Wait, Sirius, don't!" 

It's too late. He's already sweeping the legs from under you and bringing you up against his chest in a princess carry, arms like steel wrapped under your legs and back. You cling to his neck and protest all the way to the bathtub.

[darthmaulification]

Hey, I want to make a request

In your Maul’s nsfw alphabet you said that he is afraid of hurting reader during sex, right? So, could you please write smth were this happens? Thank you!!

A/N: ..... anon..... the absolute Way you have me experiencing a cataclysm with this... i am imploding... 

thank you very much for requesting this, it was also a very good and welcome challenge for me to write. 😊👍 

hope you enjoy!! 💗

content: a lil bit o’ smut!, some angst??, but also lots of comfort and fluff!!, kinda sorta implied afab!reader??, maul commits a big oopsie on accident, crying during sex, blood and injury, maul gets angry at himself, but also soft!maul 🥺, lots of kissing, happy ending of course 🥰

word count: 2,334

Maul’s vigorous thrusting is complimented deliciously by the sloppy, desperate kisses he leaves all over the skin his mouth can reach. His crimson hands grip your wrists in a vice above your head, keeping them trapped against the bed. You moan into the sheets, arching up against him, hips tilting, silently begging him to go faster, harder, please, Maul...

“Harder, sweet girl?” Maul growls teasingly from above you, answering the plea you hadn’t realized you vocalized. He obeys, and you cry out his name when his hips clash into yours, drilling his cock into you, almost causing your knees to give from the force. The obscene yet beautiful sound of skin smacking together floats into your ears, mingling with Maul’s grunts and your persistent moaning.

Maul presses against you, the fiery skin of his bare chest flush against the arch of your back. The snapping of his hips make you rock in rhythmic tandem, and with each one you feel your peak nearing. Maul groans into the dip of your shoulder blades, his breath hot on the nape of your neck, where he licks across your flushed, dewy skin and leaves wet trails.

“Say my name again, my love.” He leaves a flat-tongued lick up your neck, nibbling at your ear. One of his hands drop from your wrists and travels down your side, rough fingers igniting sparks inside you. Maul kneads your waist, your belly, before clutching your hip. The brace allows him to further pound himself into you, and you see stars.

“Maul, Maul!” You scream his name, all high-pitched and airy, the pleasure toe-curling and promising of a powerful, sweet release. Maul exhales a rather handsome laugh into your ear, golden eyes glazed over with lust and something else wild. Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him suck a love bite into the nook where your neck and shoulder meet, arching your head back and against his shoulder.

Like a prayer, his name tumbles from your lips over and over again, the lamentation pleading and desperate. Your core throbs and clenches around your lover, a telltale sign of orgasm on the horizon. Everything seems to slow down... 

But then Maul bites. Hard. Your eyes snap open.

The sinking of sharp teeth into the flesh of your shoulder is so poignant, it pierces through the thick, lustful haze and roughly pulls you back to reality. You shriek, one most certainly not out of pleasure, but actual pain. It causes Maul to abruptly pull out and back, releasing your wrists in the process. At the same time you feel the emptiness of him leaving, a white-hot fire erupts from where Maul had definitely broken the skin and you writhe.

“Ow.” The whimper escapes in one word, voice thick, as tears immediately glaze over your eyes. Blinking furiously to keep them at bay, you squirm lethargically into an upright position, sitting on your knees.

“I’m...” From behind you Maul starts to say something, but his voice cuts out when you look down over your shoulder and reach a trembling hand up to the bite. When you actually see the wound, that’s when the tears start rolling down your cheeks. It’s... bad. 

The bite is a perfect oval of teeth indents and grooves, most of them deep and bleeding, the skin around them a harsh red and raised. The skin around it is an ugly mix of crimson, dark purple bruising, and pink with irritation. The entire area is swollen and pulsing with ache. Bottom lip wobbling, you trace a hesitant finger along the edge of the bite and the touch stings. You pull your hand back with a shaky gasp.

“My love, I...” Maul starts speaking again but stops and swallows. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, and you’re not exactly sure why. The tears are falling profusely now, and you shudder back heavier sobs. The room goes dreadfully silent, save for your small, quiet cries. You can feel Maul’s stare on you, more specifically on the injury he caused.

“I hurt you. I hurt you.” He repeats to himself, the tone of his voice inscrutable. He suddenly clambers up and off of the bed, the mattress shaking gently, and you listen as his footsteps disappear out of the room. The room is left thick with pain and sorrow, and also a stewing shame that was left hovering after Maul spoke. You look back at the bite after another round of tears pours from your eyes. Oh, Maul...

Footfalls sound again, and Maul reenters the room as your examining the darkening wound, particularly the trails of blood that have by now reached your waist. His heart clenches with a terrible ache, and guilt and anger bubble to the surface, stiffening him. He hurt you, he did. Maul almost doesn’t want to approach, almost thinks he shouldn’t, but you need the bacta.

You don’t look at Maul’s face when he sits next to you, though not as close he usually would, because you’re unsure if you want to see the expression that must be on it. Instead, you focus on his hands, at the wet rag, bacta, and bandages he’s holding. You also notice how his hands are quivering.

“Can I clean it?” Maul asks in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, though he’s very obviously seething with barely capped rage. That somewhat familiar self-loathing Maul gets from time to time radiates off of him, as does guilt. You sniffle, and bob your head yes. The pain is less sharp now, but the wound still needs to be dressed.

Maul says nothing as he wipes away the almost dried blood trails, or as he very tenderly dabs at the puffy wound, or when he pauses at his teeth marks that are purpling now, or even when he smears the bacta over them. The whole time, he works mechanically and in deafening silence. By the time Maul has placed a bandage over the bite, the cooling of the bacta has numbed your shoulder to a soft, dull ache and the hurt is all but gone.

“Maul...” You start softly after you feel his hands leave you, gaze climbing up his arms to his face. The shame-ridden expression on his face makes your heart sink, how his downcast golden eyes are aflame with guilt and swirling with fury. He doesn’t look at you as you turn fully to face him, and recoils when you place a hand on his cheek. His body, ever warm, is stiff beneath your touch.

“It’s okay.” You murmur and Maul’s gaze snaps up to meet yours, the anger flaring. His square jaw tenses and he shakes off your hand.

“No, it’s not. I hurt you.” And while you see and hear that familiar wrath and that unfamiliar guilt in his expression and voice, it never occurred to you before that Maul was also afraid. It makes you misty-eyed. You shake your head, shuffling closer to him.

“No, no, no— Maul, it was an accident.” You plead, placing your hands on either side of his face, rubbing circles with your thumbs. Usually, that simple touch calms him down, but this time Maul grabs your wrists and pulls his face from your grasp.

“I hurt you.” He says again, voice a hiss as he stares at you with conflicted, pained eyes, “I fucking made you cry.”

Maul suddenly leaps up from the bed, pacing across the room to roughly grab his pants off the floor. He pulls them on swiftly, and your brows furrow when he crosses the room to grab his belt and lightsaber.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he ties his belt across his waist, clipping his saber to it. He doesn’t look at you, and turns to the door.

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you are not.” You clamber up off the bed and onto your feet, stumbling slightly as you hastily make your way over to Maul. You’re able to get in front of him, planting your hands firmly on his chest and halting him. He glares down at you, angrily, sadly, and you ground yourself at look up at him.

“Move.” He growls, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Your lips turn down in a stubborn pout. Maul’s bristling under your touch, and you know you’re walking on precarious ground. But you’ve dealt with Maul’s temper enough to not have it faze you, and you’re sure you can handle his guilt the same.

“No.” You retort and you pull yourself flush against him, arms snaking around his torso in a tight hug, your eyes closing. Pressing your cheek against his chest, you sigh at the familiar warmth you love, digging your face into his beautiful crimson and black skin. Maul doesn’t wrap his arms around you in turn. You give his sternum a gentle kiss.

“Get off.” Maul’s growled order comes out as brashly and as firmly as always, but his commandeering attitude hasn’t worked on you for years. A sudden, but small, spark of playfulness curls your lips upwards into a tiny smile. You rub your hands up and down the length of Maul’s back, feeling every tight, defined muscle and occasionally the rough edge of his scar when your hand gets low enough and your pinky fingers brush it.

“Never.” Your murmur vibrates his chest, and you hum contentedly when you finally catch the lovely beatings of Maul’s twin hearts. They thrum in alternating rhythm beneath your ear, both strong and deep.

“You’re not running from me.” You speak again, eyes still closed. Maul is quiet, though you feel him lift an arm and a tender, yet firm, hand comes to rest on the low of your back. You smile fully, lightly gliding your nails over Maul’s back in the way you know he loves. His thumb starts to rub circles on your skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“... I was scared.”

“I know.”

You look up at Maul, eyes beneath heavy lids, your smile still bright and kind on your face. The conflict in his eyes has cooled to a simmer, being replaced more and more by that boyish, starry-eyed look he gets sometimes, the one that reminds you of how much he loves you. Maul’s other hand reaches up and cups your cheek, caressing your face. You tilt your head into the touch.

“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” He teases in a low murmur, honey gold eyes glimmering with rising mirth, and you quirk an eyebrow. Your hands stop to rest on his waist, just above the band of his pants. Maul’s face starts to inch in closer and closer to yours, stopping right when his lips are just above yours.

“Mm... you might have to do some convincing.” You whisper, eyes drooping further until your irises are nearly obscured by your eyelashes. Maul chuckles low in his throat, his hand shifting to place two fingers under your chin. He tilts your head up slightly, pulls you closer against him.

“How do you suppose I accomplish that?” He asks, breath puffing on your cheeks, gaze breaking from yours when he closes his eyes. You follow suit, and the tips of both your upper lips touch.

“... I can think of one way.” You say, and you tilt your head and your jaw slackens slightly, and Maul’s lips are on yours, balmy and soft. The kiss is slow, slower than he usually does, but it’s perfect and sultry and so Maul. You hum when he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to gyrate in your mouth. He explores everywhere, relearns every touch. It’s like you’re kissing for the first time all over again, lost in each other as if the years of memorizing each other’s body melted away into oblivion. Your hands clasp his waist, his one hand moves up to your mid back, and the heated, passionate kiss ends.

Maul pulls back a little more to look at you properly, tucking your hair behind your ear, and you open your eyes from the touch. He’s wearing that satisfied, lazy grin, the one that always makes him look mischievous. 

“Do you still need more convincing?” He asks with a tilt of his head, though he knows the answer you’re going to give by the cheeky smile that spreads across your face. You giggles, eyes sparkling, and you nod.

“Lots.” And with that, Maul’s lips are on yours, stifling your laughter in his mouth. He smothers you with kisses, peppering your lips, cheeks, and jaw, and you do the same for him, kissing over and over until you’re sure your lips will fall off. At some point, Maul heaves you into his arms, carries you to the bed, and drops your bodies atop it.

You squeal with laughter when he rolls on top of you, trapping you between his thighs, nuzzling and kissing the side of your face. Your hands fumble at his shoulders, before sliding to his face to turn his head to you. He’s grinning between your hands, looking absolutely charmed, and you kiss him on the nose, breathy from laughing.

When you pull away, Maul’s panting and still grinning like a madman, but his wild eyes have gone somewhat tame, controlled. His eyes dart all around your face, like he’s analyzing each one of your features. He breathes an exhale, licks his lips, and meets your gaze.

“I love you.” And his voice is slightly raspy, but he says it with such conviction, so raw and passionate, that the intensity floors you. Sure, he’s said those words to you before, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. Your eyes go slightly misty again, and you smile sweetly, fingers rubbing the bases of his horns on his temples.

“I love you.” You reply and again, Maul sinks into you with a deep kiss, and you all but melt into each other, bodies a welcoming sanctuary for the other.

[muffindaddystyles]

DENTIST THE BAD BOI (PART2)

Word Count: 17k.

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Y/N's much tolerable when less grumpy then more kissable, more loveable and cuddleable and Harry wants to be more than just fuck buddies that he ends up giving Y/N a tooth ache.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff, smut and domestic love.

MASTERLIST | REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN | PART 1

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

Harry’s lips quirks up into a loopish smile at that and he hoists his knee up and above, sinking his palms into her soft mattress besides her temple and blocks the mellow sunshine that peeks through her lace curtains. Her heart squeezes out of her rib-bones and turns gooey somewhere within her insides as her lungs fill with his minty and warm ardour and if she'd be not this flushed and throbbing between her sticky thighs she'd have cracked a dentist joke.

“Y’want me to lick y'cookie f'ye?” He gives her a bunny grin and his fingertips tickles her shoulder; milky skin twinkling at him from the neckline of her shirt that’s barely sitting there and she pouts raising her hands to smack his chest, but he grabs them and tugs her forward, tutting sternly, “I want an answer.” His foresty pupils darkens around rims and her throat turns scratchy. So, she bobs her head up and down eagerly, feeling the metal around his fingers smouldering into her wrist and the thought of it on her clit makes her mewl.

It dings his adam apple sexily and his eyes turn soft and cheeks rosy, Harry doesn’t know what she likes or not so he’s gonna start tentative and careful and gradually ease her into taking big things after, letting her drip onto sheets for hours if she’d like him edging and teasing her.

She watches him with doe-innocent eyes and Harry almost ruts his hips against the mattress from the way his cock twitches weepily -- sensitive against the fabric of his joggers.

He keeps their intense eye contact while sliding back down between her legs and cares his calloused warm palms under the back of her cushiony fleshy thighs and bends her knees up, his eyes flicker towards her tummy that exposes to him when she stretches out gracefully in reaction to his tingling touch.

Making sure she’s alright, his nimble taps her ankle and when she breathes out a whiny “yes.”,

He gropes the insides of her thighs and spreads them apart and presses them down letting her make puny noises when the cool air teases her folds, she smells so good for him, “Already such a puddle, Muffy. G'na gimme a sugar rush from ye'sweetness.” He darts his pink tongue out to moisturize his petal lip and his grunt pleased and heavy upon seeing her gush more arousal just from listening him talk.

He spreads her swollen pussylips apart with his middle and pointer finger and her chin tips towards the ceiling, mouth apart around a gasp when he glints a smirk towards her all while poking his tongue out and flattening it against her clenching entrance and licks her juices up.

“Does it feel good?” He hums nonchalantly nosing at her little button and paints his lips with her wetness. She stays a bit stiff. Not making any move and staying put in her position. Harry takes her clit between his teeth when she whimpers out and her body turns taut, her hands balling at her sides.

“Y've t’use y’words with me, moppet. It works two ways, always.” His hands reaches blindly for her wrists and he puts them over his poof of hair but it remains fisted and he rubs his big hands up and down where her thighs meets her sweet cunt, “Try t’ relax. Can y'do that fo'me, pet?”

His brows pinches together into a frown. His glistening lips from her turning into a grumpy pout when she doesn’t respond — was he unable to make her feel hot and excited? she should tell him if she didn’t like it.

“Y/N ...” He raises his head slowly from between her thighs and his jaw goes slack, his eyes bursting wide seeing her holding her breath and hiding her face underneath her forearm, “Shit. Shit. Y/N!” He’s quickly crawling towards her and sliding his hand under her back, brings her to his chest with his fingers wrapped around the nook of her elbow.

“Breathe, Sweetheart. ‘s okay.” Is this what she was talking about? Is this why she has specific days for touching herself? Poor bambi. He massages her back with tender circles and sighs in relief when he feels her chest calming down back to normal.

“Y/N ...” He pushes her away from shoulders to look down at her sternly and takes her hair into his grasp and slinks them to side, “What’s happenin’ with ye'muffy?” He gives her a downturn of lips and quirk of brow indicating her that there isn’t any escape for this time.

For fuck’s sake! He’s her bestfriend. He should know atleast that she’s alright!

He gauges for her eyes when she presses her palms into his knees and lifts her bum a tad from the sheets, shy embarrassment turning the tips of her ears pink, manipulating her toffee lip in her mouth and Harry pushes back the hair that are falling in her eyes.

She’s feeling hell load giddy and humiliated to tell him this.

Harry startles back, blinking rapidly when she squeaks out in one breath, “’M scared to hurt you!” He pulls her forward with his hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and frowns.

His touch with her tender and un-conceit, when usually he’s a domineering in bed and riles them enough for them to beg and moan pathetically for him.

“What? Scared ---.. hurt?” He tries to piece what she said together but it doesn’t make any sense. So, he guesses that he'd have to pry some more from her, “What're ye' talkin' bout muffy?” He sighs noticing the way she clenches the hem of her shirt and mumbles something but Harry’s giving her a piercing glare and it makes her ramble anxiously.

His hand affixed at her skimmed from under her shirt and his thumb keeps on circling her hip-bone.

“’M afraid that I’ll get all horny ‘n loose all my senses and be all rough with you, ending up hurtin'y and I’ll be too engulfed in pleasure that you wouldn’t be able to stop me ....” She fiddles her fingers vigorously in Harry’s hand and he's cutting her with a tut, “That’s the point silly girl.” He chuckles amused at her and she shakes her head whining up at him with a surly expression. The corners of her eyes pinkish and watery from forcing herself to feel the pleasure Harry’s tongue was devoting her.

“But, Harry ‘m not some insatiable monster!!” His heart thuds at the concerned worrisome look on her angelic features and he’s cupping her cheeks, he curses out internally to whoever told her this and his lip grouches up, “You’re not some insatiable monster. Who the fuck fed you this bullshit?” He scolds her and it makes her fleet her gaze away from him.

“You’re not —-... what the fuck, Y/N. Tell me their name so I could break their jaw.” He gasps in shock and he spits in venom. Knuckling at her chin to prop it high infront of him and doesn’t break the cogent eye contact -– his eyes full of hatred and loath for the person.

That damn person who made his Bambi, so insecure and conscious and self-degrading about herself.

“The guy –,” She stutters. He gives her an encouraging hum and she plays with his rings, she knows that he’ll never make fun of her about it and mighty be understanding.

He has always been.

But sometimes he laughs at the worst moments. Not his fault. She has adopted that habit too from living with him.

Right now though. He looks very serious and furious, it creeps heat up her throat.

“The guy I lost my virginity to. He said – he ... umm said that I hurt him when I flipped him underneath me and was being selfish asking him to you know ...?” She mumbles, uncertain if she’s putting it out right and Harry runs his fingers through his curls gripping at the roots and groans in annoyance, properly vexed.

“Firstly muffy. Virginity isn’t a thing. It’s a term made by egoistic men like that prick of a guy, secondly did he make you cum?” His voice tones down gentle and caring. He lays her down and settles her head on the pillow and she's still fisting his shirt in her hands.

He grimaces when she shakes her head, her eyes owlish and glossy pointing down, “Everything was so dry that I wasn’t able to enjoy it ...” She winces remembering it and Harry cradles her face cooing delicately, “Oh Bambi. It was, ‘cos ye' weren’t aroused enough.” But, she’s now. With Harry ontop of her and being all warm and lovey and handling her as if she’s fine china, she could feel gooey wetness sticked to her thighs.

For first time in her life. She feels relaxed and light headed talking about it.

So, she continues, “ .. and it was bit disgusting, he came all over my tummy ‘cos he didn’t have a condom.” At this he grumps, his nostrils flares and pinches the bridge of his nose to keep him sane, “What a cheap bastard!” She giggles at his outrage and he just gives a fluttery smile to her shaking his curls.

He pets the sheen on her cheek away and gazes her sincerely, “You shouldn’t trust everyone and anyone, pet. ‘S a cruel world out there.” The fact that if he’d have came inside her boils Harry’s blood -- she'd have gotten the worst thing happen to her.

He just feels so protective of her. If he’d be able to keep her safe under his shield to scare away bastards like that guy he gladly will.

“Now, hear me Bambi eyed. We never have unprotected sex with strangers and never let ‘em make y’feel bad fo' wantin’ t’be pleasured .. if two people consent fo' it then both ‘ve to fulfil eachother’s desire. Am I clear?” His tone gruff and firm. She suckles her lower lip inside her mouth and nods quickly.

Something about him commanding and lecturing her making a fire fuse in the pit of her tummy and it makes her salivate down a whimper, which sure didn’t go unnoticed by Harry’s side and his lips are quirking into vivacious grin.

He’s retreating back between her legs keeping a cautious gaze on her as if she’s a prey and one move will wither her away, “’N fo’ being rough. I like it rough. Y'could d'all of that with me without being embarrassed.” His smirk dripping with wickedness and Y/N’s head jerks back at the thought of him seeing forward to do more of this with her.

His palm lays sturdy and pressed to her belly, his puckering lips against the inside of her thigh parts around a silent groan when he feels her belly quiver.

He embeds slobbery kisses to where she’s clenched impatiently for him and he pushes his fingers against her clit and slides them up and down between her puffy folds, love creating soppy filthy noises and gives a kitten lap to her then attaches his lip to her smudgy hole murmuring against her breathily to make her feel the electricity till her core.

“Will love havin' ye'tiny fingers pullin' at me hair with a swimy brain. Buckin'y hips into my mouth begging me to ruin yer cunt with my tongue and ‘ave me dancin' on y'palm, extractin’ out glutinous grunty moans within me chest -- it’ll not be just moans, no! —- a viscous toe curlin' sound that’d rumble savagely in my throat a warning fo’ you to keep these gorgeous thighs open fo' me to eat you out as I wish and my large hands will belt ‘round y'waist digging my nails into your dimples when you'll scratch my back ‘n it’ll leave angry marks behind — a reminder fo’ you how much I fuckin' loved you being horny as the deepest burnin' of hells.” She’s panting and sobbing for a cusp of breath manoeuvring her fingers in the tufts of his silky mess of curls and tugs at it and shoves her cunt, grinding against his chin. The softness of his cheeks glittering her bones and she’s falling wider apart from him, and he grins.

Noses at her throbbing clit and sucks it in her mouth and massages her pussy with her own lubrication and how much he picks it on his tongue she’s ready to give him more and he’s moaning with fierce ruby lips wrapping around her fluttering pussy folds, moving his mouth every where and it elicits a choppy whine from her.

“Fuck. Look at'y ... s'innocent but such a dirty little girl fo' me.” He dips his fingers merely into her and swipes up a cardinal push against her spongey wall and treats it back.

It’s too much for, Y/N. Everything. His wanton words better than those audios, his warm tongue on her and the strength of his arms holding her down, his flushed out cheeks and the teasing and teetering he's doing to give her an orgasm that sprays cosmic stars into her fogginess and she doesn’t even know that cloy moans of, “yes.yes.yes.” are dripping from her and he’s boring his face back into her when he latches away from her sweet pussy with the help of his elbow.

“I want you to say it.” There’s pause in the string of her racing heart and her brows hitches in confusion, though he doesn’t give her enough time and moves her pussylips apart letting his nails graze at them gently.

She’s squealing in surprise and jolting up with exhilarating sensation when he spits at her and watches it trickle down her bum, thick and honeyed with lust-fond eyes.

She’s erupting into startled moans when he grunts spitting again and makes her little cunt the messiest thing, “Say it. Say that yer dirty little —-,” She cuts him with a sharp and whiny yawp and plunges her nails into his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.

“I’m a dirty little girl, f'you. Just you. Just you. Just you ....” Her voice tones down into coy whispers stuffed to the pillow as her body anchors stintingly from her bed and Harry’s hand slides from her torso down her ass and gropes at it keeping her coupled to his mouth as she coats his chin and his lips and his cheeks with her cum and his own spit and he’s murmuring grittily, “Yeah moppet. Mhmp. Come in me mouth. Fill it all, such a good girl.” He nips and tucks at her making her satiate through her high and places a kiss to her clit for the last time when she thrashes from sensitiveness before moving away.

“Sensitive lil thing ye'r.” He murmurs rubbing her thighs to coax her down and feels goosebumps prick on her skin, glances up and finds her a beautiful colour of pink and peach and her hair nested as a halo on the pillow.

She’s just so beautiful in many ways, it aches his heart.

He’s flopping to her side and poking her cheek earning a tick of ravenous smile and he watches as her irises moves under her closed lids.

“That was ... hmm.” She hums sluggishly knuckling at her eyes and Harry muses out a chuckle, before she could come up with a dentist joke he's cracking it himself sensing her gears working in that tiny head of hers, “Very filling?” That makes her hide her face into his neck and giggle.

“Yeah. Could say that.” She rests her chin on his shoulder and poses her brows questioningly when his stuffy pocket pokes at her thigh, “What’s that?” He didn’t realise he was too swamped in admiring the specks of her hazelness pouring with sunlight and he’s blinking back to re-start himself.

“Oh! This ..?” He’s taking out it slowly and she’s whining and shaking him to hurry up and he’s giggling at how impatient she could get when curious.

She holds it infront of her and it’s a cute green beanie with a little gucci embroidered at where it gets folded and her smile dejects when Harry speaks, “One of my colleagues gifted me this as a birthday present.” Why didn’t she thought about gifting him this for his birthday? Not that she has money for Gucci but they've been celebrating for three years and not once she didn’t get an idea that he wears beanies alot and mighty would like it?

Anyway, it’s far better than the painting of snowy and a mason jar filled with candy wrappers having her appreciations and dentist jokes written to their backside she gifted him, Y/N pouts thinking how she could’ve get him something useful.

Harry doesn’t care about materialistic things. He says that you could buy them anytime and that money is just the murk of your palm, it goes away in one wash -- the little shows of affection always are by your side in hard times.

“Hey Muffy...” He's yawning nudging her side noticing how she zones out and away from him, “D'ya have some chamomile tea?” Her chin slips from her shoulder at the sudden rasp.

“What? Why?” She gazes him. His body slumpy and tired over her and his mouth ajar cutely, she scratches his scalp lightly and swears that he let out the softest purr.

“Was in the operation theatre fo' hours now, just came from there -- emergency case. It was bad.” He emphasizes it getting a lisp a bit and she sits up closer to him.

“What happened to the person? She asks hoping they’re okay and have any hopes for recovery.

He just fiddles away the beanie from her grip and covers her head with it folding and adjusting it over her ears, “Not tellin' ya ...” He murmurs rubbing his nose into her arm and sniffs her saccharine scent. He knows that she doesn’t take the stories from his workplace well and it keeps her awake at nights, then she’s visiting the patient herself and Harry have to drag her out of his hospital every damn time.

She cares too much. Even for strangers. She’s too kind for her own sake and Harry thinks sometimes being selfish should be the latter option.

He squints open his one eye feeling her gaze fixated on him and huffs a lil, his little stubborn bambi, she wouldn’t let it go, “Fine. They were comin' back from a party and were high maybe -- car crashed badly dentin' towards the passenger’s side ‘n totally dislocated her jaw, now y’promise me you aren’t gettin' too worrisome ‘bout her because she’s okay.” Saying this he's cuddling back into her and she smiles a bit petting his back.

“Whatever, you say Dr. Styles.” He didn’t even need a tranquilizing tea anymore. Her warmth and squishiness was more than enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

..

It’s an otiose Saturday morning. Harry and Y/N just gobbled down oatmeal she made (topped with kiwis, mangoes and strawberries Harry brought from market and threw the bag in her lap) it had too much of coconut and sugar layer than necessary, according to Harry.

While she cleaned the countertops Harry fed and kissed the crowns of each one of their cat, yet again they were left with nothing to do —- that's how Y/N ended up straddling his waist, his jaw fit in her palm and his eyes half-open funnily as she applies a liner at his lid with her pink tongue poked out in concentration.

“Stop movin’,” She snits out in a huff and the skirts of his lips alleviates up into a cheeky evil grin, his hands pawing at her hips and his intentionally dirty gaze flitters down where her nipples are perking from the flimsy shirt and almost presses to his throat, “How'm supposed to when y’tits are ready to lactate me mouth?” Blush creeps up at her cheeks at his overweening and she wanted to give out an “Oh.” Instead grips his baby curls and steadies him, squishing his cheek in doing so as if he’s her toy.

“You better shut up, or ‘m gonna shove my feet up that smug mouth of yours.” She grumps to her own self when her fingers begins to twitch feeling her ear fill with hotness, “And what makes y’think ‘m not into that?” He rockets his brows priggishly with a grin that just screams he’s about to have a upper hand in this banter of their.

“Harry you disgraceful, man!” She whines trying to pull his face upright – he’s doing it on purpose trying to push her buttons and his eyes widens in feign hurt, “’M a very holy man!” His one eye adorned with charcoal coloured liner making him look adorable.

He’s far from any of that. They both know it. He’s a nerd slut if Y/N could put into words correctly.

“Yeah. Holy piece of a shit.” She grumbles pressing her bent knee into his side and quips a happy “Tada!!” grabbing the little from beside him and almost shoves it in his face demanding him to look at himself.

Harry brings his lips together and whistles looking at himself, “My murals should be painted everywhere in the city,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Nibbling down a scoff at his narcissism desperate to jump out and points at herself with a shrug of shoulders -- silently trying to telepath with him.

“What?” He murmurs nonchalantly angling his face to have a better look at him.

“Where’s the praise for artist?”

“Why need't when y'know ‘m an art myself.” His rims shine shamelessly and he nips the flesh of his cheek to stifle down a bashful cackle at her retort.

“You’re being too bold for a person who combusts in his pants just by getting his back scratched.” She arches her brow pruriently at him and he shakes his head, brushing the belly of his nose with his knuckle and when he gazes back at her -- she knows that she’s fucked fucked.

“Says who. The dirty little girl who's sitting on her bestfriend’s cock in her panties and shirt that’s doin’ nothin' but makin'y nipples button out shamelessly.” He tuts carnally, sinking into the plush cushions and man-spreads himself so wide Y/N could feel him pressing between her folds. His smirk rottenly sinful and evil and Y/N's palm automatically jams against his torso with a weepy mewl forehead falling against his clavicles.

She wanted to argue that he’s clad in boxers too but all of her sanity went out of the window when he teasingly grinded their crotches together.

“Y'want t'be treated like a bunny, who loves to hop on dick and fucked till you’re just a soft mush -- don't ya?” His hoarse drawl makes her bob her head eagerly making him chuckle and she’s tightening her thick thighs around his waist, hiding her face into the dive of his nice warm smelling neck and keeps her lips sponged to his skin making him grip on her hips with brutal force.

She’s just so sweet to Harry. A hot pink puddle at his mere touch and all clingy to him, shrinking into him with shyness and all of this just stirs his cock angrily sensitive.

He’s always getting a stiffy thinking about her and her honeyed taste he got to lap on and he's always smelling one of his pillows that has her fragrance loaded on it, while cupping his balls and stroking his cock lazily and hard, with other.

Though his assertive words wavers into a whimperish groan when Y/N takes her face out and gazes him with doe-warm eyes, “I w'na make you feel good.” Harry throbs under her and fattens against his own belly and feels her soaking against his boxers.

“Y'do? ‘s okay —.” His chest heaves with ragged breathes from anticipation and yearn and he knows that taking care of himself would be a torture if she’d tell him a, “no.” But then he isn’t that of a prick and is awfully happy to get what he’s getting, their infinite proximity.

His head teeters back and his pelvis buckles up when she clutched the hem of his sweatshirt and uttered a poutsih, “please..” She’s nourishing a breath and gazing up at him with glossy chocolate eyes blabbering while swivelling herself slowly ontop of him, “You’re looking s' pretty and cato eyes -—.. and you’re stuffed against me s'good. I want –- I want to make y'feel amazing.” Harry’s choking a growlish moan and the urge to just throw her on couch and snug his large cock deep within her.

Her brows pinches together and she has him grabbed from shoulders while she looks between them, listening to his purry hisses and lewd moans, it makes her redden her lip –- she could see his bulbous sherbet coloured tip coated in his own arousal wrestling out of his boxers as the fabric bunches and loosens down with each stroke of her cunt against him.

“Y'want to make me feel, amazin'? Fuck. You’re devastatin' me love -- yeah, mhmph hump me prick moppet.” Her eyelids lust filled and she moans against his chin as he breathes out a euphoric smile and Y/N gains a new confidence pushing herself down on his cock harder and firmer and faster.

The fabric of his boxers tickling his wet slit and he’s smushing his cheek into her soft chest, hugging and murmuring nonsense against her when Y/N sneaks her hand down and fills her hands with his heavy cum loaded balls and Harry doesn’t know how she was able to press him under the pad of her pinky in a span of minute.

Because he’s begging all for her mercy.

He howls a whine when she sucks his earlobe wetly and grazes it to speak in the sweetest yet licentious seductiveness and Harry’s almost naked under her, “Jeez. Hmm. Yes, just like that –- Bambi. My Bambi. Makes me feel — oh fuck!” His knuckles white from where he's groping the cheek of her ass and guiding her where her mound nudges him more good and drafts him straight to heaven.

“Tell me, huh. Who’s the dirty one now?” She smirks squeezing his balls yanking the sweaty ringlets on the base of his neck and they’ve their bodies on eachother, their hands on eachother and Y/N had an audacity to compete.

He’s trashing his spine into a curve and pulling her back down on his dick. She squeals when his cock grazes her pantie line and slips up and down against her cushiony thigh slobbering it with his pre-come.

“Me, me! Fuck .. pet, ‘s me ...” His hand tightens around her ribs and his hand tightens around her ribs and he’s dragging her back and forth -- socked toes curling and teeth gnawing at the pudding of her cheek. His thighs quaking and his strong forearms brings her closer to his chest, as the pressure coils in his stomach and the gentle caress and guttural bite on the slop of his collarbone was enough to burst spurts of cum in his boxers and it quenches onto his tummy and to the inside of her thighs making a sloppy mess.

“Shit.” He mutters through a chuckle. His chin butted atop her head and she giggles moving away.

Her shirt ridden up, her panties bunched up into her ass-cheeks and Harry admires her with a celestial flush on his skin and she circles her fingers together.

She just rode his prick dry and looks like she did the most innocent thing in the world.

“’M g'na go clean myself.” Harry smiles at her squealing pitch and then realization dawns upon him, she’s talking about his jizz on her tickling her skin getting flustered and knackered feeling it. Though, it’s not only his jizz but her panties are drenched into her own salvation making it see through and her wet pussy on display.

He just gulps and nod, like an atta puppy.

..

Lavish green leaves rustles together, the soil of green-belt moist and watered recently, early morning sky swirls of blues and it’s beautiful it really is the weather isn’t too sunny – the silence in his car is comforting too and the rum of his breath makes her feel nostalgic.

But, she wanted to sleep her arse off on Sunday and do nothing and be proud of being idle whole day. Harry had different plans though –- he was jumping on her bed making her wobble on it in her sleepy state and dragged her to washroom how much she whined and fought with him.

“Oh. C’mon now, muffin .. it’ll be fun, Ni would be there too.” He tries to reason her and she just brings her knees up into her and closes her eyes, muttering in monotone.

“Nothing’s fun about golfing, Harry.” It’s little get together of his colleagues and the doctors from his hospital and Harry thought he'd die from boredom if he wouldn’t bring her with him, he isn’t one bit of interested into old men talking about how their third wife drools over them – he isn’t very fond of lies.

“Not even me? How could y’say no to me?” He gasps dramatically. Scrunched his nose and twitches his lips in fake offend.

She opens her eyes for a moment and stares at him, “Just like that,” Pinches his elbow and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Harry, no.”

“Yeah, Whatever.” He rolls his lips between his fingers and takes a turn and when they reach he's putting sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, unfolding her arms that are wrapped around herself and nudges her to be less grumpy.

“’Ve a reputation yeah .. be less frumpy.” She pokes her tongue out and Harry lurches his hand forward scaring her that he'd grab it.

“Those dilfs already kisses the tips of my shoes.” She hops out of the car and clasps her hands atop of her head stretches out and yawns out loudly.

Harry’s head perks up alarmingly at that from the boot of his car and he swings the golfing kit on his shoulder and rolls his eyes from under his sunnies, pushing her forward with a small hand on her back.

“Yeah, more like grandpas.” The thought just makes him feel icky and utterly gross – imagining those old doctors —- no he completely wants to brain wash himself.

“Bet, their willies would need heavy assistance —-,” He’s grinning abrasively down at her and she winced swatting his chest, “Harry!” She’s wiggling out of his hold and striding towards where Niall is waving them in utter excitement.

Harry pouts and stomps behind her, calling out for her to slow down and scowls when a grin makes a way at her face as Niall hugs her.

Niall showed her his little nips and tricks. While Harry looked at them with needy eyes from far stuck between the bunch of boring doctors and dentists and his lips visibly downturns when Niall trips and Y/N’s falling on her bum, clutching onto her side with a belly aching laugh.

Ni helps her stand back and it was when a women in pink sports short and Nike tee trudged towards them and Harry at the same moment and Y/N just stares with confusion as they hug and she’s smiling up at him brightly.

“Sorry. I lost the time check.” Harry’s parting away with a shrug, “Not tha' somethin’ special occurred.” and Y/N’s doe-curious eyes remains fixed on them and he's introducing the unknown women to her and Niall’s poking her side to revive her back to mighty world.

“Muffy? She’s one of my colleagues, Holly.” Y/N startled a bit then gives out a nervous smile forwarding her hand to shake it with her and Holly’s pony flails comically from the action.

Soon, she’s turning her attention back towards Harry and smiling up at him questioningly, “Did you rest well after leaving the hospital on Friday?” Y/N just fumbles with Harry’s rings on her knuckles -- not sure if she should go back to golfing with Niall or stay to take part in little conversation because Niall is growing very antsy.

“Yeah. I did, actually .... very well if y'ask so,” Harry's shimmering gaze lurks back on Y/N and she internally groans when he smirks remembering the event and she wants to glare him from the side of her eye.

She’s stepping aside quickly when Holly passes by them and towards the table full of breakfast and beverages.

She pours two cups of coffee and adds two teaspoon of sugar, handing one to Harry and Y/N wants to retort that he doesn’t like coffee and hell not that amount of sugar.

“And Y/N what would y'like coffee, tea?” Holly asks her and Y/N just chuckles gingerly when Harry looks ike he's about to gag when he takes the first sip.

“I don’t drink coffee.” Holly looks like she just saw the end of the world and Y/N holds back from rolling her eyes at her, she's giving her an aura that she doesn’t like Y/N even a bit.

“No? Why?”

“Guess I never needed that much caffeine, my job doesn’t require staying up late and all that ...” Holly sips on her coffee and leans against a chair raising a her brow at her and then asks.

Her style being uptight and arrogant just not sitting right with, Y/N.

“What is your profession?” This ferals Y/N into her thinking pot, is that even a profession? She doesn’t really know and she’s in her own headspace when Harry’s soft eyes worms back to his bambi and his eyes glints with ever proud and his smile toothy and bunny as he puts the cup aside speaking with a hint of fond.

“She’s an artist. A very talented one.” Holly arches her brow at him and hums then looks back at her -- as if she didn’t heard him right.

“So, you make art for living?”

“I do it beacuse I like doing it, just like you.” Y/N chips up and Harry just thinks his admiration grows terribly more every day for her -- because of the passion about anything she holds in that big heart of hers, the way her cheeks rubies up and brows sets into concentration.

That shuts Holly and her train of personal irritating questions.

“Hey! We aren’t here fo' some princess tea party -- can we please, go back to golfing!?” Niall finally bursts like a balloon from annoyance and Y/N's giggling and hooking her arm into his elbow, “You’re sucha cry baby.” She coos and tries to walk him back to pitch but then her gait stutters when Holly asks Harry in an expectant tone.

“Did you like my present?” Why does it layers her chest with mucky awful feeling, her stomach itself tottering and she just huffs thinking how that present sits in her drawer and she’s the one that wears it instead of Harry.

“Oh, I liked it, thank you.” Fucking liar. Y/N just shakes her head and chuckles ironically because he forgot about it the moment he gave it to her.

Y/N’s toes itches with an impulse to expose Harry infront of her.

Where’s that feisty Harry ready to bite anyone expect her and his little group of friends? What did this job do to him? Oh my goodness! Why Y/N is hating all of this so much, why why why!?

Y/N's completely being an over dramatic (she knows that) but she couldn’t help but be bitter about this Holly “oh I could woo Harry just by giving him some beanies from an overly expensive brand.” Gahk! Not in a millennia.

“’Kay, pet now you make yer goal.” Niall shouts squinting to get rid of sunlight in his eyes and Y/N was so engulfed in thinking of how the slight interest and undivided attention of Harry towards Holly makes her feel woozy and something that’s indescribable, until now. That’s when someone came behind her bended figure she – almost making her squeal but he’s shushing her sweetly -- the corner of his lips pressing to the side of her hairline and he takes in her fresh lilies scent.

Two soft beautiful boned structure hands comes raking from her shoulders down her wrists, jostling her almost as he wraps his hands around her sweaty ones and brings the golf club back in air.

“Let's fill those holes together,” His smooth rasp prickles the hair on her body in a most stinging way and she's subsiding down a blush, frowning and unfrowning to concentrate back on playing -- but it’s a fucking torture when his bulging member prominent from his tight little shorts lines up against her bum teasingly.

He was very aware of the big problem that stood between them and she’s turning with his arms still on either side of her -- doing a little knocking on his chest to gain his attention.

“You’ve —-... umm ..” She stammers. Cheeks peachy and her smile nervous. Harry hums in dither gazing down at her softly and that flusters her to living heavens.

Then his eyes follows where she’s staring in curiosity and gentleness and as if she’s ready to take him in her mouth right then and there.

He’s got a stiffy and that in public!

“Oh shit. Sorry, I wasn’t awa —-,” He's creating a little distance between them but she’s quick to grab the hem of his shirt and pulling him closer back to her, “No. No. ‘s okay. I could ‐—.. I could help you ....,” She mutters in a tizz with a hitchy breath and Harry’s dimples indents, cushy smile dancing on his lips and his pinky’s swiping the loose tresses behind her ear.

“If you want to...” She doesn’t know what’s making her more anxious the fact he'll brush her off or that he'll accept her help, but this latter option fills her insides with gales of mushiness and it makes her unsettle her footing.

“I’d love that.” He grins and she’s smiling up at him and Harry screams internally like a teenager at how she manages to be so tender and silken like a gorgeous doll in the most filthiest situations.

He keeps her infront of him to hide the potential tent in his shorts that appeared from no-where, he's being sly and clearly knows that where it came from --- from gawking her peach ass till it wasn’t printed in his mind and he didn’t even know when he was drooling at the thought of squishing her asscheeks and rolling his thumb against her puckering hole and imagining her cute lil whines for him to bore down his thumb into her till she feels his lion ring against her flesh, throwing her hips at him more —- shut up!

Though when the group of men stops them with their evil gazes on his little bambi and they’re smirking up at Harry in mischievousness, “Where you sneakin' Y/N too?” They hollered and Harry had to ball his hand on her hips and bite back from rolling his eyes sharply and rudely,

Because who the fuck they’re to ask? He could take her anywhere and why they do act like they fucking know Y/N from summat eternity, that makes him want to snap at these snobs and warn them not to ever take a step near her.

Ofcourse, he’s very well aware that their intentions towards his sweet bestfriend are evil and filthy -- he wants to punch each one of them at that.

“Just to show ‘er the lake behind,” He's giving them a tight lipped smile and leaving them baffled without giving them more to talk and Y/N giggles at his huffy-ness and pets his knuckles feeling his skin beginning to fume and turn hot against her neck.

Moments later, he's sitting on the bench of empty steam room carmine lips parted and plush are mooched to Y/N's upper belly, his long arms tipsy around her thighs and hair floppy caramel and his palm splays on the side of her waist under her shirt coveting his nails lightly into her pudgy skin – as her soft hand stays dipped into his shorts and she strokes him in gradual pace.

He’s jerking back hitting his head against the vertical mirror that covers the whole wall when she presses her thumb into his palpating tip of cock to coax out his white stickiness and uses it to coat and lube his dick and caress it, “’S’okay c’mere, honey. You’re okay.” She coos cupping the nape of his neck and brings him back to let him bury his face into her pulpy body and kisses his hair, sliding her hand under his jaw to soothe him.

Harry moans uncontrollably and tries to muffle them with choked sobs upon hearing her go all soft on him and he thinks, “honey” Is his new favourite word from now on coming from her mouth and he wants to be called honey from her all the time.

She doesn’t know where the confidence of sweet talking to him came from but the menace for Holly and her being overly sugary with him, just poked her in weird place and she wants to claim where he belongs.

To her.

Always her.

“Bet, your big cock was all achy and weepy for my attention.” She pouts slopping all the way down to his chubby shaft and tightens her grip jerking him speedily. Harry bobs his head vigorously and eagerly hugging her ever close and babbles wetly so she scratches his scalp and almost raises her hips into him when his happy and satisfied mewls fuses into her ears.

“Been —-.. been, fuck!” He gasps bolting shut his eyes when she widened her slick palm down and massaged his heavy taut balls – shaking them playfully with a giggle bitten down her throat, “Been thinkin' ‘bout you whole lot – yer such a doll.” He sighs and she sponges a peck to the side of his forehead.

“Yeah?” Her eyes glints with adore and meekness for him and when he nods with euphoric slipped eyes and rosy cheeks snuggling himself into her she mighty cried a lil.

“G’na cum for me? In my hand? Been treating you so good, honey. Love your cock –- always oozy and slick for me and your moans —- can y'moan fo' me? Show them on whose pinky you’re wrapped on.” She’s breathless but the tenderness and fondness in her voice never fades and Harry’s almost tomato grinding his hips on the bench fucking himself into her palm and brags his teeth together hissing through it.

“G'na cum. G’na cum fo'y and —- oh!” Guttural heavy loud moans are eliciting down his tongue and he’s groaning and whimpering and thrashing under Y/N shooting his gloopy spunk inside her palm and she doesn’t stop, coating his whole eternity with his own cum and digs out some more droplets from his tummy to soak into the pride that she’s the reason he’s this fucked up and ravenous and shaking under her.

She’s throwing her legs on either side of his thighs next and he’s gazing at her intensely from under his thick lashes with lovingness all slumped against the mirror and she’s ducking down to stitch her nose up against his nose and giving him an eskimo kiss and Harry’s lips accommodating back for a nice breather are tingling to lean in and place them on hers in a dotting heart swarming kiss but a knock's interrupting them and she’s quipping back a squeal and jumping on her toes.

Guess she'd just clean her fingers by licking them since there’s no water.

..

Y/N was painting one of her commission works and for her coming exhibition when Truggers came meowing at her and scraping onto floor, “What d'you want bub?” She asks wiping her fingers on the rag and puts the brush into water cup.

She follows Truggers to their bassinet and almost slips straining her ankle from rushing panicked towards Tum who's jerking in his sleeping position.

She hawks in shock, fear and trembling horror. Her ears deafening. She’s shouting at him and shaking him with tears in her eyes, “Tums? Tummies? Baby!! Wake up!” She cries but the cat doesn’t respond.

“No. No. No!!” She shakes her head sobbing loudly bringing her knees up to her chest and holds her head in her hand not knowing what to do, she calls Rori and she doesn’t even know how much time passed and Rori's hugging her and comforting her taking other kittens to room so they don’t see Tums.

“Call Harry! Call him, please, please, please .... Rori ....” She sobs feeble and painful into Rori's neck and she shushes Y/N. She really tries to but she knows that only Harry could manage to calm her down and she rings him many many times but he doesn’t pick up.

“Harry! I’ve been calling you for ages for fuck’s sake where are you?” So, when he's excusing himself telling that he was having lunch and Holly’s voice is booming through Rori's phone Y/N’s heart drops and shatters into gazillion pieces.

She may not be in right mind, but she’s seriously hurt because Harry never in million years ignore her calls.

Guess having lunch was far important than her or her calls.

It just makes her cry more.

“Wait. What’s happening?” Goosebumps layers on his skin when he hears Y/N crying and he walks away without telling Holly he’s heading out.

“Harry ... Tums, he died in his sleep.” Harry halts in his tracks. Staring at the parking sign blankly and his eyes fills with tears and his breath shudders as he tries to speak, “’M coming.”

..

Rori left and took Tums with her after tucking Y/N in bed and making sure she’s okay.

Her ears perks up when the door clicks softly accompanied by low sniffles and it pools more moisture in her eyes and the tears trick down her chin and onto pillow — because hearing him cry is just so agonising.

“Muffy ...” The mattress dips behind her and he’s scooching close to her planting his cheek against her shoulder.

His warmth melts her but she recoups wiping her eyes dry and wavers in a thorny voice, “Go away.” She distances herself from him and turns stiff.

“Moppet, please ...” He protests and she hampers herself from snapping at him.

“Go away, Harry. Leave!!” She's muffling her cries into pillow and when she faces him – Harry's chin wobbles because his muffy looks terrible and awfully sad and it’s breaking him weakly and perfectly.

“Why don’t y'go back to whatever you were doing with Holly!” She gasps moistly for a breather and Harry stands up, nose red and runny and eyes bloodshot.

“Jus’ say yer’ jealous.” He wants to be fierce with her about what she said but his voice barely comes out without being shaky and his heart is full of sorrow.

“And if I say I’m, then what?” She’s pathetically hiccupping (continuously) so much her neck hurts and she has never sound so uncertain and pleading and expectant to know if he might love her?

That if there’s something more between them than just providing eachother pleasure and being eachother’s missing half when they were lonely.

More, than just two bestfriends being eachother’s back of the hand.

He doesn’t respond and she shouts for him to stop and answer her and throws a cushion towards him, but he just leaves her to it.

Harry’s just worried she isn’t ready to take either of his confessions well.

..

Snowy sits in her lap. Max and Luna (Rori's girlfriend) are wrestling onto the mattress they took from Harry's bed and laid on the floor, (which he'd grump about when he'll be too pissy to move it back in the late night).

He’s been cranky and acting proper ratty with anyone and everyone he comes to interact with since that day.

He felt like his world turned upside down because now everything’s just against him, his milk gets soggy every morning and all of his socks and hoodies are at his little thief's home and snowy takes revenge from him for hurting Y/N by pissing on his shoes everytime he’s about to leave.

Cherry on creamy top!

He just couldn’t stop thinking about his bambi and might have chewed his fourty years old assistant ears with his rambling of Y/N and his endearment for her and unfortunately he just ficked up bad.

“’M so hungry. If Ni will cheat another round on me, I’ll be munching on his toes!!” Y/N exclaims huffing out and kicking Niall in shin as they were playing Mario cart and he’s been winning for an hour just by his cheating tricks.

They all got together after many days at Harry’s flat while he was at the duty and he promised them that he’d bring pizzas with him and now it’s almost 12 and they’re waiting and waiting in anticipation for him to arrive.

When the door knob jiggles everyone’s jumping up and scrambling closer to the door because they all are that hungry and Harry’s hands are piled with pizza boxes, soon their hungry excited expressions are dulling into annoyance and viscid displeasure when Holly peeks from behind Harry.

Still all of them manage to plant fake smiles and everyone’s greeting her.

“What took you guys s'long?” Y/N speaks lowly through a forced smile the one that doesn’t reaches her eyes and doesn’t make them appear as they are pools of earthly soil, “Oh .. we just stopped to buy some muffins -- Harry told me how much you like them, Bambi.” Oh fuck. There goes the pressure cooker blasting and rattling through each and every wall of this room and the tension thickens around and Luna's coughing and everyone is just treading back to their spots awkwardly and with disappointed sorry sighs for Holly because if before Y/N didn’t hold a grudge against Holly now she’d.

Because, for fuck’s sake!!! Nobody, calls her that except Harry!

It was their own intimate little sweet love name that Harry calls her and her only.

Not even their friends.

Not even Niall.

Just him.

Him.

Him.

And.

Him.

Now, she just came from out of the fucking blue and popped their bubble of intimacy and Y/N feels like one of those anime characters where they've a frown hanging on their head larger than their size and there’s fire enveloping them before she bursts out in rage and scream at Holly and Harry too.

She sighs. She’s far better than creating a scene and gladly accepts the box of muffins from Holly whose smile is overly sugar coated and this is what Harry says when he tells her he doesn’t like sugar in much amount – it’s irksome, Y/N’s talking about humans specifically.

“’s not even my favourites.” She mumbles staring at the vanilla strawberry muffins and Holly just shrugs and Harry gets tensed keeping his voice hushed while Rori and Him unboxes the pizzas in the kitchen, “Just thought a change would be good.” Y/N’s throat clogs up just at that. She finds it hard to even gulp down the piercing emotions piling up there.

Y/N just hates changes.

Holly wants to change everything about Harry and his surroundings, even this dinky flat he lives in —- he’s a dentist why’d he live here?

Holly tries not to grimace.

“You know Y/N hates changes, Harry I know that you guys might not be serious but we all are well aware that you too —-- fuck, Harry! Why are you fucking it up!” Rori whisper yells at him as they throw the empty boxes frantically and hurriedly to go back to living room and handle the situation before it gets out of hand.

“Ontop of that. Why did ya bring, Holly with you!? She isn’t ... well she isn’t much par to any of our likings.” Harry just runs his hands through his curls and he knows that it’s afflicting Y/N, his baby muffy who wouldn’t even see him in eye since that incident and he really wishes that all of this ends soon.

“What d'I do!? she’s my staff head and I’ve to play nice to her.” He squeaks out in a bit panic and he’s exhausted and tired and really running out of his Bambi's cuddles but she wouldn’t even let him set foot in her flat.

Even though how much he argued that, “Remember y’said this’s our one big home? Well I could be in me home whenever I want.”

Though when they're out with bright smiles and announcing that food is here, acting as if him and Rori didn’t just had an ASMR argument in kitchen.

Harry’s heart. The each chamber of his heart got cut up into pieces and fell somewhere in his stomach when he hands the plate to Y/N and she takes it without meeting his eyes, starving him off her sweet butterflies wooshing smile and tries to avoid from getting any physical contact between their fingertips and cuddles back into Ni's side as if she’s utterly cold.

She’s jealous and hurt and furious that Harry has mighty revealed their intimate nitty gritty details to Holly.

All of that aside. She’s very sad and lost and feels lonely all over again because she has no-idea that what are they, where they stand out of their bestfriends bubble and if whatever happened between them was fever dream?

“What happened, pet? Not hungry? Y'were ‘bout to munch us alive seconds ago.” Niall chuckles gingerly and nudges her as she just hovered her pizza on her plate and never brought it to her mouth.

Harry wipes his hand on his jeans listening that and Holly’s side eyeing him gauging for his reaction and her face hitches up into displeasure when he stands up and strides towards Y/N in two long steps.

“D'ya want another flavour? Is it cold? We could order somethin' else if you want to ....” His voice caring and antsy and he’s contemplating whether to sit beside her and coax her to eat but she’s chewing onto it and shrugging, speaking with a mouth full and yet again never sparing him a single glance.

“No, ‘m good.”

Holly judges Y/N’s battiness and locks up the urge to roll her eyes at this girl who Harry’s so whipped for -- she could ramp him under her feet (which Y/N would never – Holly’s just a mean ass who likes to think negatively about everyone) and he'd still beg her to do it all over again.

Holly just loves to be a victim in situations where she doesn’t even have a role, but still tries to fit in as a victim.

The truth is. She wants Harry bad. And, it’s all written clear on her face.

Their hang out didn’t take the route they planned for it to be and Y/N was heading out early conscious of Harry’s gaze on her all the time when Rori yelled enthusiastically with a bright proud grin, “Everyone's invited to Y/N's painting exhibition on Sunday, aren’t we Y/N!?”

Harry’s head snaps towards each of his friends like a lost puppy and when all of them are smiling and nodding their heads in agreement his eyes just brawls out and he feels like crying and throwing a tantrum because she didn’t tell him about it! and even if not, he didn’t got a chance to be the first one to tell her how proud he’s of her.

Rori winces when Harry rushes behind Y/N and the door's shutting behind leaving them in awkward silence again.

“You didn’t care t’tell me? ‘s such a big mo' fo'y.” He scowls. Folding his arms infront of his chest and Y/N grumbles stomping her feet onto floor.

“You were too busy —-..”

He knows what’s about to come next. The taunt and fight and something heartbreaking that’d slip from their tongues and hurt them brutally and part them away, “Baby.” He’s sighing rubbing the knot on his forehead and him calling her baby was enough to mush her into a candy floss.

“Yell at me. Punch me. Brake me nose. D'ye thing but pleaseee don’t gimme a silent treatment ...,” His eyes glossy and Y/N kinda feels remorseful and she might not give into him that easily but she isn’t to be blamed because she’s just so putty in his embrace and he could win her heart all over again as many times he wishes.

Though when she’s speaking to him after long period of four days and nine hours and cursing him out he’s still very thankful and gleeful grinning and scooping her up in his arms, “You’re a downright asshole you know that? One of our baby cat died and you were too busy havin' lunch with that, witch.” She isn’t hiding her hatred for Holly anymore and Harry cackles infuriatingly loud and brushes his cheek against her neck.

“’M sorry. Not g'na do tha' evea' again swear on me life.” He mumbles coherently.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He’s hooking their pinkies together and kissing them to seal the affirmation.

..

Harry loves BDSM. Something he explored upon lurking around a sex club when he was right about to turn eighteen, of which oh so Y/N's savvy about from all those nights where she could be able to hear guys and girls howling like they got fucking murdered even sitting in the farthest cubby of her own home.

She'd not argue to him about that because of her shyness and second the music that she used to blast through speakers while painting, so they were equal.

He was quite peculiarly never interested in having romantic relationships with people -- he was just interested in what’s between their legs and sometimes their mouth.

But with Y/N. With Y/N he wants to make love to her. Lit sweet warm scenting candles that’d sheen their skins with ardour and have vases filled with flowers and cook her a dish she likes – then they share a glass of wine (optional) if they want to remember it all.

He wants to have every nice and warm thing with her, things he never got to experience.

He wants to love.

To love her.

He never really exposed himself to words like amity, adoration and intimacy. Thinks that those words are too big for his heart which’s too compact for someone to build a home in.

He hated certain stuff. On purpose. Like scrabble when his father and his friends made fun of him for liking scrabble and he kicked that shit so hard it tensiled into space — or he thinks so because he never saw it laying on his childhood floor ever after that.

Then again, Y/N came into his life and brought his scrabble back (teased him that she stole it from some kid that lives downfloor) they play whenever they could and ends up fighting everytime because, zzz isn’t a word but Harry claims it is for people who snores like they're gonna choke into their pillow next moment.

He hated interacting with people. Don’t even have an idea how he got these bunch of maniacs as his friends and then Y/N, he just thinks she’s made specially for him only carved from the cream of tenderness, beauty of love and sent upon to him like an Angel.

Harry hates sugar. But, yet again he likes no scratch that -- he loves Y/N so it doesn’t even matter.

At the moment when he’s crowded by gushing and whispering and laughing people. Praising and chatting and loving on his Bambi —- he feels like the word hate never existed in his life because all he could feel his heart is floating in copious amount of love for his Bambi as he stands in the corner letting his eyes admire her in affection.

He takes a sip of white wine from his glass and hisses when plays with his earlobe out of instinct and ends up prodding himself from where he pierced his ear two hours ago.

A smile so tiny but full of elation and lilac-ness twirls on his relaxed face upon reminiscing it – his eyes falling at her trousers and he gives himself an imaginary pat on back.

“You’re gonna repay me by ironing my trousers.” She told him standing between his parted legs and he scooted closer to the edge of counter and grabbed her teeny hands compared to his's and puts them over his thick thighs, “Whateva' y'say ma'am. ‘course now ye’re ‘bout to become a sexy artist with her own gallery ‘n all tha’.” He smirked and she rolled her eyes dabbing the cotton ball with alcohol and swapped his soft earlobe with it.

“’S not mine.” She murmurs and Harry woven his fingers with her's and tugged her forward. Lips brushing her temple and he shrugged, speaking, there’s nothing for her to be insecure about, if no one's proud of her, he is, he always gonna be, “Does it matter? Those paintings are yours. That room will be filled with your talent – ye're g'na own one soon, mark me words.” His grip tightened when she rubs her hand at his chest to warn him beforehand and he feigned that he’s scared and horrified to make her anxious about it.

“You’re sick in head you know that?” She mumbles grounding down the shakiness of her wrist as she poked the needle through his earlobe and his voice just did a lil loopy-loop as he spoke, “Yeah ... many patients tell me when I don’t give ‘em enough anaesthetic and rip their teeth out.” She blinked up at him with wide eyes and smacked him when he just slumped down against the mirror if nothing happened, his rims floaty and blown out.

Sometimes he jokes too seriously it startles, Y/N.

“You could say an ouch, atleast. Big man.” She giggled taking the needle out and puts a black cross earning after cleaning his brand new piercing, “Ouchhh!” He moaned out dramatically, fingers gliding down his skin under his eyes to reveal pink flesh and blue veins and his eyeballs.

“You’re an ass! Now go iron my trousers D’ya want me to go bottomless?” She chortled out loudly and her laugh boomed through the small washroom when Harry’s hand spanked her bum playfully, “Perhaps tha’ is what I’d never want in any case – even if I’ve to showcase me bum to everyone.”

“Harry?” She’s gazing up at him with deer eyes and tugging at his blazer to gain his attention, “Everyone’s gone?” He looks behind to get the sight of their friends laughing and chatting.

“Yeah.” Harry’s heart tweaks upon hearing her exhausted and sluggishly soft voice. She giggles into his cheek when he slings his arm around her shoulder and runs his nose up and down her head walking towards their equally tipsy friends.

“Everyone lets bunch up to give, Muffy a cuddle.” Harry drawls out. His warm breath tickling her neck and everyone just roars out gathering around them and giving them a big bear hug and Y/N's eyes turns glossier because she’s feel so loved and cared.

Just because of Harry.

When they see off their friends, Y/N isn’t rushing back to her agency’s manager to ask how much paintings she sold instead she’s snuggling into Harry’s embrace and let’s him escort them out and into the cool wind.

“You really deserve chocolate muffins, don’t ya, pet?” His chin doubles as he tries to take a look at her satisfied and relaxed face as they trod on the side of road like two penguins providing heat to eachother.

They’ve drunk quite a nice amount of bevvies. Enough that mighty would make them forget the events that are happening now and that’s nice because they could be embarrassing and cringey with having to think about it later.

“No.” Harry grabs her hand that was about to push the door of the lil bakery and she’a huffing up at him and swatting his hand away with a loud thwack, “’M an independent woman, H.” He just slides her hand away -- retorting with a smile, “And’m a gentleman.”

She squints up at him with scrunched up pouty lips and he’s mimicking her squinting her square in the eye. The clock ticks by and they break into a hand wrestling and he’s squeaking out childishly when she pinches his wrist but he’s coming back with scissor fingers demanding her to do a “stone, papers, scissors.” Fight with him.

When he’s wiggling his fingers in fire gesture she’s groaning out and throwing her arms in air, “Fire beats everything!!” He yells duckishly and spins around doing a little dance.

“Fine.” She grumps folding her arms around her torso and he’s ducking down to smooch annoying kisses to her cheeks and all over face.

Harry’s forearms remains roped around her waist and his chin rests ontop of her head, her back stays pressed to his taught warm chest whole time. Every two minutes or so she raises the muffin she’s eating to his lips and he’s taking a chunky bite out of it as they trod their way back home.

“Dun, dun dun dunnnn, do do ...” She giggles when he sways them. His chest rumbling with his deep drunk octave and she cups his cheek.

“What you singing, honey?” He just giggles clinging to her and hides his face into her neck – murmurs then takes himself out of her fragrance and shouts into the air.

“The pink panther’s song!!” She woofs out a laugh at that and he shoves his face into his palm, wheezing out cutely, “I'know y'laughin' ‘cos ‘m sayin' stupidddd things.....,”

The bunny vociferous laughs that emits from their bellies, tumbles them to the ground and the moment they look towards eachother they burst into more giggles.

Y/N scrambles towards where he’s clutching his side and rolls to face her and she crawls up his chest.

It feels good to waste time on the footpath when their hold on eachother’s this soft, warm and meaningful and full of love.

Their cheeks coral, their grins achy and their eyes gleamy ---- hands wandering and comforting eachother, cuddly and sottish and cosy laying right outside their the homes building.

He hugs her closer to him. She snuggles herself into him and worms into a touch starved shrimp and the words are on the tip of his tongue, they’ve been shown in his sentiments with zeal and passion in past and now they’re bouncing in his chest.

Though, he gulps them back.

He really couldn’t.

“I love you,” It flows away in the wind but she catches onto it and flies with it and pushes herself up on his chest blinking in perplexed rapture.

He’s breathing it out again. This time maybe slurry from inebriation but clear and audible, “oh my god baby .... I love you s'fuckin’ much.” He cradles her face in his palms and slides his forehead against hers.

“You love me?” She whispers and he giggles at her bewildered expression and bobs his head, “That’s what ‘m sayin' pet.”

She knows that she loves him too. More than anybody. Every inch of her body soaks into the word love for him.

She pauses for a moment, “How — but, I mean –- What did I do?” He just shrugs, “Dunno.” His dimples foaming deep and pretty.

“I just think we would be a good us,” At that her head perks up kitten like and she moulds her palms around his either side of neck as if he’s her warm chocolate cuppa, she smiles slowly, “We'd be a wonderful us.” Her gaze glitters on his wine moisturized pink lips and she gives him an eskimo kiss.

“Gimme a kiss then,” She demands pursuing her lips adorably but he shakes his puff of curls and pushes her face back gently, “No!” Her brows pinches together at that and she pokes his dimple pouting sadly.

“But, why?”

“I don’t wanna forget our first kiss.” He whines and paws at her hips to bring her back closer to him and she giggles muttering a silly under her breath and tries to tempt him.

“Kiss me, in this way ... we could have our firsts twice!” He gives into her mischievous offer and sighs cradling her face in his hold and murmurs against the corners of her lips, “Only ‘cos you’re cute and wouldn’t stop peskin'.” She’s grinning and pulling him with her hands and smashing her petal lips against his's, their eyelids springs close and he’s squishing her chasing to deepen the kiss and when she's parting away he’s rushing to peck her lips right back to kiss her more.

“I could really cry just by kissin' you, moppet.” He licks the spots of chocolate from her chubby bottom lip and bites it and she’s melting her mouth again over him, kissing him delicately and sweetly having a certain desire and yearn to just star into one soul that balms there tummies.

“W’na kiss you forever.”

Harry never believed into forevers.

Then Y/N wrapped him in her oh so Y/N-ish blanket and now he wants everything with her for, forever.

“Oh. Hush baby. You’re gonna gimme a tooth ache.”

..

Y/N regrets saying that. Because she’s waking up with a headache, blurry vision and churning stomach ontop of every pain the ache in her tooth came to bite her in ass and she’s hissing grabbing her cheek to soothe it down.

“Fuck my —- damn hell ...” She mutters when even the slightest of air in her mouth stings her tooth like a bitch and it dollops tears on the corners of her eyes because she has never gone through a toothache before.

She’s bargaining in Harry’s flat and into his room and he’s properly wafted, face smashed into his elbow as he wheezes through his parted mouth. She’s shaking him gently because the shrivelling drive of pain is growing after every second.

“Harry!” He’s jolting up and snapping his head in every direction instantly his sleepy gaze melts on her (a sight he'd like to have every morning) but she looks rather rotten with a nest on her head and her last night’s clothes crumbled and when she's quipping an, “It hurts Harry ....” With teary eyes, He’s immediately scurrying closer to her and holding her -- confused at first.

“What's hurtin', pet?” He mumbles groggily and she sniffs, “My tooth –- fuck.”

He sighs knuckling at his eyes and kisses her hair throwing the duvet away, “Sit here yeah? ‘m g'na wash me hands real quick and check it, hmm?” He wipes the corner of her eyes and massages her shoulder -- then unfists her hands to make her release some tension and puts them on her knees.

He’s muttering a, “Good girl.” When she nods obediently and watches his back as he trudges inside the washroom.

Coming back with towel in his hands and throws it on the bed while sitting on his knees and adjusts her between them.

“Can y'open a bit mo' f'me, darling?” He asks gently caressing her hip to loosen her up. He already knows what's about to come next and he’s afraid she’s going to be very batty about the procedure, “Aaaaa.” She practically makes the noise trying to part her jaw as far as she could while Harry’s hand remains intact around it inspecting her mouth and she’s anxious that she has a morning breath but the memories of all those time she would practically drool on his cheeks while sleeping makes her feel less awful about it,

He chuckles tapping lightly on her upper moral, “Ow!” She swats his hand away when his action physically makes her whole body go through a pang.

When she looks up at him with ticked brows and huffy pout biting the flesh of her cheek between her two morals to just do something -- anything to get rid of the pain, Harry rubs the frown away with a grimace and brings her for a hug.

“’M s' sorry baby. But, looks like it’ll need a root canal.” If his bambi wouldn’t be in such pain he indeed would have lectured her and thrown away every sweetened thing in her jars out of the window.

“Can y'endure a lil pain and wait till my last appointment? So, I could take care of you afterwards.” He asks her lovingly and his reasoning makes butterflies erupt in Y/N’s belly and she almost almost forgot about her toothache but then it pangs again and she’s hugging him tighter mumbling into him, “Sure.”

He’s making her change her clothes and made her porridge letting it cool down to a temperature where it wouldn’t stick or ache her teeth.

“Y/N ...” He glowers at her sternly when she pushes his hand away holding the painkillers and that intense ferocious glare where his soft jade eyes are turning into something very dark is enough to tell her that if she’s not taking them, there's a big scold coming and after that no leniency for an argument so she takes it without throwing another tantrum.

After making sure she’s fed well and tucked into bed he’s stroking her hair and massaging her head, adjusting her pillow as she likes, kissing the tip of her nose as he murmurs.

“Rori will be pickin’ y’up sharp at 5. Told her to wake you up gently if you’ll be sleepin’.” Her eyes are dreamily glassy and she smiles lightly and she’s already missing his touch on her skin when he stands back up ready to leave.

She really wanted to say it.

Dying to say it, infact.

But all that came from her mouth was, “I’m gonna miss you.” Earning a giggle from him in return.

“G’na miss you terribly too.”

..

Rori drove Y/N to hospital. She’s still in Harry’s clothes that he made her wear in the morning, a black galaxy sweater and wide loose pants a beanie on her head to protect her from a headache and when the receptionist waves her enthusiastically upon her arrival Y/N’s smiling but never opening her mouth knowing the bitch would be back.

“Dr. Styles went for a staff on-call. He'll be here any moment, you could go inside.” Y/N’s nodding and padding inside his room. The pain has lessened a bit and that gives her teensy energy to wander around his room admiring his lil achievements, the medal he won last year and right beside it the pen holder she gave him it that has a “HORRAY TAKE BABY STEPS BABY STEPS HONEY!!” written obnoxiously on it as if she’s screaming it to his face and she giggles at her own silly gift.

She gasps and ends up knocking her hip into his desk as Harry steps in and laughs loudly at her, tutting with a shake of his head, “Jumpy little thing you’re.” Out of habit his hands are falling at her hips and bringing her closer.

“How’re y'muffy?” He asks and she’s bobbing her head up and down dramatically but silently making him chuckle.

“’Kay get yourself comfy on the seat ‘m gonna call my assistant t’give you anesthetic.” He suppresses a smile when she worms her bum up the slippery seat and goes on pushing different buttons moving it up and down.

“How adventurous.” He snickers switching the examination lamp and she rolls her eyes. His assistant’s eyeing them with happy eyes from under her glasses and Harry’s putting his latex gloves aside as she fills the injection and Y/N's muscles tenses up in anticipation, as she tries to blink the fear away and musters up a weak smile.

Knowing she has a fear of needles. Harry rolls the stool he’s sitting on closer to her and interlaces their fingers together, he coos sweetly, “It’ll be just a pinch baby.” Though, Y/N thinks Harry’s a motherfucking liar because it apparently is not just a pinch but feels like a stick shoved up your ass.

When the assistant leaves them to fetch something, Harry’s stroking the fringes of her hair behind with benevolent and caring eyes and smiles down at her sincerely.

“I want y'to relax, moppet. Yeah? Could y'do tha' f'me?” This time when he’s poking or prodding she isn't slapping him away and he’s grateful because that means her gums are numb properly.

He’s caressing her arm to assure her that she has nothing to be afraid about when she startles hearing the buzz of instrument that’s about to rip her poor gum apart.

Surprisingly she was easy. Because, Harry was so gentle with her and when he’s ushering her to spit in the little sink and she’s laying back with cloudy eyes and a grin Harry just knows the anaesthesia is kicking in.

It means that she’s allowed to blabber every dumb thing to him (she doesn’t need anaesthesia for it by the way), without any filter and timidness she’s about to chatter his brain alive.

Her gaze slowly rakes down his torso as if she’s undressing him with her eyes and she’s grinning -- more blood pooling in her mouth, “You look very handsome in scrubs — you know that?” Her words wobblish but full of naughtiness and Harry arranges them himself barking out a delighted laugh when she tugs at hem of his clothes perking her lips.

“I could really kiss you right now....” Her voice clear with desire but a hint of neediness and fondness for him and he’s gazing her down with gleamy endearment and snorts bringing the water cup to her lips, “Sorry Bambi but don’t like kissing a bloody mouth.” She keeps her doe eyes on him and they turn sad while she gurgles the water in her puffed up cheeks and spits it again into sink, about to protest with him but he’s shushing her and laying her back onto the seat.

“Not even me?” She grumps up at him and he’s retorting shaking his head in rejection, he's just trying to rile her up because he himself thinks that a single peck wouldn’t hurt.

“You’ll get an answer to this after we're done with you,” He muses softly when her eyes flicker with glee.

She was all over him as if she’s a small baby who needs his guidance to walk her way out and Harry was waving his staff goodbye with nervous lamblike smile while he tries to balance her against his chest.

The whole ride back he refrained from cooing and making im-a-fool-who-is-shamlessly-in-love noises. How could he not? When she looks this cute and cuddly in his clothes, head lulling every once a while as she sleeps facing him, her hand on his thigh to keep her reminded of his presence.

Harry’s grabbing it and kissing her knuckles. A jolly smile fluttering on his features and he isn’t waking her up as the reach and takes her into his flat – flumps her down on his bed gently and gets rid of her shoes and sweater.

Even skips dinner. Gets out of his work clothes and takes a glance of his sleepy girl standing from the wardrobe and the light clicks off before his gangly body is sliding under the duvets beside her.

Warm, sweet and cosy.

His all day's exhaustion fuses into nothingness when his feet comes caressing her calves and his chest presses to her shoulders and his elbows shelters around her in a protecting loving manner.

His heart hiccups a happy beat when she turns to his side and snuggles into him murmuring in haze, “Love you.”

He trips into utter shock. Staring down at her with baffled eyes but then the memories from past night comes upon crashing down at him like a crystal wave of ocean and floats him to an island where he belongs, always fated to belong.

He confessed his love for her.

She confessed it back.

They both were stupid and forgot it.

Now when she’s telling him that she loves him Harry feels like he’s rather about to pass out or squeal into pillow.

“I love you too, baby.” He's just wrapping her closer to him and lingering a wet kiss to her forehead.

..

Y/N’s moral was grinded, she keeps on swiping her tongue over it even how much Harry scolds her about it (it feels like a small plateau that got separated away because of an earthquake, y/n has made her own imagination about her tooth) and Harry let her chose the colour of filling that will be the mould of her crown, it was just an unnecessary thing to make her feel cheerful about it.

“Is Harry busy? Who’s inside?” She’s asking the old receptionist tapping her nails against the marble counter in eagerness to be done with it and that she’s about to take him to this yummy Thai place.

“Oh. He’s with his girlfriend right now.” Placid sereneness dooms over them and Y/N falls frightfully quite.

The poor assistant doesn’t know what she has uttered.

She just told her what the rumours has told her.

Her jittery smile drops into a blue scowl, her legs weakens at the thought and she nearly trips when Holly appears from inside his room.

It bitters her mouth with taste of anger and outrage.

Holly passes her a tight empathetic smile as if she knew everything from start and Y/N’s striding past her in resentment, her mind smoked with betrayal and vehemence.

“Hi. Moppet.” He rolls his stool over smiling up at her and it tightens her chest so much she chokes onto a breath.

How could he? No. No.

How dare he!?

But, there’s no need to cry over split milk now is it? She has to accept it that they could never be something more than just bestfriends.

“Hi.” She mumbles blocking her tears in the back of her eyes somewhere and Harry frowns, asking politely as she sits, “Feelin' alright?” She just nods and it takes Harry off-guard.

Where is his bubbly Muffy?

“Are you hurtin' somewhere?” He asks again pushing her upper lip to get a better look of her tooth. When she denies he lets it slide.

Though, when the assistant injects her and she’s groping Harry’s thigh because in grief everything hurts more than usual and her heart is dripping with sorrow and loneliness and grief she’s on verge of breaking into pieces right on this seat.

Harry’s brows clinches together in worry but she’s inhaling a puff of breath and giving him an etiolated smile to finish this as soon as possible and leave before she humiliates herself infront of him.

Her crown didn’t fit and he had to do a little more grinding. Meanwhile, Holly’s entering the room and Y/N shuts her eyes pretending that she isn’t there.

It hurts. Not in her tooth. Everywhere. Like a force is ripping her apart through a saw and it hurls her into deep agony and her heart almost stops functioning.

Harry was too focused and worried about her eerie behaviour that he ignored the frail hits on his thigh and Holly’s taking his name loudly making him stop.

Y/N’s jolting up and gagging into the sink beside her. Her knuckles turning white from gripping it ruthlessly.

She stares the clots of blood and mucus washing away with blurry eyes.

“Baby?” Harry quickly rubs her back anxiously and scrutinise with raucous beating heart as her hands shivers cupping the water and taking it in her mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Are y'okay? Pet?” His voice drips with panic and dread that the worst happened to her because of him --– if the case's true he's never gonna touch her again.

“Y/N!?” He’s growling loudly when she doesn’t reply him and keeps on crying. His eyes turning back concerned and soft when she hiccups a weep, “It hurts Harry ....” Holly rolls her eyes, leans against the desk and puts the file she brought to Harry beside her.

“You’re not a child anymore, Y/N. Ofcourse it’s gonna hurt.” She snickers and this makes Y/N cry more – Harry’s holding her hands in his and stroking his thumb at her knuckles.

“Dunno --...– maybe –- ma —,” Harry’s emerald eyes are boring into her murky one's and it pierces her soul away from her inside.

Their heads perk up when Holly asks her rudely, “Are you doubting Harry?”

Y/N shakes her tiny defeated head vigorously, “No! Why —.. why would I?” More tears pooling in her waterline and dropping at the back of Harry’s hand. He rushes to wipe them away and shush her but Holly’s acidic laugh is echoing.

How could she even think that?

Y/N could never doubt him.

Why she has to be so mean to her everytime?

“I mean you —,” Holly opens her mouth to speak but Harry’s cutting her off sharply, “Dr. Jenner enough. I’ll appreciate it if you wait f'me outside.” His head snaps back to Y/N who’s wiggling out of his hold and gasping out -- her pupils blown out and woozy.

“I just need a breather.” Saying this she’s out before Holly leaving Harry baffled and agitated to ponder over how she was pain and he failed to realise sooner.

..

The zephyr is tranquil. Frolicking with her heart and the grass is dewy under her as she runs towards an empty bench outside where there’s barely any light and she wishes Harry never comes to look for her.

She’s such a mess.

Her chest suffocates with a sob. She’s trying to lull her breath back to normal just like he tells her to.

When she flutters her eyelids into vision a hand with a cross on it’s thumb is pressed onto the bench beside her and there’s an afflicted pause in the atmosphere before she slowly faces him and places her hand atop his hand.

Her breath shudders through a smile, the tension in between them thickening as Harry feels her so close but so distant from him.

Emotionally and mentally and even their souls feels trapped within their own bodies.

It upsets him, to see his Bambi like that,

“’M so sorry, Harry. My intention wasn’t to embarrass you.” She isn’t serious? Sometimes he wants to bang his head at nearby wall at her silliness.

“You didn’t.” He assures her gently.

“But I did. Infront of the person you love.” It pains to say it. In the end she could suffer from anything for his happiness even if it’s handing him to the wrong person if he loves them.

Harry’s eyes turn moist at that. An unbelievable sour laugh eliciting from his lungs as he shoves his palms into his sockets, rubs them harshly and grasps her wrists pulling her closer to him with one furious tug.

“Yeah because that’s you, dumbass!!” Y/N’s body turns into a stone at his stern confession and she’s staring him with a throb in her heart and sad kitten eyes.

His brows pricks together ferociously and his lips twitches up as he speaks chopped on tears, “Every Daphne I pick up from the side-grass while comin’ back home t’you, these stupid stars in sky ‘n these ...” His shoes scrapes against the grass as he tries to show her, “....these stupid stupid shoelaces I tie around me ankles,” He’s raising his wrist to show her the milk bottle tattoo he got for he’s in love with her and their cats, once they were drunk, “... this fuckin' tattoo I got —- ‘s always been you.” He let’s the tears shine on his cheeks and soak them rosy.

“Always you, Bambi.” His accent gluteus and hoarse, “You’re always gonna be my sweet Bambi. Who I adore and love so much.”

“How?” She whispers in bewilderment and when Harry’s warming his forehead against her's tickling her lips as he murmurs, “Because you thought we'd be a wonderful us.”

A sob is wrecking out of her and she’s wrapping her arms around the nape of his neck pulling him down into a bone crushing hug, as the night they first confessed and had their first kiss makes a home in her mind.

She’s glad they didn’t forget their first.

“I love you.” Harry mumbles through a squished up cheek and saturates their chests closer with his hand planted firmly over her spine.

“I love you too. So much of it.” They’re crying elated tears knowing they’ve eachother to wipe them away and he’s sponging a tender kiss to her mouth and the corner of her lip avoiding where it’s swollen and her cheek is bloated.

The metallic taste of her blood lingers on his own lips.

“I could even kiss your bloody mouth, see?” He giggles feathering back his lips to her lips and gives her a chastise peck.

“Let’s put your crown, my highness.” Harry scoops up giggles from within her and tries to cherish this moment for as long as possible.

He’s never gonna forget his first, done twice.

..

Not a days go by where they don’t make love to eachother. A string of knot that connects their souls as Harry keeps his cock warm inside her while sleeping and it fattens inside her when they’re about to wake up and Harry’s rolling his hips into her lazily and gradually getting out breathy hums and whispers of whines from her —- her ankles locks behind his back and he’s always hitting and caressing the spots inside her which she was never able to reach herself with her short fingers.

Their bath times are intimate. Not full of adrenaline and thrill that one would end up having a foot cast from tripping from their playfulness, like they used to everytime. It’s delicate touches. Soft back rubs. Foamy head massages and cuddly bubbles. Smooching wet kisses. Heated makeout sessions and then drying eachother off, brushing teeth together and going to bed wearing eachother’s mismatched clothes.

Their mornings are spent lounging in bed and sharing a little love, sweet irresistible kisses, mouth sweet with eachother's tongues and hands comforting eachother, having a satisfying brekkie together in bed and sometimes the other is too tired to go (it’s usually Harry) and they always remind them they’re gonna come back home to eachother.

Harry made, Y/N explore herself. Introduced her to the tingles of what it feels to be rough and have a good shag that sends her into her sub-space where she doesn’t stop thrashing and spasming under him and He’s always there to bring her back to him and to take care of her.

They sometime do it in his office room too. Whenever she’s visiting him and he looks to alluring that Y/N could swallow him whole and his thighs man-spread deliciously as he sits on the stool in his damn scrubs, “You c’mere.” He pats his thigh dirtily in a command for her to straddle him and ride his cock and she’s always obeying like a good bunny moaning out feeling him in her tummy.

They’ve had countless of sex in Harry’s living room which they turned into a working studio for Y/N and whenever she's painting sometimes naked to tease him, how could Harry resist when she looks ethereal with her peachy bosom and her adorable tummy rolls and her innocent eyes and her cushiony thighs —- so he just pushes her thighs that he’s oh so in love with to her chest and pins her to floor and fucks her till she isn’t satiated enough.

Shower sex and bit of striptease when Harry’s knackered out. The hot water that prattles on their toes and their sweaty skins that slaps against eachother’s makes it much filthier and nastier.

They’ve bunch of romantic sex too. Oh boy! Just loads of romance where he’s too soft and mushy and dotting with her.

Sometimes, two people have deep connection that makes seem romance trivial and it isn’t about lust everytime. It’s about their souls. About the deepest part of who they’re as a person. Who they could be for eachother when the time strikes.

Just like right now. As, the stars twinkle outside and the dark snowy wind hits the windows; checked by the occasional gust that rattles the rooftop and the wood would creak to tell it’s presence. Fragrance of scented candles that of peonies, sparkling champagne and crème almonds surrounds them.

Harry brought Y/N on a holiday at a mountain and had a warm cosy wooden cottage booked for themselves.

They’ve spent it enjoying themselves and forgetting about their life in city. Today, the layer of foamy crystal snow is more than usual and they decided to cuddle up into their own little comfy cubby.

He takes his time feeling her skin and she nuzzles her nose up in his throat and giggles when he purrs.

The fire churning infront of them is similar to the one quenching in his belly as he sneaks his hand under her slip dress and fondles her nipples in between his calloused fingers.

“I wanna make love t'you, Muffy.” He mumbles grazing his blunt teeth down her sweaty pulse and laps at it splaying his palm close to her bum when she arches up into him, “I’m all yours.” She guppies around a gasp and he’s chuckling sweetly cradling her face in his hold and brews his lips against her's in a passionate endearingly hot kiss that moists her breath and her each ravine pore fills with love for him.

Their chests burns with carnal desire as he lays them on the flumpy nest of bed they made from blankets and pillows, his mouth keeps on tasting her with ardent fever and he situates himself between her and grinds their pelvises sensing her nipples stitching under his fingers and she’s gnawing her teeth into his petalish lip when he fills his palms with her tits.

“So cute.” He quips when she gasps whining for him to smudge his cocoa-vaseline covered lips back on her's and her lips brushes against his clavicles, emitting a perfervid whimper as Harry strokes his palm to feel her arousal and juices, “Hmm. I could just give you a flyin' kiss and you’ll still end up squirting.” He's easing his middle finger inside her and gazes her with profound sweetness when she pushes her palm up against his large moth and punctuates soft kisses to his vein at the side of his neck that prominents from their intimacy.

“Fuck. You get t've me cock daily but still so snug, pet. G’na stretch y'nice ‘n good.” He grunts, trailing soppy kisses down the valley of her breasts. Slicking his mouth around her nipple and she whines hungrily unceasing her fingers in his curls and pulls at them bringing him down for more kisses, “You love my kisses baby? Hmm? My baby loves me kisses ...” He coos suckling onto her lower lip and latches back full to her mouth and perennials it into pastels of wetness.

Sips down her moans when he slithers three more fingers into her and fits them deep, cupping his palm against her pussy. Something weirdly soft about his bare ring-less fingers and he runs his hips into her, “Feels good?” He growls looking down where his fingers drives into her.

When she bobs her head hungrily. She squirms – goosebumps pebbling on her skin and the mellow glow of candles melting on her when he pecks her and pecks her again, kissing her tongue as he mumbles, “Bet. It’ll feel more good with my cock inside y’pussy. Tell me moppet, who's little cunt is this?” He asks wiggling his middle finger to nudge the walnut shaped spot inside her – tucked within her walls and his other hand’s pressing her thigh to floor as he saps his teeth into her neck and leaves love bites.

Marking her as his’s.

“Yours. Please, it’s all yours.” She sobs out ardently. Crumbling and lurking at the edge to hold this pleasing feeling for some moment in her belly.

“Right.” He affirms. Licking the maroon marks he littered on her puddy skin and he's grabbing her shivery hand that was about to cup around his cock and stroke it, “You’re mine.” He strings their fingers together and brings it to his lips to kiss the soft pads of her fingers.

“All mine to love on, to cherish, to be proud of –-- You’re my little Bambi.” His infatuated dotting words are making her strike herself into him, quivering and blabbering, eyes shut in bliss and love and he’s helping her ride the sensation out.

The moment he’s taking his fingers out he’s interlacing those sticky cum covered fingers with her other hand and stretching her arms and pinning their winded hands atop her head into floor.

They’re moaning into waxy humidity when Harry sheathes into her and her walls soaps around his girth as he sinks himself into her, his heavy balls pressed buried deep to her bum and he’s smushing his face into her breasts and almost snuggles into her knowing how much she loves to just be wrapped into him as he pounds his cock inside her.

He’s sweltering his hips. Feeling her gooey warmth and rolls himself harder and she’s crossing her arms around his shoulder – kissing his neck and caressing the curls that’ve grown out a tad under his earlobes.

“I love you,” He's nosing at her jaw to tip her mouth towards him and kisses it —- his hold on her delicate but she’s coveting crescents into his knuckles and a bow of string connects their mouths as she pecks him till she’s running out of breath, “I love you. I love you so so much.” Even though they’re taking their time but Y/N doesn’t think she could last a minute longer the way he’s thrusting languidly but deeply into her.

“Show me then, c’mon baby cum on m’cock. Soak it. G'na keep it inside you ‘n sleep like tha', mphmp makin' me so so good —- g'na cum?” He rasps out and she’s whimpering blubbering out without much mind as he stuffs her full and enough.

Her voice meek and high-pitch, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She’s dripping all over him and coating him with her cum. He doesn’t not stop and pumps it back inside her roughly.

“Fuck. Baby.” His howl wounded and broken as he feels his balls tighten and he leaks inside her, “S'okay honey cum inside me Harry .. love how you make me feel – how big your cock is.” She grates her teeth into the eternity of his throat and punctures her lips to suck around the fading hickey she gave him two nights prior.

His hips stutters, and he keeps himself up with his weak elbows spurting ribbons and ribbons of thick seed inside her.

She moans out when he wouldn’t stop cumming and she thrashes upward with a final twist of his push, his words sultry and drunk on libido, “Fuck. I came so much – you’ll ‘ave to squeeze tha’ all out fo’ me,” He’s smoothing their arms down to let them be on eachother and Y/N sees the gears working in his mind when he grins.

“In case you’ll want a refill.”

She rolls her eyes cheek smashed into his bicep and pinches his nipple, “Way to ruin the moment –- you libido driven slut." A noise peeps out of her when he whumps on her and looks up at her with an amused expression.

“Y'know tha' slut shaming is inappropriate?” She just shrugs smiling around a yawn.

“Is that an invitation to whore shame y'then?” He listens to her heartbeat. Tracing pattern of yellow flicker on her skin and kisses the curve of her breast.

“Will that end up me havin' yer fingers in my bum?” She creampies around him at his genuine yet naughty question and he snorts out loudly stirring his cock on purpose that’s still snug inside her, “Hmm then ‘m defo a whore.”

“Harry!” She pouts and he squishes that pout as if she’s some duckling -- an old habit he'd never get rid of.

..

“Mrs. Styles!” Holly’s head perks up at the call and she’s looking down at the five month old baby that has her bum situated on her momma’s hip and she squeals joyfully bunching her momma's shirt in her tiny chubby hands.

Holly just simpers quietly not greeting the duo and keeps on walking as Y/N enters Harry’s office room.

His face brightens up. Dimples popping awfully cute just how Y/N loves and his smile widens into a toothy one as he leaves everything and scurries towards his girls, “Oh my two Bambis!” He's greeting them with loud sloppy loving kisses all over their faces that makes them squint their eyes and giggle ticklish from the faint stubble that’s growing on his chin.

Their baby. Harry never thought he was able to love someone this purely and extremely. From a grumpy kid himself and someone who used to loose his shit at the formula chugging machines he used to call them —-- he never even imagined to own one.

But, after two years into marriage and moving into a house with the love of his life everything had a possibility for him and their one room that’d look so empty just made his stomach squeaky and yearn for a little one that he could protect and hold delicately close to his chest and lather them in his kisses and smell their baby scent and have cuddles with them,

Harry really wanted her to be a December baby -- if not particular then winters.

Because she just looks like the joy of Christmas and the sapience of homely evening.

Her frost bitten poppy nose. Her plushy warm cheeks that of running his fingers over an old sweater that holds infinite memories for him, the shimmer in her eyes that of snowflakes and those lips she got from her mother that of marshmallows melting on hot chocolate.

Harry really fucked his dream of her being a winter baby by fucking Y/N at the wrong time of the year.

She ended up coming out on the most heated month, june.

Wasn’t his fault too. Because they were trying for so long and he'd be all excited for the pregnancy tests but then they'd come out negative everytime weighing a ball of sadness in his chest and when they conceived her –-- he didn’t even remember the damn date.

The pregnancy for them wasn’t that hard. Minus the eventual tantrums that were thrown his way as daggers but he was skilled to dodge them and lure his wifey back to him with chocolate chip cookies.

The process of her birth was life taking for Y/N and Harry had short comings in his breath from the way his wife would all be jerking in pain.

She had to endure the labour pain for three days.

It’d always tear him into sobs as he'd fall into Rori's arms while everyone stayed inside with her for a moment.

It wasn’t easy to look at the love of his life, his bestfriend, his Bambi, his everything go through so much pain and he almost ended up regretting having a baby but when she’d be all snuggled up into his side after a long tiring and screaming day with her bump swollen beautifully with his bubba inside, it used to relax him a bit,

When she came out all sticky and covered in blood he realized at that moment that; she truly is his’s.

Those earthy gem eyes that didn’t cry first five minutes but rather kept on staring at him intrigued as to why the man that used to chatter her ears away in thick sleepy accent when she was in the cosy spot of her mummy’s belly is now just crying and crying.

They made her with so much love and care.

She was just so soft to touch. Just like their favourite flowers.

She was his Daphne.

He’s grabbing her from armpits and immediately putting a hand under her diaper clad bum when she huffed making grabby hands at him, “Hi Daphne bub! Missed daddy much?” He coos bouncing her a little and rumbles his lips against her cheek to create farty noises.

She squeals fisting his hair and yanks at it. That makes Y/N laugh out loudly, “Careful there, H. She’s getting quite handsy.” He just smiles convincing his baby to have some mercy on his curls.

When Y/N tells him about his routine and her nap timing Harry’s just sighing kissing her lips and patting her ass to move, “I can take care of me baby -- doin' it fo' five months, forgot?” He took a paternity leave to spend more time with Daphne and his Bambi.

To be sure that they were growing and healing well.

Y/N has to take the cats for their monthly checkup that’s why she has to leave Daphne with Harry and even though she’s not fond of her in hospitals Harry assured her that he’s heading home soon.

When Y/N leaves, Harry blows raspberries at her face and she pouts just like her mummy and he’s squishing that pout like his own little duckling.

“Da',” She grumbles and Harry kisses her cheek fondly and lovingly, “Yes Da, bubblin. Guess like we’ve got a date with Pooh and Roo at home.” He guffaws out loudly when Daphne's eyes visibly twinkles at the name of her plushies she likes to chew on and get them all soggy by the end of the day.

“You’re such a minx, baby!” Harry thinks he couldn’t be happier.

He’s complete.

His family is complete.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

I just read your Riven fics and ommggg they are so good!! Idk if you are making a part three but I will definitely look out for it! I haven’t started the sly ones but I can’t wait!

Come back to me // part 2

Pairing: Riven x light!fairy

Breath caught in her throat, she felt her hands tremble as her eyes lingered on the envelope on her pillow. The handwriting is in the kind of black that speaks of nighttime dreaming. The letters are so typically Riven - messy and yet she could see the effort behind each and every word - To my Sunshine - .

It’s been a long time since he last wrote her a love note, far too long for her to truly remember what it said. She remembers how it made her feel - hopeful, elated, giddy. That’s all Riven needed to win her over - love notes he’d slip in her books whenever she wasn’t looking.

This time it felt different. The note brought anxiety, fear of what the envelope may hide inside. They barely speak nowadays and when they do, Riven is crude and too often she finds herself crying herself to sleep because of how convincing he is with his act. Sometimes she wonders if he’s acting at all or if that’s who he is with everyone but her and it makes her feel guilty. How can she still be questioning his loyalties?

Shaking her head, she releases a heavy sigh before her shaky fingers pry open the envelope. The paper inside is barely ink stained, a few words written for her aching heart.

“Still Your Asshole”

Chuckling, Y/N covers her mouth with an open palm, glancing at the door to make sure no one is nearby. It wasn’t a chuckle that seemed to stop as it turned into a cackle and that cackle turned into a sob. She didn’t know where the sobs came from, she just knew she couldn’t stop. As if the soul could bleed an ocean through the eyes, that was the enormity of her sobbing.

Screaming into her pillow, Y/N felt the rawness of her pain fully. It had revealed its ugly head and she couldn’t breathe. 

Riven may be hers but he isn’t. It takes a moment, a single mistake for him to be uncovered by Rosalind or Beatrix and he’d be taken from her. She’d never get to run her fingers through his brown hair, she’d never get to kiss his lips again or feel his hand in hers. He’d never tease her again, he’d never write her a new note or insist she needs him to teach her to fight. All of it would be gone in a blink of any eye and the severity of that realization choked the light out of her, even if for a little while.

She can’t always be the Sunshine. Clouds will eventually clear, but she needs the little bit of darkness and the sweetness it brings. Even if she’s in pain, even if the sadness threatens to suffocate her, she craves it. 

Riven makes her weak, he makes her vulnerable. She never dreamed she could care for a man like Riven, she certainly didn’t wish it, but she does. It’s more than caring for Riven, she’s way past that. Whatever wicked game he played to make her feel that way for him, it worked. She fell in love with Riven and now it’s consuming her.

Wiping her tears, she stashes the letter under her mattress before walking out in the sun. If she can’t be the light, she can at least get the warmth of another’s light.

She lays down on the damp grass, looking up at the sky. She looked at the sky like a man would look at a withered flower in which he no longer sees the beauty he plucked it for, thus destroying it.

This noble heart that beat only for the most tender of emotions had to be subjected to pain to learn the secret of life:

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wrecks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss.

She’s in the abyss now.

“You can’t be here”, and then she hears his voice, pulling her away from the darkness. “Come on”, he whisper shouts as he takes her by the hands and helps her to her feet. 

She’s a little dizzy, disoriented by the sudden change in position. His eyes are on her, his face inches away and yet she feels like they’re a thousand miles apart. She doesn’t fight him as he drags her to the greenhouse, closing the door quickly so no one would see them.

“I got your note”, she’s the first one to speak. Riven turns to her with a small smile only for it to fall when he truly looks at her - puffy, red eyes and dry lips aren’t easily mistakable. 

He let out a slow controlled breath, “Is that why you cried?” Riven’s eyebrows furrow as he steps closer to her, his hands on his hips.

“I cried because I miss you!” She shouts, her fingers flickering alight and she knows she’s losing control. A shuddered breath passes her quivering lips, “I miss you and I’m worried about you and I hate you.” She says through gritted teeth and Riven can’t help but stumble back, confused.

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, pointing his right index finger at himself, “What did I do?”

Scoffing, Y/N shakes her head. “YOU MADE ME LOVE YOU AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE!” Covering her mouth, she turns away from him. She never told him that she loved him before and he never uttered anything close to it either. She feared looking at him and not have him say it back. After all, why would he?

“You love me?” Riven breathes out, still trying to collect himself. Crossing the distance between them, Riven wraps his arms around her. Pulling her back against his chest, he folds his hands over her abdomen. He’s holding on tightly, like she’s a dream he’s afraid to wake up from. 

“You love me?” He repeats in a whisper. Knitting her eyebrows together, she frowns and bites into the soft flesh of the inside of her bottom lip as his lips brush her earlobe.

“Yes”, she leans her head back on his shoulder, relaxing in his arms.

“Good.” Riven whispers and she snaps out of it, slapping his hands until he lets go. 

“Good?” She exclaims, her glare deadlier than a blade. 

“Yeah?” Riven chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

“I tell you I love you and all you have to say is good?” She deadpans, before throwing her hands in the air, “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah. It’s good, because I’ve been in love with you for about a year now and it’s good to know you finally feel the same way.” Riven shrugs, “But go on. I like it when you’re angry.”

Rolling her eyes, she playfully slaps his chest, “Don’t fucking do that to me!”

“Did you just say a swear word?” Riven’s eyes widen, a grin much wider making Y/N blush.

“You’re really going to nitpick at my language instead of kissing me now when we finally got a moment alone in months?” She raises an eyebrow, tapping her foot nervously.

“I’m actually running late”, Riven wets his lips and yet he doesn’t move away, but closer to Y/N. All he can taste is the cherry chapstick she wore the first time they kissed. That was on a constant loop inside his head.

“We could run?” Y/N tries, but Riven only shakes his head.

“I spent my whole life running. I can’t betray Sky like that. He’s my brother.” 

Struggling to inhale, Y/N whispers, “And what am I to you?”

“The love of my life.” Riven blurts out without a second thought as his hands cups her cheeks, “You’re the only reason why I’m never going to give up.”

“You’re saying all the right words and my heart still hurts”, she sniffles, hoping she doesn’t cry again. She’s had enough of crying for a lifetime.

“I wish I could make it better, I do.” Closing his eyes, Riven leans his forehead on hers, “I love you with all I am. With all I’ll ever be.” Drawing in a sharp inhale, he holds his breath for a moment to stop tears from forming. “If I were a better man, I’d have let you go.”

“Don’t be the better man”, she croaks, her fingers curling his hair at the back of his head. “Be the bad guy. Just be mine.” And she kissed him. With a devastating sweetness, an innocence - as if this were the first time. Strong fingers curved about her jaw and warmth seeped into her bones, her skin, her soul.

The lips held to hers, reassuringly alive. Riven had reassured her by the strength of his arms surrounding her and the steady wilderness in his chest, beat of a heart not her own. 

She was no longer alone in misery. Someone was there, keeping her warm, holding the memories at bay and dangers of the world could no longer get to her. Her lips softened; tentatively, she returned the kiss with all her heart.

Breaking the kiss, Riven’s arms leave her, the warmth going with him. She stumbles, catching her breath. 

Riven glances at his phone only to swear under his breath and she knows something’s happened.

“Listen to me”, Riven swallows thickly, “Stay with Stella and the rest tonight.”

“Why”, Y/N frowns, folding her arms across her chest.

“Don’t ask questions, please.” Pecking her lips, Riven takes a few steps back, “If you love me as much as you say you do, go now and stay with the girls. I’ll try to contact you as soon as I can.”

“Riven”, Y/N raises her voice, unnerved and anxious about his behavior. 

“Sunshine, please”, his voice softens and she nods, licking her lips. Before she can say a word, he manages a smile, “I’ll come back to you. I will.” 

And that’s when he leaves and Y/N does as he asked. But the nagging feeling inside her chest is relentless - something bad is happening and someone is going to get hurt.

Part 4 

[kechiwrites]

spit or swallow

Dentist!Eijirou Kirishima x Patient!Reader

wc: 1.5k

“he works diligently above you, latex gloved hands occasionally brushing your nose, jaw and throat. He’s nothing less than gentle with you, angling your face where he needs it with feather soft touches and honey smooth direction.”

warnings: afab reader, fantasizing about your dentist, a lil bit of praise kink, biting, oral sex, size kink if you squint, swearing, dick slapping but like make it tender, we’re light on warnings today y’all, 18+ 

author’s notes: kirishima....thank u to my lovely betas @lady-bakuhoe​ and @rivendell101​ yes i kept the arm hair thing in, im a simp ♡.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about being a dentist. The visual of Dr. Kirishima up to his elbows in spit and god know what else is hardly erotic. But there’s very little you can do to stop the shivers that tingle down your spine at the sight of his bare forearms, revealed to you by the careful and precise folding of his doctor’s coat, dusted with fine black hair and corded with muscle when they reach over your face to adjust the light or peer at your x-rays. Your tongue is still thick and sweet in your mouth from the liquid he'd given to you in a little blue cup. The taste was just barely spearmint and you wish you could chase it with the sharp tang of his sweat. You wish you could wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, bite and kiss and suck at the skin under his jaw you're becoming so familiar with. You want to create a flush so deep you find it blooming over his skin when you undo the little white plastic buttons of his dress shirt.

While you're musing, he works diligently above you, latex gloved hands occasionally brushing your nose, jaw and throat. He’s nothing less than gentle with you, angling your face where he needs it with feather soft touches and honey smooth direction. You get the distinct impression he’s a mellow guy, tossing easy smiles to anyone who meets his eye and he certainly doesn’t seem very intimidating. Even still, you can't help but think about the stretch. There's not a doubt in your mind that Eijirou Kirishima D.D.S. is packing like he's on a two month vacation. His shoulders are impossibly broad and when he escorted you through the bleach white hallway all you could think of was letting him loom over you and drag the heavy weight of his weeping cock up and down the plush skin of your face. You wish he would push past the softness of your lips and urge your head further and further down his length until the tip of his dick touches your fucking brain. You want him to spread your pussy open between latex covered thumbs and bury his tongue in you, let his unnervingly sharp teeth catch the hood of your clit.

You want him to hurt you.

You’re lost in the visual of his hands around your throat when he calls your name, trying to get you to angle your chin just a bit further downward. When you finally comply, he whispers “Good girl” and it takes every single bit of your self restraint to stop yourself from whimpering at the image the phrase conjures. You screw your eyes shut and behind your lids, Dr. Kirishima is holding you against the padded chair by the back of your neck, sinking his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder, hip, thigh, leaving aching, perfect half circles in their wake. He keeps you in place with one hand, and presses his cock against the throbbing heat of your cunt, not quite hard enough to enter, not yet. Instead he’s content to tease you into begging for it. And you do, you pant out platitudes and pleas for more until he blankets your body with his own, weighing you down as he pushes into you, fucking deeper and deeper until your slick covers both of your thighs. He fucks you with four fingers in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue while he calls you his favourite patient. His perfect patient.

“Am I hurting you?” You open your eyes in an instant, and the dentist is hovering above you, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You aren’t even sure how long your eyes have been closed, but the light overhead stings a bit and you blink owlishly before speaking.

I fucking wish.

“No, no I’m fine.” You steeple your hands together in your lap and try to shake off the reverie.

“Great, well we’re all done here,” he pulls his mask down to hang around his neck and blinds you with a beaming smile, before you can even feel guilty, the dentist spins around in his bone white office chair, rummaging in a shelf before coming back to you, with two closed fists held up for your choosing.

“Pick one.” When you can only respond with a confused tilt of the head he explains, “A treat for my favourite patient. I know you aren’t exactly lollipop age but…” Dr. Kirishima continues to speak but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the roaring in your ears. You interrupt him mid-sentence and tap your hand against his left and he opens his wide palm with a flourish to reveal a bright yellow sugar free wrapped candy and a packet of floss with a smiley little cartoon tooth emblazoned on the front.

You aren’t quite sure how, but you know it’s mocking you.

You take the gifts from his hand, trying hard to ignore the feeling of your fingertips dragging against his open palm. There’s maybe one hundred filthy thoughts slamming against the walls of your skull produced by the feel of his skin against yours, and honestly you’re just thankful they’re not readable in your eyes or pouring out of your fucking ears. You clear your throat and do your best to smile at Dr. Kirishima, swivelling in the dentist chair to place your feet back on the ground once he scoots back enough for you to stand. You gather your bag and coat while he rattles off what you need to remember; “easy on the sugar, red wine and coffee, brush twice a day, floss as often as you can, etc.” With the dentist now out of your immediate line of sight you can force yourself to calm down. Your heart rate finally returns to a steady pulse in your chest and a centering deep breath brings you back down the rest of the way. While you shove your hands into your coat pockets to check that your essentials are all accounted for, you can hear Dr. Kirishima quietly issue directions to the waiting dental assistant in the hallway. Finally back in your right mind, you turn with your things in hand to thank your dentist, half relieved and half disappointed to be leaving his close quarters, only to slam bodily into the hard planes of his chest beneath his thin dress shirt.

You stumble backwards and it’s the quick movement of Dr. Kirishima’s hands (one cemented around your forearm and the other on your hip) that stops you from colliding with his tray of instruments.

“Are you alright?” He questions you, palms iron hot against your skin, even through your clothes. His voice is just a bit too loud for how close you are to each other, and you shift backwards in his hold to look into his eyes. In the shuffle, you’d pressed both of your, embarrassingly, sweaty hands against his shoulders, one of them fisted tightly in the lapel of his doctor’s coat. Still, even as you blabber assurances to him looming above you, neither of you move to let go, opting instead to remain stock still, as though the slightest disruption could make your position any more inappropriate than it already was.

Kirishima’s hand tightens on your hip just the tiniest bit and when he opens his mouth to speak to you, your gaze focuses on the exceptionally vicious point of his canines. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, just fast enough to catch him staring at your lips, parted in surprise at the collision.

Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, Kirishima draws closer to you, and for a second you think he’ll kiss you, but instead his cheek brushes over yours, lips meeting the curve of your ear, warm breath rushing against your skin, eliciting full body shivers. The grip you have on his shirt turns to iron and you urge him closer, narrowing the minimal space between you until your chest is pressed so firmly against his.

“I-”

Whatever he was going to say is cut short by the sound of the office door swinging open, heralding the dental assistant’s return. Thankfully, Kirishima’s assistant has their eyes on their clipboard, addressing you by your last name and rattling off the best date for your next cleaning. While their attention is split you force space between yourself and the man holding you. When they do finally raise their eyes, looking for confirmation, you bob your head in agreement, hoping to god they’d give you a form, or receipt or anything to remind you of the details currently being divulged only to be drowned out by the thud of your own heartbeat.

“I’d actually like for her to come in earlier, if possible, we didn’t get the chance to do a polishing today.”

Both you and the assistant blink at the doctor, and slowly his cheeks redden under your stare.

“If that’s alright with you?” He coughs, folding his arms over his chest.

It takes you a second to understand what’s going on but when you do, it snaps your willpower in half.

“Next week then! I’ve got time, if you do.” You reply and Dr. Kirishima’s answering smile is blinding in the best way.

“Sounds perfect.”

[aenaxes-moved]

inertia

[crosshair x gn!reader] removing crosshair's inhibitor chip was never going to be an easy task, but you never expect it to demand an item of equal exchange. otherwise known as picking up the pieces with crosshair, together.

warnings: past paralytic injury, general angst, hurt-comfort

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: as much as i hate physics, you can't deny there's a poetry to the laws of the universe. inertia keeps heavy objects in place, and guilt's one of the heaviest burdens of all.

There are certain universal laws you learn while living on a ship, like the slightly upsetting fact that magnetism is relative and so is time. But there are constants: the behavior of gravity around a massive star, the physics of self-contained gas giants, and, on a less macrocosmic scale, that Crosshair’s armor has neat paint, all clean lines and sharp edges bordering plastoid and standard issue paint.

It only makes sense, a steady hand demanded by a life behind the trigger, you think quietly, watching Crosshair carefully scrape the excess red paint from his brush on the side of a flat scrap of metal. With only the low hum of the Marauder to fill the silence, you follow his brush as you stand in the armory threshold and simply observe the slow deliberation of an even, unwavering line drawn from a memory even the inhibitor chip could not blur.

Not that it’s a particularly difficult thing to paint, the sharp, stylized edge of a nine. But there is a silent weight to its image, a firm and resonant return in its bold crimson colour, reclaiming its rightful place on his shoulder in amends, if the restless bob of his toothpick says anything.

If you look long enough, it’s like he never left. Like you never lost your legs.

“You’re back early,” Crosshair says, dipping his brush back into the paint squeezed over his makeshift palette.

“The rest wanted to explore, but the humidity was getting to me. And I missed you,” you add, and your heart swells when you hear him laugh softly in return.

“I believe you,” he chuckles. It’s a rare thing to come by, laughter genuine and sweet, even with Crosshair’s return—perhaps, because of his return—but you take it gratefully either way.

Two cups of caf in hand, you push yourself off the doorway and move to join Crosshair at his place on the armory floor. But as you set a foot forward, a bolt of pain laces up your ankle. It’s the kind of pain that precipitates a fall, starting low in the arch of your foot, gaining a momentum that renders you immobile by the time it’s clawed up your thigh and fizzled around the cybernetic plate welded to the base of your spine.

It fells you without warning or remorse, cracking you open with the bone-deep sensation of memory. A single ultra-ionized shot through a modified rifle and silencer, calculated and surgically precise, a one of a kind and the only one you have known.

(It wasn’t his fault.)

You jerk forwards, caf sloshing dangerously close to the rim, and you distantly register the clatter of plastoid across the floor before you feel a shoulder push up from under your arm. Long fingers dig into your side, reminiscent of better days and tender touches shared in the quiet comfort of a bunk, and you pitch unsteadily, eyes squeezed tight enough to see white.

As much as you would like to confirm the certainty of a stable support before you can relax, the lingering dredges of atmospheric humidity and exhaustion of breaking into a high security imperial compound work cruelly against your strength. You can do little but give in.

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you sag against the only person on the ship able to brace your fall. Miraculously, the caf, handles squeezed tight under your white-knuckled grip, remains unspilled.

“I ruined your paint,” you laugh through your teeth, fuzzy black edges slowly receding from your field of vision as you blink your eyes open.

“And I shot you,” Crosshair hisses.

Crosshair lowers you to the floor, and you feel a full-bodied flinch shock through his form as your unmoving legs splay awkwardly over the cold metal. He is quick to take the cups out of your hand, setting them down with a hard clack before he returns his attention to you. You had always thought Echo would be the one on the receiving end of carefully placed touches to coax the pain of surgical scars and rough wiring away.

You never once dreamed it might be you, too.

One arm secured around your shoulders, he reaches down like it’s muscle memory to rub slowly over the scar tissue framing your implant. The scars are fresh, just barely a week old and forever seared over your skin, but guilt, you have found, tends to hasten the learning process, the scrambling compensation.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you sigh, leaning against Crosshair’s chest and dropping your head back against his shoulder.

“I aimed. I pulled the trigger, y/n.” He’s angry, a low, simmering rage held close and bubbling under the hard edge in his voice as his grip tightens around you. You feel it in the faint tremor in his arm, how he holds you tight to his side and silently wills you to stay.

He is angry, but it is not for you.

“You weren't you,” you mumble.

It’s second nature—it always has been, now, simply with pause—to turn your head when he’s nestled up against your back, to lean close, nuzzle into his neck, and ground yourself, ground him, in the silence of touch. Relief floods your chest, warm sunlight dawning over the thorn in your side, when you feel him chase your touch, settling both his arms around your waist and ducking down low to press his chin atop the crown of your head.

Nothing would ever be the same, but this was a start.

“If it wasn’t me,” Crosshair starts, his voice catching on a sputtering inhale, thick with the tangle of words unsaid. He clears his throat, and if you notice the curling edges of a tremor on his tongue, you say nothing. “If it wasn’t me, who else can you blame?”

“I don’t blame anyone,” you say into his skin, lips ghosting over his rapid pulse.

It’s a diplomatic answer. Of course you blame someone—Palpatine, Tarkin, the fact that Crosshair and his brothers, every last one of the clones, had been built around a single, biding initiative that he hadn’t the luck or the chance to resist. You had been sleeping with the enemy even before he knew that he could be the enemy.

But thinking about it makes your head spin. Blame is too hard, too tiring to place when you, yourself, had been sewn into its vast web. So while Crosshair had slept with a bacta patch plastered to his temple, you had rewired your spinal cord and decided to be away with the anger, the resentment, the mornings waking up in tears when you lifted your blanket and barely recognized that you had legs at all.

“Don’t fucking lie,” Crosshair spits, and you feel him shake around you. Anger, such an easy defense. Such a flimsy one.

“I’m not—”

“I hear you cry in the mornings when your cybernetics don’t click; I hear you scream when you try to move and your mind tells you one thing but your legs don’t fucking work because I made a killshot that paralyzed you—”

“And it paralyzed me because you had every chance to put a bolt through my head but you aimed for my back. You were fighting it, Cross,” you counter, voice quivering.

“But it was me. I took that shot, and you pretend like you don’t—like you don’t hate me because I still had my chip. But I remember it, and it was still me, and you have every right to—”

“Cross!” you shout, and he starts hard enough that you feel him jump. You feel blindly for his hand, gripped tight at his own wrist, and squeeze, hard. “I have my legs back. And sometimes they don’t work just right, but all I care about right now is that you’re back. It’s all I’ll ever care about.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he mumbles into your hair, the sudden burst of vitriol tamed and locked away for the moment.

You’re distinctly aware that he itches to push you away. You feel it in the uncertain pause rigid in his movements before he turns his palm to twine his fingers with yours. After all, it’s easier to cope when the object of your crushing guilt is at an arm’s length.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to comfort me, tell me that you missed me too and that I was right, and you say that everything’ll work out, Cross,” you laugh weakly. You gently knock your head against his collar, prodding, urging, anything to break the crushing silence you know haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Instead, you feel a shuddering sigh against your ear, and Crosshair only dips his head low, hiding his face in your shoulder as his grip tightens around your waist. There is no sardonic quip or playful bite to offer you peace—only slow, mechanical breaths pressed into your skin in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart altogether. You reach up, gingerly carding your fingers through his hair when you feel that telltale warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, salt sharp on your tongue.

“I shot you. I aimed to kill,” Crosshair mumbles, almost hysterical in level calm, the steady veil locking his tense jaw and drawn shoulders in place. “Why are you comforting me?”

“Would you rather I never speak to you again?” No malice in your tone, you shift your weight, bearing down against Crosshair and begging him to move closer. He does.

“It would be more believable if you did,” he mutters, and you catch the tail end of a soft sniff.

“Not really my thing, grudges,” you say. “Especially against the people I love.” Trailing your fingers lower, you slip below his hairline and begin stroking your palm over the back of his neck, bent forward at an unforgiving angle. You wonder how many times he’s curled into himself like this that he can simply sit, penance and grieving, and the ache that seizes your ribs hurts more than your cybernetic misfire.

“After all that,” he finally mumbles, something close to hushed awe in his voice. “You still love.”

Slowly, melting through the numb static crackle, you feel the sensation seeping back into your feet. You could always rebuild your mobility with some careful cerebrospinal implants, seasonal aches and occasional pains be damned, but you could never replace him.

“Of course I do,” you whisper back. Careful to keep the quiet, tremulous peace, you bring your hand down, sliding around the side of his neck to cup his jaw from behind, ignoring the wetness streaked over his skin. “Still loving,” you affirm, voice steady as you thumb over his cheek. “Still loving you.”

It takes a beat of silence, your words lingering in the still air of the armory, but instead of the tense, fraught grief of when your implant had fizzled out, there is warmth, present and forgiving. You know that nothing will ever be the same, but when Crosshair turns his head to press his lips into your palm, you know that you can still try. Like the waking groan of a crashed ship, you will pick up the pieces and power up one more time, again, again, again, as many times as it takes.

Crosshair nuzzles close, quietly basking in your presence as you sit curled together on the armory floor. And at last, his breaths still, slow and deep as the ship hums around you. He’s never been one for words, not even at his fever pitch of disorientation and distress. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he means when he clasps your hand again and holds tight, but his voice is a welcome sound all the same.

“Thank you.”

And for a while, that’s how you stay, breathing slowly and clinging to each other like moving apart would mean never coming back. And that’s how it genuinely does feel—the safety in stillness, carving out your own constant in the cosmic entropy of conquest and loss. For a moment, you can simply savor the quiet simplicity of being.

But the universe wills motion, stars colliding and collapsing and breathing new life all over again. So too, do you feel the strength return in lapsing waves to your legs and the coiled fear leach out of Crosshair’s posture.

“Promise me this,” you whisper, just loud enough to rise above the ambient noise of the ship as you curl your toes and feel again, lurching into motion like gears fallen into disrepair. Crosshair rouses behind you, and he sniffs deeply, once, before he presses his cheek to the side of your head—he is listening. “Promise me that we’ll move on.”

“I can’t promise that,” he says after a brief pause, words measured and low. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

As much as there are variables scattered through star systems and wreaking havoc wherever they go, so too are there constants pushing back against the chaos, aligning the universe. Like clockwork, when you wake, the stars turn, the gas giants dance, and when you squeeze Crosshair’s hand, he squeezes back.

[inkykeiji]

day 4 ❅ let’s go below zero and hide from the sun

i love you forever where we’ll have some fun

day three ❅ day four ❅ day five | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeeeeee meery christmas eve everyone, here’s day four!!!!! day four is my favourite out of the five, so i truly hope you all enjoy it as much as i do <3 as always, please pay attention to the warnings n stay safe!! | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), implied noncon, sub-drop, panic attacks, fingering, cockwarming, car sex, mentioned drug use, generally toxic relationships, size difference, verbal fights, tense family dynamics

words: 8.4k

synopsis:

“It’s nothing,”

Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.

“It’s not nothing,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.

“It matters very much to me, niichan,”

“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”

A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”

  ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅    

Sunlight streams through the crystal window, tiny dust motes playing hide and seek between the rays, painting golden beams across the smooth skin of Touya’s bare back, his skin almost sparkling in the warm light.

A little whimper slips from between your lips as your eyelids stick together, sealed shut by dry salt, brow furrowing as you finally pry them open. They hurt, dry and tacky and squinting against the too-bright light, spitting a hiss through your teeth.

“Ow,” you whine as you try to roll onto your side, every muscle in your body aching and stuffed full of exhaustion.

You’re sweating—Touya is always way too hot, and this bed is decidedly much too tiny for the both of you—raising a heavy arm to try and shove the sheets down to your waist, only to find that you can’t. It takes your hazy mind a few moments to realize that the sheets are stuck to your skin.

Bleary eyes blink twice, raising your head off of the plush pillow with immense effort and gazing down at your naked body. The muscles in your arms are screeching in protest as stiff, sore fingers fist in the sheets, giving one hard yank and ripping the material from your body, a sharp gasp hitching in your throat.

Hard, dried cum is splattered across your entire torso, wincing a little as you arch your back and watch it crack on your skin. Vibrant petals of indigo and violet have bloomed across your body, growing in places you don’t ever remember them being planted in.

What the hell happened last night?

It’s hard for you to recall, really, eyebrows knitting as you think hard, sifting through all of your recent memories and trying to remember when someone spurted cum all over your body.

Everything from last night is nothing but a tangled mess in your mind, with loops and crisscrosses, certain memories seeming to overlap, to morph together the more you think about them. It’s as if you’re watching an old film through a thick cloud of fog, flickering and stained with sepia as the sound keeps cutting in and out, the projector stopping once in a while, stuttering and repeating frames or burning holes through the filmstock.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to roll your beaten body onto your side, yelping softly from the massive effort. A sudden rush of tears pricks your eyes, burning in your throat as you try desperately to hold them back, to swallow them silently like a good little girl.

But it’s hard, tiny hiccupped sobs attempting to climb up your raw throat, catching painfully in your chest as you strive to suppress them, to gulp them back down, to force them back into the core of your body and stay put. Yet they refuse to cooperate, becoming more and more vicious as they fight against you, causing you to cough and choke on them as they finally escape your lips, and you mentally berate yourself for such a stupid rush of senseless emotions.

Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. It’s too early—you’re going to wake him and he’s going to be—

“Baby?” Touya croaks, voice deeper than normal, hoarser than normal.

And, God, he sounds so fucking hot in the morning.

“M’fine,” you say, though the words just come out sounding garbled and wet.

“Baby, baby, no,” he’s saying softly as he pushes himself into a sitting position, sheet pooling around his waist and exposing his chest, strong arms hooking under yours as he pulls you up and into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” you whine into his neck, shutting your eyes tightly as tears begin to leak from the corners.

“For what, princess?”

You don’t know. You just are. Shaking your head in response, you shove your face against him, letting your tears drip off your jaw and soak into his skin.

“Alright, alright,” a large hand pets your back rhythmically, up and down, up and down, fingers tracing along your spine. “Niichan’s got you,”

“What’s going on?”

The unexpected voice startles you, and you freeze in Touya’s embrace.

“Is she okay?”

It’s groggy and rough, vibrating in his throat, and you nuzzle into Touya’s shoulder, chest hiccupping.

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Touya responds, and you can hear it, that hint of worry laced in his voice, accompanied by a sprinkling of frustration, but it only makes you cry harder, entire body trembling against him.

The other bed groans as Natsuo slides out of it, bare feet padding against the hardwood, your mattress dipping as he sits on the edge a moment later.

“Aw, poor baby,” Natsuo purrs, a soft, massive hand clamping down on your tense shoulder, thick fingers digging into your muscles. “Was last night too much for you, sweetheart?”

His voice is so patronizing, and you whimper a little against Touya, who kicks his younger brother’s thigh with his foot.

“Don’t be an asshole,”

“Says you,” Natsuo scoffs. “I’m being serious. It might be sub-drop,” The bed shifts again, and then kisses are being pressed to the column of your spine, down, down, down your back, words murmured sweetly into your skin. “I’m sorry, babygirl,”

“S’wasn’t too much f’me,” you mumble, heat seeping into your cheeks as both men laugh.

“Definitely sub-drop,” Touya says with a sigh, resting a large palm on your head. “I’ll run a bath,”

“I’ll make some tea and eggs,”

Peaking out from Touya’s shoulder, you watch as Natsuo heaves himself off the bed, snatching his shirt up from the floor and slipping it on before exiting your bedroom with nothing but his Frosty the Snowman briefs as bottoms.

Touya gently deposits you on the bed, slipping out from under you and shaking his head with a chuckle when you whine loudly, making little grabby hands for him, muttering Yup, definitely sub-drop under his breath.

Touya pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants and a nondescript black t-shirt over his head before he returns to the bed, laughing again at the involuntary pout set on your lips.

“C’mon, brat,” he murmurs affectionately, wrapping your naked, cum-stained body in the sheet before he hoists you up, carrying you across the hall to the bathroom and placing you on the counter, still swaddled up.  

“Bubbles?” You ask, voice small as he bends to start running the bath.

“I dunno if we have any, princess,” he says with a small frown as he turns back to face you, sapphire eyes scanning the washroom quickly.

It turns out you do, in a pink bottle with faded Disney princesses on the worn label, hidden behind half-finished cans of old hairspray and expired toothpaste, covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Very fitting,” Touya snorts.

It must be over ten years old, but that’s alright—bubble bath doesn’t expire, does it?

Touya pours a bit too much of the syrupy magenta substance under the running water, resulting in you being encased in a mountain of foamy suds that reek of artificial bubblegum.

“Y-You’re not coming?” You ask, a frown materializing on your face as you watch Touya turn off the tap, wiping some of the bubbles that cling to his arm on his thigh.

“No, baby,” he says softly, kneeling in front of the tub. He guesses your next question before your dazed mind can find the word. “Because niichan wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you if he did, and that’s not what you need right now,”

“I could handle it,” you grumble, and Touya laughs, eyes glittering.

“It isn’t a question of whether or not you can handle it, it’s a question of whether or not you need it,”

But even without him snuggled behind you it’s nice nonetheless, your niichan cleaning your body slowly, unhurriedly, dragging a rough cloth across your skin and lathering soap in little circles, cleaning the sweat that has dried sticky and salty on your neck and collarbone, then elbow-deep in the water as he gently pries your thighs apart, scrubbing away the dried cum. Soft, murmured affirmations spill from his lips as he works, praising you for being such a good girl last night, for being such a good girl as he washes you.

Good girl, very good girl, his good girl, his best girl.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Just past noon, Rei kicks you all out of the house.

“The Takasu Snow Park is open until four today,” she tells you curtly, practically shooing the five of you out of the cabin. “Don’t come back until it’s closed.”

She lets you take different cars, this time.

“And Touya, Shouto,” she calls from the doorway, lips pressed in a firm, thin line.

Both boys freeze at the sound of their names, hesitantly turning to meet their mother’s gaze.

“Don’t forget that you’re doing the dishes tonight,”

Shouto scoffs as he turns away, climbing into the back seat of Natsuo’s car, and Touya rolls his eyes, muttering something about being treated like a child, to which Fuyumi retorts that it’s only fair, considering the fact that he’s been acting like one.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

The Takasu Snow Park is just under an hour from the cabin. It’s surprisingly busy for Christmas Eve, filled with high-pitched squeals of excitement and bubbles of laughter as children wrapped up in brightly coloured snowsuits waddle around with tubes in tow.

And Touya drives right past it.

“Niichan, I think you just—”

“We aren’t going tubing, baby,” he says nonchalantly, a wicked spark glinting in his eye as he glances over at you, lips tugging up into a crooked smirk at the way your head quirks cutely, shaking it a little to indicate that you don’t understand what he means. “Niichan would rather play with that pretty pussy of yours instead,”

And he does, finding a shaded little nook just off the main road, snow squeaking under rubber tires as he pulls into it, partially obscuring his car.

“C’mere, princess,” he breathes, patting a thigh. “Come play with your niichan,”

You scamper across the center console and crawl into his lap, thighs straddling him and giggling a little as his fingers inch up, up, up, until they’re pushing your white lacy panties to the side and gliding against your slit.

“Something funny, pretty girl?”

“No, niichan,” you gasp as a finger dips into you, curling as he drags it out and repeating the action a few more times before adding another, your head finding purchase on his shoulder.

Nimble fingers work slowly, lazily, messily, Touya’s free hand busy scrolling through missed text messages on his work phone as he lets you pathetically rut against his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, craning his neck a little and allowing you to trace along the brilliant ink that stains his skin with your tongue.

And it’s nice. It’s almost romantic in a sense, just the two of you silently enjoying each other’s company, the only noise your gentle little mewls and a howling gust of wind every once in a while. The countryside, draped with freshly fallen snow from the storm yesterday, glitters in the late afternoon sun, the cloudless sky as blue as Touya’s eyes. You sigh dreamily as you gaze up at it, basking in the feeling of your niichan’s fingers buried inside of you, stroking your silky walls intermittently, just the two of you in your own little world, protected from everything else by the Audi’s bulletproof glass.

“W-Wanna cockwarm you,” the words are mumbled against his neck sleepily, your eyes lidded and heavy, only half conscious and barely aware of what you’re saying.

But you can feel his cock, hard and hot through dark denim, and it makes your little hole clench, fluttering around nothing. “Jus wanna be full, wanna be close,”

Touya’s chuckling as he shifts a little, hands slipping between your bodies to unbuckle his belt. “That so, princess? Is my baby girl being a needy little slut?” And despite the degrading words used, his tone is warm, gentle and full of compassion. “Niichan will let you sit on his cock if that’s what you want,”

“Please,” you’re whining, pulling back to gaze at him with bleary eyes. “Please, please,”

“Alright, greedy little thing,” he hushes you like he’s calming a fussy baby, shucking his jeans down just enough to let his cock spring out, using his thumb to push it forward, presenting it to you.

“So pretty, niichan, so pretty,” you’re mumbling as a small hand wraps around the base, squirming a little in his lap and lifting yourself to hover over him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his hips.

He lets you do all of the work, merely watching you through hooded eyes, an odd little grin present on his face. Touya doesn’t normally allow you to cockwarm him, hates how goddamn teasing it usually is, but he figures that today we have time to kill, so why not?

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs as you sink down on him, a loud moan getting caught in your throat. “You feel better now, huh? You feel better now that niichan’s stuffing your little cunt full?”

A soft whine is all you can manage, nodding dumbly against his shoulder. Yes, yes, you feel better, you feel right, you feel complete.

And you can’t help but hump him a little, hips rocking against his in tiny, shallow motions, clit catching on his pubic bone with every push forward and drag back.

“Yeah, that’s it, princess,” he breathes, though his eyes are still focused on his phone, reading an article about a drug bust you’re sure his gang was a part of. “Use niichan to get yourself off, come on,”

He tells you to go slow, to be careful, cute pussy still sore from the abuse it suffered last night, and you obey, hips moving in unhurried motions, just enjoying the feeling of him being inside you, of him being this close, of how good it feels, sweet little whimpers of niichan, niichan, being huffed out against his neck.

It takes a good half hour of grinding before you’re finally creaming all over his cock, body trembling in his arms as he hushes you through it, whispering into your hair how good you are for him, one of his hands gripping your hips and forcing you to keep moving until your body collapses against his, boneless and pliant. Touya affords you a few moments to come down, cock still buried deep inside you, twitching as it patiently waits for your breathing to calm.

He isn’t gonna fuck you, he tells you as he shifts your limp body off of his cock, not with how you were feeling this morning. But he doesn’t think it’s very fair to make niichan suffer with such a hard cock, especially after he just let you cum all over it.

You don’t think it’s very fair, either, murmuring your agreement to him as your hand wraps around the shaft, his cock jumping at your touch.

It’s still so wet from all of your own juices, aiding your hand as it pumps him, hard and fast the way he likes it, obscene squelching echoing throughout the car.

Heat floods your cheeks while you watch your motions, stomach curling in on itself as his cock gleams with your slick, and it’s so hot, that’s so hot baby.

It doesn’t take long to have him panting out those gorgeous sounds, throaty moans and broken little whines, and you can tell he’s close when his hips begin to shift, thrusting into your fist. But you don’t want him making a mess all over his nice car, or his pretty sweater, leaning down to close your lips around the tip and suckle, tongue swiping across his slit as your hand works.

He whimpers out a curse before his hips stutter, thrusting his cock into your mouth as it paints your throat with spurts of burning cream. And you swallow it all, like the good little girl you are, looking up at him with sparkling eyes as you thank him for his cum, and God he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Christmas Eve dinner consists of a symphony of forks dragging across porcelain and spoons scraping against bowls. Rei tersely shoos everyone out of the kitchen the moment it’s over, brusquely ordering Touya and Shouto to get started on their chores.

The rest of the family shuffles into the living room, sitting stiffly on the couches, the television’s volume low as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer plays on the screen.

Fuyumi tries to reason with her mother in a hushed urgent voice, tries to tell her that it’s a bad idea to leave the two of them alone, especially with Touya surrounded by so many objects that could potentially be used as weapons.

“They’re adults,” her mother responds, tone clipped. “And they aren’t alone,” grey eyes glance over at the kitchen, at her eldest and youngest standing together at the sink, frothy bubbles beginning to build as the tap runs. “I can see them perfectly fine from here.”

“Mom—” Natsuo begins, cutting himself off at the glare his mother shoots his way, swallowing his words and nodding instead. “—is right. Mom is right,” he looks over at his sister. “They’re fine, look at them,”

But his voice is high, thin, glassy, the words trembling ever so slightly as stone eyes dart towards his siblings, both with rigid shoulders, weighted with the thick tension suffocating the room.

“They should be fine,”

But it’s hard for you to watch, too much for you to watch, entire body consumed by sharp anxiety as you observe Touya’s stiff movements. His jaw is set, nostrils flaring as he glares down at the sink, frustration and anger and red-hot hatred beginning to ooze through his mask of passivity, to seep through the cracks Shouto’s dexterously created using hostile comments and snide glances as his tools.

And on Christmas Eve, that mask finally shatters.

Because Touya doesn’t have it in him to continue his act of indifference anymore, worn out and exhausted by the effort. Trembling hands pluck a spoon from the mountain of dishes sitting in the aluminum sink, wetting it with water and then laving over it with a soapy sponge.

He’s sure he’s coming down—even though it isn’t time yet, even though he knows, deep down, that the comedown is still a few hours away, even though he knows he knows his body better than this, has been swallowing oxys for so long that he’s got the comedown memorized, right down to the fucking second—but he swears he can feel it, can feel the migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes, can feel the cold sweat beginning to bead at his temples, can feel the chills beginning to course through his body despite how warm the cabin is, teeth grinding to keep from clattering.

The air stings his clenched teeth as he sucks in a breath, exhaling slowly, shakily, trying to force his mind to focus on the dish in his hand, on the warm water cascading over his skin, on the light scent of artificial lemon wafting from his sudsy skin. It’s fine, he’s fine, all he has to do is wash a few stupid dishes and then—

“Listen—”

“Shut the fuck up and scrub,”

“I just wanted to—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Touya growls, gaze hyper-focused on the plate he’s been cleaning for over a minute now.

A lie. He has a lot to say to him, but he’d rather not make their mother cry, again, desperately hoping that Shouto will just shut his mouth and finish cleaning his side of the skin so they can get this fucking over with.

Shouto sighs, deep and patronizing, scoffing as his chest rises with the force of it.

“You’re impossible,” he grumbles. “Why can’t you—”

But then it’s all bubbling over, acidic words flowing from his mouth before he has a moment to consider what he’s saying. He wishes Shouto would’ve just left it, would’ve gritted his teeth like Touya and finished their chores silently instead of trying to play some fucking martyr, instead of trying to fix something that has always been broken.

“I heard what you said in that fucking washroom,” Touya cuts him off, eyes finally flashing to his face, jaw clenching twice as he glares at his baby brother. “Don’t you ever fill her head with that bullshit again, do you hear me?”

“She’s my step-sister, too,” Shouto shoots back, scrubbing turned needlessly aggressive, eyebrows set in a deep furrow as he glowers at the bowl in his hands.

“I don’t care,” Touya hisses. “Stay the hell away from her,”

Something massive, sharp and shiny catches his eye as he turns to deposit the clean dish on the drying rack, quivering hand hovering over it in hesitation. A butcher knife, gleaming in the dim, warm light of the kitchen, stuck halfway in the knife block.

Beside him, Shouto snorts, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust as he looks back to his hands, rinsing the bowl under a stream of hot water and placing it on the towel-covered counter.

“What? You gonna stab me? Really? In front of mom on Christmas Eve? Were the bloody nose and the black eye and the split lip not enough for you?”

No, of course not; it will never be enough for Touya.

“Why not?” Touya asks, voice calm, sounding almost serene, for the first time tonight. “It’s not like she’d miss you. I’m the one she took with her when she left, aren’t I? I think we both know that mom loves me more than she loves you—isn’t that right, scarface,”

And that—that has Shouto freezing mid motion, hand halting under the flowing tap water, half rinsed glass still in his grasp. It takes a moment for the words to sink in, Touya watching him almost lazily, that annoying indifferent smirk finally forming on his lips, achingly familiar.

Heterochromatic eyes glaze over and Shouto swallows roughly, jaw clenching twice as he turns towards his eldest brother, the glass clutched in his sudsy hand squeaking as his grip tightens. And for a moment, Touya thinks he’s won, breath bated as he waits for that first tear to escape, to roll down Shouto’s unblemished cheeks and fall crashing to the floor.

But then Shouto’s rolling his shoulders once, twice, puffing his chest out just a touch as he straightens to his full height, nearly a full inch taller that Touya, and exhales forcefully through his nose.

“Y’know, if you loved her—I mean, if you really loved her—you’d let her go,” His voice is sharp, clear, ringing throughout the kitchen, ringing throughout Touya’s head, bouncing off the walls in his mind and reverberating. “What you have, what you’re feeling, isn’t love—it’s obsession.”

That infamous smirk begins to fall, cobalt eyes narrowing at his baby brother’s words, breath beginning to quicken. Shouto sees it then—that final crack in the mask Touya’s so painstakingly crafted, in the mask Touya so expertly worn for so many years—and he strikes.

“It’s possession.”

No. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t need to hear this—it’s all lies, isn’t it? Touya tries to scoff, tries to roll his eyes and shake his head at such ridiculousness, but it feels like his body’s encased in ice, frozen straight to the core.

“It’s insecurity.”

Blood rushes in his ears, but it fails to drown out Shouto’s crisp voice, his words slicing straight through the white noise. Touya wants to tell him to stop, wants to tell him to shut the hell up, wants to silence him by driving that huge knife straight through his fucking chest, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth, refusing to obey his brain as it shouts at it to fight back, goddamn it!

“I meant what I said to her in that washroom,” his younger brother spits, words dripping with hostility as his eyes narrow, giving Touya a once-over like he’s the most pathetic thing Shouto has ever laid eyes on. “She does deserve so much better than you and you fucking know it, but you’re too selfish to let her go. That isn’t love.”

And it’s those final three words that finally have the mask breaking into tiny fragments and falling away, revealing glassy sapphires and a twitching nose, a trembling chin and a hard swallow. It’s those final three words that have it shattering concurrently with the glass in Shouto’s hand, shards clattering to the tiled floor, smashing into smaller pieces upon impact.

It catches Fuyumi’s attention first, who had been on edge and observing the pair sharply, body coiled and ready to spring at the slightest hint of danger.

“Shouto, your hand!” she cries as she leaps up, eyes wide and trained on the blood oozing from Shouto’s palm, rushing down his arm and dripping off his elbow.

But neither of them break their stare, Shouto entirely numb to the pain, Touya entirely suffocated by it, molars grinding together as he tries in vain to stop his chest from stuttering. It isn’t until Fuyumi grabs Shouto by the shoulders and forces him to face her that their gaze is broken, the youngest finally looking down to find his palm stained with viscous crimson.

Frantic sapphire eyes dart around the room, something akin to panic clawing at Touya’s chest, tearing him open from the inside out and making each breath more painful than the next. He needs to go, he needs to leave, he needs to get the hell out of this kitchen, out of this house, needs to, needs to, needs…

Feet stumble a little as he rushes up the stairs, catching himself on the railing twice as he ascends to the top. Someone calls his name, he thinks, but he can barely hear it over the intense ringing in his ears, his vision fading in and out of focus. The door to your shared bedroom slams open, brass knob whacking off the drywall and leaving an ugly little hole not unlike the larger one Shouto’s head left in the living room wall the day before.

Startled and gasping, your book falls from your hands and tumbles to the floor as Touya barrels through the threshold, making a beeline for the nondescript chest of wooden drawers tucked into the corner, yanking it open and beginning to riffle through the neatly folded clothing.

It sounds like he’s muttering something to himself, but you can’t discern what it is, heart beginning to thud against your ribcage. The tufts of hair at the back of his neck are coated in sweat, sticking to the skin, his breathing harsh and uneven as a curse hitches in his chest, rapidly moving onto the next drawer when whatever he’s looking for doesn’t turn up in the first.

A potent mix of adrenaline and dread floods your veins, and for a moment you’re frozen, little fingers curled so tightly in the sheets under you it’s painful, breathing stopped as you watch your niichan urgently rummage through the second drawer, his back beginning to hiccup.

For a moment, you aren’t sure what the hell is going on, unblinking eyes watching his motions in some sort of daze. For a moment, you’re terrified he might be overdosing, frantically searching for—for—you don’t even know, for some sort of antidote Natsuo might’ve given him, or something.

But then, he chokes out a pathetic little half-sob, trying in vain to swallow it back down akin to the first night you spent at the cabin, and then you’re leaping off the bed and rushing towards him in alarm, wrapping your arms around him tightly from behind, and he just…breaks. Collapses against the wooden chest hard enough to make the entire thing wobble, burying his head in his folded arms as his entire body shudders under the force of the sob that tears through his chest.

“Niichan!” you gasp, pawing at the front of his shirt, trying to make him move to face you. “Niichan, niichan, what is it? What’s wrong?” your own voice breaks with the threat of tears as you speak, heart racing in your chest.

He doesn’t respond, merely turns in your embrace and collapses on you instead, face buried in the crook of your neck as he weeps, big juddering breaths that have his entire back convulsing.

The action surprises you, a stark contrast from his stubborn resistance from the first night, but it worries you, too, such surrender uncharacteristic of him.

But your body’s running on autopilot, immediately petting his hair as your other arm tightens around his waist, clutching him. Soft hushes fall from your lips as you hold him, rocking your bodies slightly as you whisper into ivory tufts; it’s okay, you’re there, it’s alright, you’ve got him, you love him.

And the sob that rips from his throat as those last few words leave your lips is nothing short of vicious, has him coughing wetly into your neck and whining a little, large hands curling in the material of your dress as he tries to pull you closer, closer, closer.

“Baby, please, tell me what’s wrong,” you beg and your voice cracks, blinking hard against the tears flooding your own eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help, please,”

He shakes his head, whimpering incoherently into your neck.

Can’t…Won’t…Pathetic…Disgusting…

“Please,” the word catches in your throat as tears finally escape your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in pairs. “Please, let me help, let me make you feel better,”

“I—I—I’m—” he tries, shaking his head again, but you urge him to continue, plead with him to try again. “Need to get out, n-need to—to make it stop,”

You aren’t sure what he means, but it doesn’t matter, body moving on pure instinct the moment the words are out of his mouth, little hand snatching the keys to the Audi off the surface of the dresser and dragging him along behind you.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

The road is empty, silent, entirely barren as the Audi weaves through it, fat snowflakes beginning to drift down from the wispy clouds that decorate the night sky, taking turns blanketing the full moon and softening it’s beams of ivory light.

You don’t drive very far. You haven’t a clue where you’re going, but it doesn’t matter, frenetic eyes searching for the first little secluded clearing you can pull into.

Touya is unsettlingly quiet, save for his soft sniffles and the gentle rustling of his clothing as he uses a sleeve to wipe at his nose. Hiccups are still catching in his chest, but he’s trying his hardest to stop them, to quiet them, growling a little in pure frustration each time one escapes. Your stomach churns uneasily at his muteness—you wish he would just say something, glancing over at him worriedly with your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, his sapphire eyes destitute, bloodshot and glassy as they stare indigently at his knees.

The small village that the cliff overlooks emits a warm glow of golden light, hovering hazily over it like a halo. Christmas lights are strung up on a few of the cabins, little glowing dots of red and green and blue lining the roofs. A dusting of snow has begun to collect, like gingerbread houses sprinkled with icing sugar.

Touya is still silent when you cut the engine, stays silent when you turn to peer at him from your spot in the driver’s seat, stays silent when you place a dainty hand on his bicep, rubbing soothing circles into the clothed muscle and sighing.

“Niichan,”

Nothing.

“Niichan, look at me,”

Nothing.

“Touya-nii,” you murmur, kicking off your boots and climbing over the center console into his lap, his arms immediately opening to embrace you. “What’s going on?”

His gaze still avoids yours, despite the fact that his hands are curling around your body, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to make you wince, needing you close, closer. And his voice is so quiet, almost desolate as he answers.

“It’s nothing,”

Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.

“It’s not nothing,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.

“It matters very much to me, niichan,”

“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”

A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”

Cobalt darts around the car, trying to look anywhere but at your face as sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip, an attempt to quell its quivering. A soft sigh leaves your lips as gentle hands cup his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Let me in,” you whisper, soft little thumbs caressing the ink under his eyes. “Let me help,”

Burning sapphire sears into your eyes, gaze penetrating and powerful as it shines with unshed tears, and you have to force yourself to not look away, to keep staring into those pools of gleaming blue, feeling as though you’re staring directly at the sun.

He doesn’t blink, but the tears collecting in his eyes become too many, too much, spilling over his lashline and cascading down inky cheeks, leaving little gleaming trails in their wake. He inhales deeply, holding the breath in his chest for a moment before exhaling slowly, the breath trembling.

“I don’t even know where to fucking start,”

And his voice is so low you nearly miss it, raw and hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Take your time,” tiny fingers run through his hair again, his eyes closing with the motion, more tears dripping down his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just…Tell me what’s bothering you,”

What is bothering him? It’s hard to say, not because it’s complicated, but because he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to admit that his baby brother’s words have affected him more than he ever thought they would.

If you really loved her…You’d let her go.

He does really love you, he wants to scream until his throat is sore, until his throat is bleeding, molars grinding at the thought of anyone thinking otherwise. He loves you so much, loves you too much, loves you more than he’s loved anything in his entire fucking life, he’s sure of it, positive of it.

He’s loved you since he first began stealing kisses from you, in the kitchen when mom wasn’t looking. He’s loved you since you tiptoed to his room, mumbling about a nightmare and seeking solace in his warm bed, in his warm arms. He’s loved you since you sobbed into his chest, that night you told him you wanted all of him, that night when he realized that you love him, too. He’s loved you since you let him permanently sear his name into your skin, branding you as his forever.

Yes, he’s possessive, and yes, he’s selfish, and yes, he can be a fucking asshole, but he does love you. Really loves you. He can barely remember his life without you in it, everything blurry and out of focus before you entered the frame. You’re all he’s got, all he’s ever had, all he ever wants, and the thought of you being unhappy, the thought of you wanting to leave, kills him, drives a large stake straight through his chest and clean out the other side, spearing him.

And yet, he fails to put any of these thoughts, running a mile a minute through his mind, into words. Patient as ever, you wait, petting his hair, planting kisses scattered across his face, tracing patterns on his skin as a war rages inside his head.

“I’m—It’s fucking pathetic,”

“It isn’t pathetic to be human, Touya,” you whisper sadly, little thumbs swiping across both cheeks. “You don’t have to keep it together every minute of every day,” you remind him gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’re allowed to be ‘weak’, too,”

He shakes his head, but refrains from arguing with you, because he can’t. Because he knows if he opens his mouth, if he tries to speak, he’ll start sobbing again. Sapphire tears away from your gaze, unable to hold your eyes anymore as his chin begins to quiver.

“I do really love you,” he whispers finally, head dropping, eyes squeezing shut against the prick of tears.

“I know you do, baby,” you say softly, fingers rubbing circles into his biceps, though he can hear the confusion laced in your voice.

“But do I—Do I des—”

He can’t. He can’t force those four simple little words out of his mouth, getting caught at the back of his throat, tangling into a giant ball that aches when he tries to swallow past it.

It’s starting again, that feeling from the kitchen, building in his torso, growing, stretching, higher and higher and higher until he can’t fucking breathe. A sharp gasp hitches painfully in his chest as he desperately tries to inhale, tries to suck an adequate amount of air into his lungs, coughing on the saliva pooling at the back of his throat.

“Do I—” the words escape his lips in a pitiful whine, voice cracking.

A sudden flash of blistering fury rips through his chest at his own cowardice. Disgust churns in his stomach, leaving a stinging bitterness lingering on his tongue, revolted at himself for getting so goddamn emotional over this, for letting Shouto’s words eat away at him, corrosive and parasitic as they take root in his brain, infecting his consciousness until it’s all he can fucking hear, think, see.

Tiny fingers find his face, hooking under his jaw and tilting it up, gently forcing him to look at you again. The pads of your fingertips dance along his skin, tracing along his jaw and then up his cheek to catch in the endless stream of tears.

You don’t say anything, because you don’t have to, tender little touches speaking volumes more than your words ever could, inspiring a bout of intense strength as he powers through the sentence, forcing the trembling words from his throat.

“Do I deserve you?”

And you’re so shocked by the question that your fingers halt, and his body stills, his breath stuttering in his throat, staring at you in an almost urgent manner, pleading with you to tell him the answer he’s so desperately seeking.

Salty water trickles over your thumbs, the sensation breaking you out of your reverie, response flowing from your mouth seamlessly, without a second thought.

“Of course you do,” your eyes search his face, studying his features slowly. “Where is this coming from?”

The question leaves your lips before you even know what you’re saying, but your voice is soft, kind, full of so much concern and affection as your fingers begin their ministrations again, tracing the ink decorating his cheeks.

He refuses to tell you, shakes his head as his lips press into a firm line, expression hardening. Blue fire ignites in his eyes, and you have your answer.

Shouto’s words from that first day in the washroom drift through your head, but you don’t press. Regardless of whether or not Touya had heard them on the twenty-first, it is fair to assume that Shouto must have said something along similar lines tonight, triggering this reaction.

Sighing, your expression softens, forehead falling forward to knock against his, hands still on either side of his face, keeping his gaze from escaping again as you speak.

“You—you’re sure?”

“Niichan, my niichan,” you murmur, pecking his lips in a chaste kiss. “That isn’t yours to decide, or Shouto’s to decide, or anyone’s to decide,” and your voice is so tender, filled with so much love as tiny fingers run through his hair, tension dissipating from his shoulders with each comb through. “It’s mine. And I’m telling you that you do deserve me,”

“Do I?” he chokes out brokenly, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. And the look on his face, azure eyes glazed with a thick shield of tears as they desperately search your face, chin trembling almost violently as he swallows a pitiful whine, pierces your heart; and you swear you can feel it shattering into a thousand little pieces, puncturing the surrounding organs and making your whole chest ache.

“Yes,” you whisper, tiny hands flexing on either side of his face as you grip him tighter, blinking rapidly to clear your own vision. “Yes,” you repeat, louder, stronger, fiercer, silencing whatever he was beginning to respond with by crushing your lips against his.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re murmuring between kisses, spit slicked lips sliding against his as he sobs into your mouth.

“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy with tears. “I love you, I love you,”

And, truly, you’re the only thing holding him together at this point—have been the only thing holding him together for a long time now. You’re the glue that keeps his life from falling apart, you’re the stitches that keep his very soul intact, sewing him back together each and every time he begins to unravel, keeping him complete, keeping him whole.

Fingernails dig into the skin of his cheek as you hold him in place, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and nibbling, relishing in the quiet, broken moan you pull from him. A little tongue laps at the salty tears staining his cheeks, licks along his jaw as his hands grip the meat of your ass, trying to pull you closer as he breathes out your name.

“I love you,” you whisper, words punctuated by kisses down the column of his neck. “So much,”

A whine gets stuck in his throat, head tilting to allow you more access to move as large hands paw at the hem of your dress, rucking it up around your waist. Something pokes you, prods you, pushes up into you through the thick, rough denim of his jeans, and you inhale sharply, instantly consumed by overwhelming need—the need to feel him, hot and pulsing and driving into you, the need to make him feel better, to make him forget, to remind him that you’re his, and he’s yours, the need to be claimed.

It hits your like a fucking freight train, burns through your veins and shoots straight to your core, sharp spikes of heat that have you huffing out his name.

“I need you,” the words are whimpered against inky skin as you grind desperately against his hard cock, clawing at his chest, his biceps, his belt. “Niichan, I need you,”

“Yeah, baby?” he pants into your mouth, hands kneading your nylon covered thighs as he presses his clothed cock against your core, forcing a mewl of his name from your throat.

“Yes,” you cry pathetically, and it’s almost too much, the scalding, throbbing heat collecting between your thighs, hips gyrating in quick little circles as you try to alleviate some of the tension coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, yes, need you t-to fuck me, to—” a sharp gasp cuts you off as he bites into your shoulder, growling darkly against your skin. “—To fill me up, to remind me who I belong to,”

Strong, lithe fingers tear into your thin tights, hooking into the holes they create and ripping the delicate material. Dark eyes flit down, rabidly scanning your clothed little cunt, white lace soaked and stuck to you, outlining your folds. Touya chuckles, delivering a superficial slap with the back of his hand before pushing your panties to the side.

Niichan, niichan, you’re whining out the honorific, fingers tangling in his sweater and tugging roughly as his digits caress your slit, urgently shaking your head.

His lips tug down. “Baby, you know I—”

“No!” you pout, eyebrows knitted together, Touya’s eyes flashing dangerously at being so rudely cut off. “I don’t want your fingers, they aren’t enough,” Because the need to be filled, to be stretched, to be owned is almost voracious now, desire clawing at the pit of your belly. “Mark me, claim me, breed me, I-I’m yours,” you’re wailing, cunt achingly empty, the pulsing in your clit nearly too much to take.

A snarl rumbles in his chest, large hand snaking around your bent leg, wedging between your thigh and calve and gripping the back of your knee, hitching the leg closest to the center console up in one swift movement and planting your foot on the console box, thighs stinging from the sudden stretch.

One of your hands latches onto the handle above the door while the other clutches his shoulder, nails digging into the muscles through the knit of his sweater while he fiddles with his belt, squirming a little and shoving his jeans down to his knees.

Not a second is wasted as the head of his cock nudges against your fluttering hole, and then he stills. He wants you to beg, needs to hear you beg, and so you do, high-pitched and whiny as your hips instinctually wiggle.

“Please, niichan, please! Want it, need it, need you,”

And then he’s shoving himself into you, a hiss slipping from between your teeth, familiar, welcomed tears springing into your eyes, a guttural groan catching in his throat.

It stretches, aches, stings so good, so right, so perfect as he bottoms out, pressed snugly against your cervix, and pauses for a moment, cock twitching inside of you, strong hands on your hips preventing them from rocking forward and forcing you to just feel him for a second, every inch of him, buried deep inside you. The sigh that falls from your lips is nothing short of dreamy, mumbling about feeling whole again, and he chuckles.

Yeah, that’s right, princess. Only niichan’s cock can fill you up like this.

His thrusts start gradual, fingers flexing on your hips as they dig into the sensitive flesh, forcing you to slide nearly all the way off his cock before pushing you back down, hips pressing up to meet yours, cockhead grinding against your cervix as he stuffs himself in your cunt, gaining a little more speed with each motion.

No one but niichan could ever make you feel like this.

The words are whimpered between fierce, messy kisses, between ravenous, devouring kisses, between the clacking of teeth and the slurping of tongues, glistening saliva, sticky and sweet and laced with the taste of blue fire and Marlboros dripping off your chin.

And he needs to hear it—needs to know that you belong to him and only him, needs to know that you want him and only him, needs to know that only he is deserving of you, worthy of you—so you tell him, in breathy little whines, that no, no one could ever make you feel this good; yes, niichan’s the only one that can fill you up this fully, this wholly, this rightly, eyes rolling back and sharp cries echoing through the car as he pounds into you, deep little grunts falling from his lips in time with each snap up of his hips.

“Tell niichan—ah, fuck—tell niichan how badly you need his cum,”

Senseless babbling flows freely from your lips the instant he asks for it, forever incapable of disobeying a direct order from him—please niichan, need your cum so bad, need to feel it in my belly, need to feel it in my brain, please, give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!

“Christ,” he chokes out, hips beginning to falter, muscles bulging and tensing as he forces you to keep bouncing on him, hard and fast and deep. “Cum with me, baby,” he nearly begs, voice more wrecked than you’ve ever heard it before, inspiring a whole flock of butterflies in your tummy. “Be a good girl and make a—make a mess all over niichan’s cock,”

And it’s the sense of desperateness, of urgency, of sheer neediness sown deep into his broken voice that has you spasming around him, that evokes an orgasm so intense it makes you choke on your own scream as it slashes through you, gurgling on spit and tears as violent tremors course through your body.

Hot, thick spurts of cum fill you, your name escaping his lips in a cracked whine, his hips continuing to lazily roll against yours as you milk him for every drop of cum he’s got, as you beg him for more, more, more.

Overwhelmed by emotion, you collapse against his heaving chest, hiccupping out pitiful little sobs between your harsh breathing, and he hushes you, fingers petting your sweaty hair as he murmurs against your scalp—shh, it’s alright, he’s here, he loves you, you’re his, and you did so well.

“Do you want to leave?” the question is uttered softly, after your breathing has calmed to tiny sniffles, voice so genuine it’s almost painful, curled up in his arms as your bare cunt presses against his pelvis, cum still leaking out of you. “Just say the word and we’ll go, baby,”

Swallowing thickly, he’s silent for a moment, considering. Patiently, you wait, nuzzling comfortingly against his neck and licking at the sweat pooled in the dip of his collarbone. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, laced with a hint of disbelief.

“Really?”

You pull back to gaze at him.

“Yes, really,” you whisper, catching a tear with the pad of your thumb and placing a soft kiss against his cheek. “You are more important to me than anyone else in that damn cabin by far, and I don’t care if it upsets them—if you want to leave, if you need to leave, we’ll leave. Say the word, and I’ll drive back, pack our shit, and we’ll be gone. You don’t even need to get out of the fucking car,”

Shining sapphire eyes study your face intently, searching for any sign of hesitancy, finding nothing but sincerity.  

“I love you so much,” he laughs wetly, more glistening tears escaping his eyes with the motion. “So fucking much,”

Tingling warmth blossoms in your chest at his words, at his laugh, conjuring a watery smile of your own as you pepper his face with kisses, soft lips ghosting across his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and forehead until he becomes too impatient, large hands cupping your jaw and pressing your wandering lips against his.

Giggles erupt from your throat, and he’s sure that’s what liquid sunshine sounds like, allows the noise to wash over him, to bathe him in your everlasting light, to warm him to his very core. A little tongue darts out to lick teasingly along the seam of his lips, evoking an involuntary smile of his own before his tongue escapes to meet yours, another precious squeal of laughter echoing through the car.

Yes, he thinks, as your laughter vibrates against him, arms tightening around your waist as he cradles you against his chest. This is what love feels like.

[writingsbychlo]

if the world was ending | mitch rapp

word count; 5152

summary; mitch broke up with you because he couldn’t handle being in love again, and now he regrets that decision, and would do anything to take it back.

notes; this is a song fic, but I didn’t include all of the lyrics, so don’t send me asks about missing chunks, please! check out the song!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex.

I was distracted, and in traffic I didn't feel it when the earthquake happened, But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin', watching television?

His key would continuously seem to miss the lock on the door, and Mitch let out a low growl, shoving at the metal once again as he tried to force the lock to work, blurry eyes and exhaustion taking him over. Before he could question it, the door was opening from the inside, metal shifting and gears clicking before the wood was moving from his sights to reveal you instead, a bright smile on your face and one of his black henleys on your shoulders, hanging slightly loose around the open collar as it faded away into a pair of sleep shorts and fluffy socks clad on bare legs.

You were a sight for sore eyes, messy hair and teasing grin, and all. 

“You didn’t even check who it was, what if I’d been an intruder?” He chastised, stumbling forwards one tired legs and pressing a kiss to your lips, humming happily as you pressed back into him just as eagerly, before he was kicking the door shut behind himself and dropping his bag down by the front door. 

“An intruder with a key?” You raised your brows at him, his lips flicking up at the sides as his shoes followed; phone, wallet and keys all being discarded onto the side unit, and his eyes were locking onto the couch, joy filling him at the idea of laying down. “Not that you know how to use it, apparently.”

“You try using a key after six days in Russia with no sleep and having to fight, like, four people at once. Everything hurts.” You placed a hand on his chest to stop him in his movements as he edged toward the couch, a whine falling from him as he turned to look at you.

“You’re covered in blood, you’ll ruin my cushions, you need to wash up first.” He let out another sigh, despite knowing that it was a true and fair request, and nodded his head. “How about I run us a hot bath? I’ll put those bath salts in that make your muscles all tingly, and I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

He nodded, a wave of serenity already washing over him simply at the idea that he’d get to relax in the warmth of the water, his back pressed to your chest as you wrapped around him from behind, holding him close. You were always so good at making him feel safe when he came home, and he knew it was one of the reasons he’d fallen for you in the first place. What was intended to be a simple fling to satisfy the cravings for basic affections and the lust deep in his gut had become much more. 

He had a key to your apartment, and the cat the roamed the halls was friendly enough to bump its head against his shins and purr. He’d met your friends, and knew the names of every worker in that Thai place down the street that you loved so much, and they knew him. It had been so easy to slip into something more deep and meaningful with you, but there was still a clawing guilt in his stomach every time. The true intentions he’d had that night when he’d bought you a drink in a shitty bar while you wore a tight dress and danced under low lights, not to woo you and love you but simply to find a quick fuck, someone to warm his bed and quash the loneliness for a little while. 

He hated that he couldn't give you what you needed, that he wasn’t able to love you, because he just didn’t know how anymore. Every time he came home and went to your place instead of his, the key he held and the emotion in your eyes every time you looked at it, it was only a matter of time before you said those three little words to him that he couldn't say back, and everything he so deeply craved would come crashing and burning down at his feet once again. Warmth would shift to icy chills and he’d have locked himself out once again, because commitment just wasn’t something he was capable of anymore.

The water was running, gentle hands skimming up his sides as you helped him to undress, his own hands working over soft skin as he pushed your clothing to the floor, mouths melding in soft kisses, fingertips leaving goosebumps over flesh as you embraced one another’s touch once again, and even with the respite from his guilt that your presence provided for him, it was still always there. A pit in his stomach that was growing bigger and bigger, because as the tender moment stretched on and on, he knew tonight was going to be when you said it, full of bliss and joy and expecting to hear the phrase back, and so he kissed you, deeply, willing you not to, so that he could selfishly claim just a few more hours with you before it was all over.

It's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

Pressing his forehead against the side of the plane, his eyes fluttered shut for a second, the painful ache spreading over the entirety of his body was enough to make any other grown man cry, but that wasn’t the cause of the burning behind his eyes today. Today, Mitch had the painful reminded of this day a year ago when he’d been on his way to see you, but he didn’t quite have that luxury anymore. His throat was tinging, choking back the emotions he held, one’s he so wanted to release, and his nostrils flared with a deep sigh instead. 

“You’re been pouting like a child all fuckin’ day. Will you cheer up? You’re ruining the beer I’m anticipating when I get home with your foul mood.” 

He cracked his eyes open, hoping they didn’t appear as glassy and red as they felt, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, scowling at his mentor in hopes that he’d lay off. That tactic clearly hadn't worked, however, because Stan shifted a little more in his seat, dragging a curious gaze over every inch of his face in a way that made Mitch squirm in his seat a little, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was being afforded. 

“You look depressed.”

“That’s because I’m stuck on a plane with you.” He muttered, moving himself to look out of the window instead, and his mentor barked out an amused laugh, but Mitch could still feel his lingering stares. 

“No, I think you’re freaking out about what happens after you’re no longer on the plane with me.” He hated that Stan could read him so easily, that to everyone else he was a safe that was locked up tight, and that it was so easy for the other man to crawl under his skin, get on all of his nerves and be one of the only people who truly knew him. “You weren’t even this on edge and tense when we were on our way out, never mind coming home.”

“I just don’t like going home to an empty house, okay? It’s too quiet. Cold.”

He grumbled the words out, but Stan scoffed, and was fixed with a harsh glare in return, but he didn’t flinch like Mitch wished he would, seemingly unaffected by the burning stare. “And who’s fault is that, huh?”

Mitch opened his mouth, gaping a little, before snapping his jaw shut tightly, feeling the muscles twitch and tense as his teeth ground together. He could feel the divet between his brows, where they had puled together, a spot that always formed when he was angry or confused or concentrating, and he could still feel the warmth and weight of you sinking down into his lap while he wrote up his reports, your thumb smoothing over the spot, followed by a brush of your lips as you told him to relax. 

The thought made his eyes sting once again, and he cursed a little under his breath, giving in at the stares they were sharing as he cowered out, blinking forming tears away quickly. “I don’t get what your problem was. You clearly care about her. Why can’t you just tell her that, and stop sulking? It’d do you good o have her back, I liked you better when you weren’t sulking and single. Less of a bitch to work with.”

“You’re a bitch to work with.”

“What are you? Five?” 

He knew it had been a weak response, and he cringed a little on himself, sinking down further into the plush leather of the plane seat and trying to sift through his thoughts, something that Hurley clearly acknowledged, because he waited patiently but expectantly in silence, running a hand over his jaw as he watched Mitch try to gather his thoughts up and sort himself out. “It’s not so easy to just say. It’s complicated.”

“It really ain’t.” Stan shrugged, something about his tone making Mitch feel like he was about to get some kind of fatherly advice, and his curiosity got the best of him as he peered over at his superior. “I’ve heard you say that word before. Heard you say how much you love beer, how much you love beef dumplings and noodles on a Friday night, how much you love knocking cocky recruits on their ass.”

“Saying I love food is not the same as being able to say I love (Y/N).” He hissed, hopes dropping as he realised the statement wasn’t going to be useful, but Stan smirked at him wickedly, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his drink.

“Yeah, well, you just said it.” His face twisted up, moving between several different expressions, before a slightly nauseated shock was what he settled on, as he realised that the words he’d never been able to say aloud before, or even internally acknowledge, had finally been voiced for the first time. In front of Hurley, of all people. He was never going to be able to live this down. “Now, why can’t you say that to her?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever loved before has died, Stan.”

He could see the shock flick across the older man’s face, and it brought him a sick kind of amusement to know he’d caught him so off-guard, but then he was shrugging, and again moving back to that irritating level of passive smart-ass that only he had managed to master so effectively. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have the same training you did before now, did you? You’re not even thirty. You gonna’ spend the whole rest of your life miserable and unhappy just because of a car crash and a shooting, both of which were beyond your control?”

A dull aching in his chest flare dup a little at the mentions of those events, but he knew it was true, and his body deflated with the breath he let out as he gave the weakest rise and drop of his shoulders that he could, his hands clasping over his stomach as he turned to stare out of the plane window. A large hand found his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, but he didn’t bother to look over. 

“Just stop being a dumbass, you clearly love this girl, so why don’t you just get your head out of your ass and go see her?”

Stan wandered away after that, ice clinking in his glass as he handed it off to a flight attendant before disappearing to the bathroom, and Mitch was left alone to wallow in painful thoughts with a stabbing pain in his chest as his heart continued to long for you. 

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight And there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? Right?

He was sweating, hands clammy with a nervous perspiration that made him feel uncomfortable in his clothes, like he wanted to curl up into a ball, dig a hole in the earth, throw up, or some combination of all three. The walk he’d done was so familiar to him, and yet right now, as he stood before your door, it had felt eerily unfamiliar.

There were definite changes. 

Your neighbour’s suspicious cat sat out on the front of the apartment building but did not come over to him, even when he’d called out its name, taking the welcome distraction as he crouched down and held his hand out to it, trying to tempt it into remembering him, into approaching him again, but it hadn't. The small animal had simply stared at him as he stood there, before mewing loudly and running away when he’d taken a fraction of a step closer to the door. 

The elevator in the main building was working, it had broken only a few months into seeing you before, and now it was back up and working like it had never been broken. The lights in the entryway were brighter, and the hallways had been repainted, the soft grey that they had once been was replaced with sky blue, much brighter and cheerier, and he remembered you telling him about it while laying in bed together one night, it was the exact colour you’d voted for when the building meeting had taken place to discuss it. 

The crack in the framing by your door that you’d never gotten around to fixing was mended, damage done by the previous tenants and he’d always said he would fix it for you, but had then always forgotten to bring the tools he would need for it, and he choked down the regret in his throat as he brushed a finger over it. He knew the route, his feet feeling like dead weight under his body as he’d trudged along the halls, before finding himself here, all but trembling with fear and anticipation outside of your door. 

The paper and ribbons wrapped around the flowers in his hands were crinkling loudly with every shake he made, and he took a deep and steadying breath, shaking himself down from head to toe. The rapping of his knuckles on the door felt like it reverberated along his entire body, his heart thumping painfully hard against his chest as he waited, eyes fixed on the floor as he watched warm light spill out from under the threshold and into the corridor, soon blocked by a shadow as he heard the scuffling of your feet along the floorboards.

Breath was stuck in his lungs, a choked sound leaving him as the door swung open, your voice ringing out but dying in your throat as you spoke, claiming that whoever it was that you were expecting - certainly not him - was early, and he dropped his eyes, just for a split second to scan along your body, before he was looking up at your face once again.

So pretty, and if he’d thought the melodic ringing of your voice was enough to end him then he had been entirety unprepared for the sight of you. The little black dress he loved so much was fitted to you like a second skin, a cocktail dress he’d seen you wear so many times before as he took you out for drinks and celebrations, his body flooding with heat. Hair styled up, makeup to perfection, and he would have been just as breathless if you’d crawled out of bed to answer the door but you were stunning, and he hated every ounce of himself for ever letting you go.

His jaw dropped as you stared at him in shock, pain flashing in your eyes before you hardened your gaze on him, an act he’d never wished to have you aim at him and yet he knew he deserved it, and yet the words were burning on the tip of his tongue as every moment he’d ever shared with you flashed before his eyes, swirling in his mind, and pulling one very prominent one to the front. 

The last time that he’d almost uttered the phrase to you, the one he was determined for you to hear from him now, even if you no longer felt the same. The last time you’d worn this dress, and you’d taken him with you to celebrate one of your friend’s birthdays, his cheeks heating up as he looked at you, but saw that day.

I tried to imagine your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' That night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house  And didn't make it past the kitchen Ah, it's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

You were giggling into his mouth, red lipstick smeared across his chin and cheeks as your fingers scratched at the stubble lining his jaw, tongue tangled together as you stumbled into your apartment. The door slammed as it closed, hard enough to shake the walls, but neither of you cared, especially not when you were making such sweet sounds for him as his hands slipped lower and lower across the silk lining your body. 

Shoes came off first, his shoes being toed off as you tried to kick off your heels, sinking a few inches further down his body as the height fell away, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to be able to lean over you, keeping his mouth firmly on yours as wet tongues tangled together. You were stumbling through the apartment, tripping over one another’s feet and laughing breathlessly as your hands worked down the buttons on the front of his shirt. 

You were pushing the material from his shoulders, blazer and dress shirt falling away to the floor with a distant ‘thud’, the fluttering of material sounding out, and the heat around you both was crawling higher and higher. It was frantic, a night of teasing and longing looks, sipping champagne and cocktails with sly winks and whispered needs. He’d cleaned up for the event, and you’d made it clear before you’d even left just how good you thought he looked, and you were clad in dark black silk with thigh slits and heels and you were enough to bring any man to his knees, and he absolutely intended for that to be his next destination. 

He was rucking up layers of fabric in his hands until the skirt was bunched around your waist, making you hold it up, and the closest surface he could pin you to was the counter of the breakfast bar, barely having even made it through the kitchen, and hissed as bare skin found the cool marble. His knees hit the floor, your panties following until the scrap of lace was pulled tight around your knees, but then he was helping you up, sitting you on the surface, letting your lay back as he spread your legs and dived right in. 

You were dripping for him, before he’d even done anything but kiss you, a groan slipping from his lips as he all but drooled at the thrill of getting to indulge in the honey that was slick on your thighs. That was where he started, licking up the mess you’d already made of yourself as you squirmed and panted underneath him, letting him tease you with small bites and sucking at your soft skin until you’d growled in frustration, a hand in his hair pulling him closer until you were burying his face into your core, sounds that filled every wet dream he ever had taking over. 

His scalp had burned, the scratch of your nails and tugs of the strands and your thighs and hips had been littered with red marks the shape of his fingerprints that would be purple in the morning, but he knew you loved it just as much as he did. Two fingers had slipped into you, scissored and curled as he lapped around them, driving you to the point of senseless babbling just with his fingers and tongue, before you’d exploded around him. Then, he’d fucked you. 

Deep and slow on the counter with your arms wrapped around his neck, legs tights around his waist as you clung to one another, a collection of tangled limbs, a moaning mess and you chased your highs, until the two of you had been all but sobbing one another’s name into the other’s mouth as you kissed your way through your peaks, and he’s spattered your thighs and cunt with his arousal, pulling out at the very last second and leaving you trembling underneath him when he’d scooped it up and pressed it to your lips. 

It was hot, and erotic, but the moments after had been loving and tender. Taking a shower with weak muscles, sinking to the bottom of the tub together as water thrashed down from overhead, soft kisses and laughs and whispered confessions until the water had gone cold, and you’d collapsed into bed together, leaving a mess t tidy up int he morning, sheets sticking to wet skin as you were too lazy to even dry off, just cuddling together under the sheets, drunk on one another, and the words had been so close that night. A sleepy, post-orgasm haze, he’d so nearly whispered them against your lips as you kissed him goodnight.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

“I love you.”

You flinched, like you were standing too close to a fire and had been burned, and it felt like a knife twisting in his stomach as he watched your reaction. Your arms came up to wrap around yourself, toes digging into the wood of the floor as you stood your ground but he knew your nervous ticks, he knew you, and he frowned, but didn’t let it deter him. 

“I love you so, so much. I’m a fucking idiot, I know I am. I know you hate me, and you’ve probably moved on and can find someone who actually deserves you, but I’m selfish, okay? I wanted you to hear it, I had to tell you, for my own peace of mind. I had to know that I cam here, and had the balls to tell you that you are the person who hasn’t left my mind in an entire fucking year. Every thought, every dream, every time my heart beats, it’s all for you, and I had to tell you.” He took a deep breath, scanning your face for even a twitch, any slight tell of an emotion he could get, but you were offering him nothing. “I couldn’t say it before, I was scared and I didn’t know what I was feeling and I know that I hurt you. It kills me every day to know what I did, to think about your face, and the way you’d cried when I walked out, because it haunts me, okay? A year ago today, I lost the best thing in my god damn life, and I just had to tell you, because in another year, and another ten years, and forever on, I think I’ll still love you then. I had to know that you knew.”

You were staring at him, eyes wide and a little glassy as he took a deep breath, lungs screaming out for oxygen and his mind was finally blank. The incessant buzzing he’d become accustomed to as his mind whirled around you on a loop had finally stopped, and he was left in calm, the aftermath of an event, the silence that came after an explosion, the harmony after a fight when everything just went still. 

But there was always more to come. 

Only then did the thoughts about what you were wearing catch up to him. Pretty painted lips and sharp eyeliner and that sinful dress that made his blood run warmer in his veins as he burned from the inside out. A quick glance behind you confirmed that there was a pair of black strappy heels to match the outfit, a necklace with a gem that he’d never seen you wear before was hanging between your breasts in the low neckline of your dress, skin soft and freshly shaven on the slit up your thigh on your dress. 

He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping a little, but he tried to offer you a reassuring smile nonetheless. “Date?”

Your brows pulled in with confusion, and he could physically see the walls surrounding you begin to crumble away, before you let out a heavy sigh, your arms dropping as you caved under his faze, finally speaking to him; “No. Drinks with the girls.”

“Ah, right..”

A tepid silence took over, and he tried not to drop his eyes from yours. Soaking up every moment he had with you before you inevitably kicked him off of your doorstep, and you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorframe. “A distraction. They’re taking me out to cheer me up, because it’s been a year since the best thing in my life walked out on me.”

Mitch felt his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at you.

If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

A fistful of his shirt, a harsh tug that he wasn’t expected that made him fall over his own feet, and then there were lips on his own. He couldn’t help it, the embarrassingly needy whine that left him the second his brain caught up with what was happening, and he dropped the bouquet to the floor, hands finding your hips as he pulled you into him. Bodies collided, flush and pressed together, your hands circling his neck and fingers in his hair, heat flooding him from where you were pressed to him, and it felt like he’d been cold for the entirety of the past year, goosebumps rising and falling along his skin as he fell back home, into your arms.

Your cheeks were wet as you gasped into his mouth, tongues sliding together, panting from breath as noses bumped. It was urgent and rushed, not the kiss he’d imagined with you if you’d forgive him, but the one that seemed most fitting. Messy and uncoordinated as if you were learning each other for the first time, becoming familiarised once again with every inch of the other, hands roaming and tongue exploring, until you were satisfied that you were thoroughly reconnected. 

He let out a wet and hoarse laugh, raising one hand to sit on your jaw and wipe his thumb under your eyes, clearing away the tears that were already threatening to spoil the masterpiece you’d created, and he knew how long it took you to do it.

“Baby, please don’t cry. You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

You let out a laugh, and he cleared your face, stealing a few more pecks as though at any moment you were going to realise what he’d done, go back to hating him, push him away as if this was the last he’d ever get to see you. You were staring up at him, with glassy eyes and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and Mitch swore he couldn't even feel the floor anymore, as if he was floating, up in the clouds and lost to the world. 

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait right here, until you come back. We can talk, or you can yell, whatever you want. I’ll be here.”

“I‘m not going anywhere.” You pulled him back in, another collection of sweet kisses that he didn’t deserve but would always accept, never willing to give them up again. “I’d rather stay in and watch TV with you, but you have to go and get us takeout. You know I hate walking to get it.”

“I do, I do know that.” He sniffed, breathy exhale like a laugh as he held onto you tightly, before dipping down to collect the discarded flowers from the ground. A few crumpled petals fell away to the floor, but they were otherwise intact, and he pressed them into your hand carefully, watching as you admired them, thumbing at the delicate leaves and bringing them to your nose. 

“This doesn’t get you off the hook, you know.”

“I’ll spend the entire rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.” You only nodded, letting him into your apartment as you led him inside, smiles and tears and he dipped down, lips brushing your earlobe as he listened to you gasp in surprise. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Mitch. Even if you are a fuckin’ idiot.” He only nodded, following your lead as you took him by the hand and guided him through to find a vase and water for the flowers. “Go get my phone, I need to text my friends.”

He did as told, trailing through the apartment, bringing your purse back with him and presenting the item to you, his hands searching for your body once again, just needing to hold you and know that it was real, to know that this time, you weren’t just a dream his mind was conjuring up to torment him with.

He didn’t need a night out, he didn’t need you to be dressed up, he didn’t need anything but you. You and him, and the love you shared, it was enough to get him through anything. 

If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

[muffindaddystyles]

Vamp!harry x readers first time being fully intimate! He’s scared of hurting her so he’s really hesitant to do it. it’s also her first time in general so maybe you can make it really fluffy please??

Sorry for being supppppeeerrr late but promise it's gonna be worth it. All my lovin!!

Vampire!harry at valentines day.

It's valentine's day. For Harry everyday is a day for lovin' but in vampire culture valentines is the key to the lock of ever love and showing your passion towards your better half. He showered Y/N in abundant of affection; was waiting for her to wake up on his bedside like an impatient puppy and the moment she blinked open her eyes he was all over her. Almost swallowing her whole. His plush lips kissed every inch of his lovie and muffled all her giggles with his heavy smoochs.

"Will you be my valentine?" He murmures against her mouth and she squeaks still sleepy, "ofcourse yes!" He was joyous and kissed her as many times as he could.

She was all smushy squeals and jumpy on her bum while ripping her gifts down, "Slow down poppet 's all yours." He laughed resting his chin atop her head. She got all blushy and shy in his arms when on her rummage a furry brallete top and shorts dangled with her fingers, "'s sooo cute Harry. Thank you!" She tries to kiss him but it lands against his chin. Pastel heart boxes full of rich chocolates and strawberries made her sky rocket over the moon dribbling him with her kisses and sweet whispers.

After exchange of gifts, chocolates and kisses they went to diner near her flat hands in hands for some tummy filling brekkie. They were inseparable, with heart twinkling eyes, tender gushes and sighs full of love for eachother. Anyone could spot them the couple from far like a bat under the moonlight.

It's cloudy and thick so she hauled him with herself flopping into poof of lavender fields the scent cocoons them as they stared into eachother's eyes with love and happiness till she lifted her fingertips to lightly brush it over his silken dollop of cheeks with a quirk of lips; it burns. To touch him. Lit her core on fire with desire and yearn to be his's fully.

He takes her cheeks and gently, gently, ever so gently smudges his candy lips against hers to taste her mouth. Sliding his palms down her spine under her bottom to pull her ontop of him without un-sealing his lips from over her's. Her hands meanders under his hickory curls that made him grunt and raise his hips to push against her womanhood.

"Want you, please." She whimpers putting the pressure down on his bulge jolting with the wave of pleasure with each swivel, "shh. shh 's okay gonna take care of ye' . . . Let's go home first." He pets her hair murmuring against her chin and plucks her pout when she shakes her head with eagerness.

"What lovie', didn't know ye' were thatttt kinky!?" He tickles her dimples at the sides and she scooches down into his chest with spurts of laughs, "Aish. 'M not . . just want you to take me."

"You'll 'ave me – darlin' in the best way possible." He sighs kissing her sweetly with tongue to explore her tangeriness and his nostrils flares when she whines with the flutter of her eyelashes.

//

"Come fo' me again baby." He says while licking up her folds with hunger pinning down her shivering thighs as his sleek fingers pumped her own cum back inside her. They came back home, undressed in haste and Harry wrapped her around him like a soft bear laying her down promising her that he'll fill her with his cock. Gave his tongue and fingers to her, playing filthy between her sticky thighs with three digits of his's buried deep inside her weepy pussy.

It's her second orgasm and still the knot in her stomach didn't unwind. It'll only after being stuffed full with his thick fat prick deep inside her wet cunt. When she whines trying to latch to his shoulders murmuring, "what if it'll not fit?" He giggles popping out her nipple from between his lips with a dirty noise.

"Now, I'll take it as a compliment but 'ave been warmin' ye up fo' a mo' haven't I?" He palms her breasts and runs his thumbs over her nipples while circling her clit; watching as she squirmed and whimpered under him. "You're wet fo' a proper nice fuck baby — bet gonna take my dick so well fo' me." He spreads her gooness down her slit dangerously close to her other hole. She gasps and he swallows it with a kiss pressing his thumb against her puckering pink hole while slithering his ring finger inside her dripping pussy.

"'S all fo' me?" He prods inside her making her moan breathily and she bobs her head desirous to have him all for herself. He tucks his trousers down while sucking her bottom lip tenderly, his erection slapping his lower tummy and her shivering hands brushes the aching tip of his cock making him rut in her grip.

"Oh me sweet bundle of blood." He whispers gazing into her earthy eyes with passion and love bitting his pale jutted lips when she stroked him spreading his pre-come down his thick shaft. He glides his palm under her back other cupping her jaw, "stay still fo' me moppet." He says in a low hum working his oozing prick between her folds making squelching noises. Sliding it down and inside her slowly almost loosing his balance knocking his forehead against her.

"S' tight." Her wetness allowing him to extend deeper till he pulled out making both of them whine, "shh. I gotcha lovie' . . ." He huffs bottoming out snug and warm inside her fluttering walls milking the tip of his cock, it pimples goosebumps at their skins.

He frees her wrists touching her sides, "you can move now." She quickly winds her forearms around his shoulders loving the way their bare skin feels together while they're intervined in such an intimate way. A shiver runs down his bone marrow when her lips skims over his throat and teeth grazes to find the perfect spot to mark him just the way he does to her, "tell me if it hurts yeah? don't wanna harm ye' in any way." He's grinding his hips at very gentle pace just to test waters. His hand groping and teasing her pebbled nipples sometimes sneaking down to flicker her clit.

"You'll not, please please . ." She tries to thrust into him but he pins them down glaring her sternly. He's awed how hooded with lust her eyes are, darker than his demonic ones and it's so sexy his hips quacks pummeling inside her unintentionally but it made her go feral, "'m serious baby." He nudges her thighs wider holding it down watching himself push inside her yearningly.

"Can you please fuck me now?" She breathes annoyed at him and he grins giving her chaste kiss on lips, "y'want that? dirty babe." Her eyes rolls back when he thrusts inside her continuously without a waver roughly while kissing her collar bones controlling himself to take a bite from her. He could listen how erratically her heart's been beating squirming his lips upwards as she arched and thrashed under him.

He sucks her nipple inside his mouth pulling at it with a hum and crimson rimmed irirses fucking her brutally to make her see stars and saturn.

"Wanna cum?" He presses his palm with force against her belly to feel himslef bumping through stroking his ego. Her eyes teary and button nose red as she nods, "then beg." He smirks and it made her tug at his roots from the pleasure of sight when his fangs poked out ever so slightly within his gums.

"Please harry. Can I come?" Her upper body shaking from avoiding to gush all over his cock and he twitches against her spongy walls with a whimper while playing with her clit, "yes cum right now." Her moans were the most erotic thing Harry has ever heard as she let herself limp in his arms feeling safe and happy coating his dick with her cum. Babbling incoherence under him and his face falls into her neck fucking her, overstimulating her with each stroke and she holds him tight cooing in his ear as he came hissing when her glistening soaked pussy tried to push him out.

After some minutes he recouped, kissing the side of her head trailing little pecks at her sweaty line bringing her up closer to his chest.

"Was I good?" His gaze soft and genuine. "The best." She hiccups tiredly. Cheeks blushed and eyes glassy, "How was I?" Her shyness clear. "I love how your pussy feels around me. Swallows me perfectly." He smiles whispering the end part and she whispers it back, "made for eachother."

He cleans her with baby wipes rubbing them between his hands before using them to swipe away his cum from her inner thighs. Hushing her softly when she whimpers as he nudges at a particular sore bite or her sensitive folds. Threw sheets into hamper and brought her favourite patched quilt to cuddle under it not letting her untangle her calves from his's at all.

Then in evening they baked together more like her checking out her love marks on her body in the glassiness of refrigerator while he squats beside the oven like an over excited puppy. She gasps dramatically wiggling her bum to have a better look then almost shoving it against his face making him tumble.

"Harry! you left a horrendous bite under my bum!!" He gives out a belly ache laugh slapping her arse playfully, "What can I say, moppet. Ye' got a cute lil bum. Couldn't resist biting ye'r peach" She huffs trying to grab him but in an instant he's turning into the weeny black creature flapping his wings down at her small lips smirking down at her in victory.

"Oi. You can't just turn a bat everytime you do somethin' naughty, it's unfair!" She puts her hands on her hips glaring up at him and he flies to the other direction but unfortunately knocks himself into the book shelf. Her laugh echoes into whole house as he transforms back into his humanly figure rubbing his head smiling up at her full of giddiness and she flops down beside him kissing his dimples with a grin that doesn't seem to disappear.

"Happy valentines day you fool."

[marilynsweet]

FOUR LORDS: BITTERSWEET

-

The air was still and quiet. Sunrise peered over the trees outside, lighting squares of light through a crack in the curtains. Frost on the panes helped to dim it some, but it still gave the indication of the morning making its way in.

Rose’s eyes slowly opened, and she blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the light. The sun wasn’t too bright, yet, and the room was still dim enough. Rose was grateful for this - her body ached all over, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to wake just yet.

However, as soon as she saw the sun over the trees, she realized she had to. She’d slept in— she couldn’t be late!

When she made to sit up, however, everything came back to her in a flash. It sent a shiver up her body, goosebumps crawling over her flesh as she was suddenly made aware that this was not her bed. It was much too large, and instead of black blankets, she was met with a heavy red duvet.

Accompanying this comfortable bed was a set of slender arms wrapped around her, and the feeling of another body pressed against her back. Rose dared to turn her head a little, and was met with Annabelle’s head buried in the crook of her neck. Her black hair was tousled, and her head was turned to avoid looking at the sun.

However, as Rose moved, the Lady’s arms tightened around her, holding her closer with a soft whine.

“Just a little longer,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss against Rose’s neck, “It’s early…”

“I-I mustn’t b-be late, my Lady—“

“Jada can be cranky all she wants,” Annabelle continued, lifting her head to press another kiss to Rose. This time, it was against her jaw. “She’ll live. Someone else can do your job - we’ll say you were helping me dress. It wouldn’t be a lie, would it?”

Rose’s face flushed red, but she shook her head.

“I-I suppose not, m-my Lady.”

“Annabelle.”

Rose jolted only a little as the Lady teasingly nipped at her jaw with her teeth - not hard enough to leave a mark, though.

“I told you, you may call me Annabelle.”

Rose nodded, slowly shifting one of her arms to brush her hair away from her eyes. Lady Constance shifted as well, moving downwards to kiss against Rose’s shoulder and back instead.

“O-Of course, my— A-Annabelle.”

“There it is,” the Lady purred.

She then lifted her head to press a soft, tender kiss to Rose’s lips. It didn’t last too long, breaking apart after a few moments. Annabelle then lowered her head back to the crook of Rose’s neck.

“How do you feel?” She continued, returning to gently kissing against Rose’s skin. Her hands moved downwards, tracing the shape of Rose’s abdomen and hips. “Shall I fetch anything for you?”

Rose swallowed, doing her best to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine - the feeling of sparks every time Annabelle’s lips met her flesh.

“Ah— a-a… n-new pair of c-clothes, maybe,” Rose said quietly, dimly aware of how awkward it would look to walk back to her room in the dress from last night.

Annabelle chuckled, propping herself up just a bit. It wasn’t too far — one of her hands still rested against Rose’s side.

She leaned down and kissed the side of Rose’s head.

“Of course, my dear. Wait here, alright?”

Her voice was a soft whisper next to Rose’s ear, sending another chill down her back. After she did that, she slipped off of the bed, shifting the blankets and duvet out of her way. Rose turned over onto her back, stretching her arms with a wide yawn. She rubbed her eyes, noticing the Lady opening her wardrobe. Annabelle took a silk red bathrobe from inside, slipping her arms into it.

Rose noticed angry red scratches down her bare back, and she bit her cheek. Did those hurt?

Red flushed her face. She hoped she hadn’t injured the Lady…

Before she could look for too long, the Lady had pulled it over her shoulders and wrapped it in the front. She then slipped on a pair of red slippers sitting near her wardrobe, before shooting Rose one final glance and leaving the bedroom. She tentatively closed the door behind herself.

Rose lied on her back, looking up at the ceiling of the room. She let out a soft sigh, brushing her hair back and shifting to readjust herself into a more comfortable position.

The previous night’s events whirred through her head like autumn leaves caught in the wind. What a night it was - of all the things she expected, she never could have guessed the year would start out like this. She supposed Annabelle had quite quickly completed her New Year’s resolution.

Rose found herself biting her nails. Thoughts of her life outside the Castle started to pry into the comfort she wanted to be lost in. Did this make her a cheater to Todd? Though she had taken off her engagement ring, had run away from him, did this make her a cheater? That label sticking to her made her throat tighten - she may have despised Todd, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be labeled as a cheating fiancée by the Village.

She swallowed hard. It troubled her to think of what he might say if he found out. Her brows creased, as if the ceiling might offer her some answers to her troubled mind.

She didn’t like that it was the first thing that came to mind. She loved Annabelle, of course— last night wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t.

She took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes and leaning her head back. She needn’t think about him— she lived here now. A new life, a new love— would this technically have been her first love?

The train of thought with Todd was quickly halted by the click of Annabelle’s door opening. Rose lifted her head, watching as the Lady entered the room. In her hands she carried a neat stack of clothing - a white blouse, black pants, and black corset.

Rose quickly pulled her hand away from her mouth. She made to leave the bed, sitting up and sliding towards the edge of the bed. However, she was stopped by Annabelle setting the clothes next to her, and leaning down to take Rose’s shoulders in her hands. Rose paused, lifting her head just a little, and was met with the Lady gently pressing a kiss against her forehead.

“What I wouldn’t give to stay here all day with you,” she purred. “Such decadence…”

Rose’s face burned, and she ran a hand through her hair. The Lady moved her head, tracing Rose’s jawline on one side and then kissing the other side of it.

“I-I— I’ve work t-to do, m-m— Annabelle.”

“I know. I do believe Jada’s sending you on your first delivery route with Miss Evans.”

Rose perked up, turning to face the Lady with a hint of disbelief. Annabelle pressed a kiss against Rose’s neck before she righted herself.

“M-Me?”

“Yes, I asked her if she’d be willing to give Bayley some help— and suggested you because of your hard work.”

She traced Rose’s lower lip with her thumb.

“But first, we should clean you up, hm?”

She pecked Rose’s lips before sitting upright fully, releasing Rose.

“And myself, I suppose.”

Annabelle chuckled, holding her face with one hand and crossing the other into the crook of her arm. She examined Rose, admiring her, and dragging her tongue over her fangs.

“Such a shame to have to erase all my handiwork,” she teased.

Rose subconsciously rubbed her neck, her face burning hotter than an oven. Despite this, she moved to unfold the clothes the Lady had laid out for her.

Annabelle hummed, walking away from Rose and towards her vanity instead. Rose couldn’t see what she was doing well, instead focusing on dressing herself.

She hadn’t realized how much of a mess she really was until she had removed herself from the blankets. She was covered in black lipstick stains, smeared and not.

Rose tried to hide how much they flustered her, glancing up again at the Mistress once she had finished buttoning her shirt. Annabelle was wiping her face clean, remnants of the previous night’s makeup still on her face. She perked upon noticing Rose in her mirror’s reflection, a soft smile making its way across her face.

“Would you like me to help you?” She cooed, causing Rose to stiffen a little.

“A-A handkerchief— t-that’s all I need,” she replied quietly, buttoning the front of her pants. “I-I— I’m alright.”

“Nonsense, dear. Come.”

Annabelle beckoned for Rose to come closer, a teasing smile making its way across her face. Rose did so, tucking the back of her shirt into her pants.

Lady Constance took one of her makeup wipes from a small container on her vanity. She remained seated, but pulled Rose a little closer by her waistband. If it were possible for Rose to blush any more…

Annabelle lifted the cloth to gently wipe at Rose’s lips and jawline. Rose did her best not to taste the solution, though it did smell very strong. Annabelle’s touch was gentle, next focusing her attention to her neck and collar.

She actually unbuttoned some of Rose’s shirt to reach the rest of the marks. Rose made a conscious note that she’d have to bathe before the night was through.

“There…”

When the smears were gone, Rose caught a glimpse of herself in the Lady’s mirror. Her deep red hair was a tousled mess, like a bad case of bed head. Her neck and jaw — despite the collar of her shirt working to cover some of them — was covered in small, dark bruises from the Lady’s teeth. Subconsciously, she rubbed against her neck, as if it might ease the appearance of them.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be hidden by your hair.”

Lady Constance rose from the seat at her vanity, picking up a hairbrush that lay upon it.

“Speaking of which…”

Rose felt her face flush as the Lady took a lock of her hair, teasingly curling it over one of her fingers.

“Would you mind if I took care of it for you?”

Rose wasn’t used to being spoiled. Usually, it was her or another Maiden taking care of the Lady— not the other way around. However, Rose gently shook her head, following the Lady’s motion to sit in the seat.

Rose found herself fidgeting with the edge of her sleeves as the Lady began to brush through Rose’s hair. She was slow, deliberate— almost as if afraid she might tug it too hard.

“Y-You said— You said I-I’m going on a-a delivery run, today?” she asked after a few moments of silence. “What— What does t-that entail, m-my Lady?”

Annabelle ran her fingers through Rose’s hair, gently untangling a few strands.

“You’ll be accompanying Miss Evans into town today. One of the Head Maidens will have sorted out the orders into her cart already, you simply need to deliver them. I heard there were quite a few of them, hence the help.”

Rose nodded, watching her reflection in the mirror. Lady Constance was looking upon Rose with fondness in her eyes, a soft smile on her face. Rose’s hair was infinitely less tangled than it had been upon waking.

“I-I’ll do my best, m-my Lady.”

“I know you will.”

Annabelle finally set down the brush, brushing Rose’s hair back with her hands. Rose adjusted her bands, tucking them back into place.

One could only see the markings if they were looking for them.

“As lovely as ever,” Annabelle purred, gently kissing the top of Rose’s head.

“T-Thank you,” Rose murmured, heat flushing her cheeks in a shade of pink.

“Shall I help you with your corset?”

The Lady offered Rose a hand, which she took after a few moments. As the Lady fetched Rose’s corset from where it lay on the bed, Rose fixed the buttons Annabelle had undone.

Annabelle swiftly returned to Rose, corset in hand. She helped Rose into it, wrapping it around her waist after Rose tucked in her shirt. Rose stiffened only a little at the feeling of Annabelle’s palm against her back, heat flushing her face. Though, it didn’t last long.

“S-Shall I help you, m-my Lady?”

She was supposed to be helping Annabelle dress.

Annabelle hummed, tilting her head ever so slightly. A small smile crossed her face, and she drew a finger under Rose’s chin to lift the shorter woman’s head.

“If you’d be so kind,” she purred. “And then we can send you to Miss Evans, yes?”

A small nod from Rose. Lady Constance turned towards her wardrobe, taking a few steps towards it.

“I’m feeling a little red today, yes?” Annabelle cooed as she opened the doors to her wardrobe. “Red and black— that’d do nicely.”

Rose assisted in the process she’d done so many times before. She helped the Lady into a deep, wine red shirt, tightened a black corset around her waist, and chose a pair of black dress pants for her. The Lady sat again to fasten a pair of thigh-high black boots with gold fastenings, reminding Rose that she, too, needed to put her boots back on. She did just that, stepping over the discarded red dress lying on the floor.

“M-My Lady—“

“Annabelle, love— you don’t have to be formal with me.”

“A-Annabelle, yes— What—What should I-I do with these…?”

Rose crouched down, beginning to gather the clothes strewn about on the floor. Lady Constance tilted her head, watching her for a few moments before replying.

“Just set them in the basket in my wardrobe. I’ll have the dress sent up to your room, and you can hang it up in your wardrobe.”

Rose nodded, doing just that after gathering each article of clothing. Annabelle had crossed her legs, sitting at her vanity and reapplying a bit of makeup to her face. Rose watched her for only a few moments before turning back to the bed, quickly making it presentable once more.

She tucked in the blankets and duvet, before rearranging the pillows just how the Lady liked them.

“It’s going to be cold, dear. Make sure you wear your jacket and cloak, alright?”

Rose perked, having just set the last pillow in place. She glanced over to the Lady, amazed at just how quickly she could apply a face of makeup. She was pigmenting her lips with her signature black.

“Oh— O-Of course, my— A-Annabelle.”

Each of the maidens had been given black jackets because of the freezing cold that had set in— both comfortable and uniform-suitable. With that and the cloak she’d been given, she figured she’d be warm enough.

Rose walked over to Annabelle, who was examining her face for blemishes in her handiwork. A little hesitant, Rose finally spoke.

“I-Is there a-anything else you need, m-my L— Annabelle?”

Annabelle smiled softly, turning towards Rose before standing up. She was a fair height taller than Rose, especially in heels.

“Just be sure to be careful, alright?” Annabelle murmured, gently cupping Rose’s cheek and running her thumb across it.

Rose leaned in to her touch just a little, closing her eyes. She savored the Lady’s warm palm, lifting her own hand to gently entwine their fingers.

The silence lasted a little while longer, savoring each other’s touch. Annabelle leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Rose’s lips, which Rose accepted gladly. She breathed in the scent of the Lady’s perfume— Rose thought it smelled like vanilla.

Eventually, though, it broke apart. Rose felt only a little disappointed when the Lady pulled back, releasing Rose’s face.

“And make sure to eat,” Lady Constance said. “It’s not good to be running about on an empty stomach.”

After fetching her cloak and jacket from her room, Rose went downstairs to the dining hall. Occupying the seats were a variety of tired, sluggish Maidens. Some looked more awake than others— maybe they had turned in early for the night.

After grabbing her food, Rose found a seat open near Bayley. Bayley was sitting at the end of one of the tables, picking at her meal a bit sluggishly. Her eyes were shadowed with lack of sleep, and she frequently rubbed at them like they hurt.

She perked when Rose sat, halfway through a bite of her French toast and scrambled eggs.

“I was wondering where you went,” she said after swallowing. “Jada tells me you’re going with me on my delivery route today.”

Rose nodded, cutting into her food with a fork.

“I-I heard— I heard y-you needed t-the help.”

Bayley shrugged, again prodding at her food with her fork.

“There’s not much to it, really. You read the list, you find the house, you deliver the package. Rinse and repeat. It just takes a while.”

Rose crossed her legs under the table, taking a bite of her food.

“So… where did you and the Mistress head off to

last night?”

Rose promptly choked on the bite she’d taken. She coughed harshly, covering her mouth before grabbing the napkin that he silverware had been wrapped in. She covered her mouth with that instead, her face turning bright red.

Bayley reached over and rubbed her shoulder, having perked at the sudden violent choking. Once Rose caught her breath again, Bayley released her.

“Are you alright?”

“F-Fine-!! I-I’m— I’m f-fine!”

Rose blinked away the starting of tears in the corners of her eyes, smiling a bit awkwardly as she tucked her hair back into place and tried to avoid the gazes of the other Maidens who had heard her coughing.

“We—W-We just— s-she wanted to show m-me something— she found m-me some lipstick, that’s all.”

Bayley raised her eyebrows in disbelief, watching Rose with an almost knowing look.

“Don’t— Don’t look at m-me like that!” Rose said, quickly trying to fan the burning in her cheeks. “Nothing—Nothing h-happened!”

A smirk spread itself across Bayley’s face— that same teasing smile that Rose had taunted her with about Douglas.

Her eyes glanced down at Rose’s neck.

“Does ‘nothing’ manifest itself in the form of hickeys, too?”

Rose quickly pulled up the collar of her shirt.

“Hey—!!”

Bayley hummed, taking another bite of her food.

“D-Don’t act— Don’t a-act like you’re so-so innocent! You’ve come— You’ve c-come to work with marks of your own!” Rose retorted. “Y-You and Douglas a-aren’t so innocent either!”

It was Bayley’s turn to turn bright red.

“I-I— I was just teasing!” She retorted, covering her mouth with her hand to swallow the bite she’d been chewing. “It’s harmless!”

She wasn’t angry— if anything, she was just a little flustered, as Rose was. She lowered her hand and her gaze to her plate, shrinking a little in her seat.

An awkward silence fell between the two, until they finally looked up from their plates and their eyes met. Despite trying to keep a straight face, smiles quickly cracked over their faces, and they found themselves laughing.

The rest of breakfast went by without any hitches. Eventually, Bayley and Rose put their dishes away and collected their things. Bayley led the way out of the dining hall.

Her cart was set outside the servants’ exit, through which she led Rose after having to knock on the door. Sitting next to the cart were stacks of boxes, set on a pallet with a tarp. Luckily, it wasn’t snowing— the boxes looked ornate, carved out of wood and dyed a wine red. They had gold fastenings on the front. Some were flat, others were thick. Others were small, and some were larger. There were small little tags on the top of small groups of the items.

Bayley seemed irritated at this, turning to look towards the two ever-present guards at the servant’s exit.

“Come on, they couldn’t put it in the cart? It’s two feet!”

They remained as silent and stoic as ever. Bayley huffed, and Rose followed her as she pulled open the back of the covered cart after unlocking it with a key from her pocket.

With Rose’s help, she began to push the boxes into the cart. She had to pull the sturdy tarp off the top of it to reach all the way in the back. Bayley stood in the back of the cart, taking things from Rose, who handed them to her. With their efforts, the cart was loaded quickly. Bayley then pulled the tarp back over the cart, securing it tightly. Bayley then went to fetch her horse, leaving Rose to sit with the cart.

Rose sat on the step in front of the door, swinging her legs gently. The cold air nipped at her nose and ears, forcing her to keep her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Her breath escaped her in clouds, fogging before dissipating in the light of the morning. Distantly, there was the sharp call of crows and other birds, shaking snow off the branches of the trees each time they took to the skies.

Eventually, the crunching of Bayley’s boots in the snow returned. She was leading her horse by the reins, a blanket draped over its back.

Bayley effortlessly hooked the stallion into the cart, tying the straps tight — but not tight enough to hurt him. Afterwards, she took the reins and hoisted herself into the seat at the front of the cart. Rose quickly joined her, helped up by Bayley’s hand.

Rose didn’t realize just how long it had been since she had been in town. Months had passed at this rate — though, as they reached said town, it looked the same as ever.

They halted as the trail that led into town turned to cobble beneath the cart’s wheels. Rose felt something of a chill when she jumped off the cart, her feet hitting the stone as she looked at the bustling early morning before her.

People were bustling about Main Street, breath fogging in the frigid air and their coats bundled tightly around them. Some had their scarves pulled up over their noses in an attempt to keep out the cold. Each had somewhere to be— walking in and out of the shops, or crossing the drawbridge in the center of town and heading towards the fields. Crows perched on the roofs of shops, their beady little eyes staring down at the villagers with piqued interest.

Rose swallowed, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. She feared what faces might recognize her.

Bayley gently patted her horse on the neck before walking around the cart. Rose followed her, keeping her head down and following the other woman’s lead.

“We’ve got a fair few to deliver, today— I can lead the way, I’ve learned all these streets over the years. Here it is…”

Bayley had opened the back of her cart as she spoke, reaching in and grabbing a clipboard. Upon said clipboard was a list with names, addresses, and what said person had ordered. Some orders were larger than others.

“We’ve got one down that road,“ Bayley said, pointing to a nearby curve in the street, “no— two. We’ve got two down that road.”

With that, Bayley walked back around to the front of the cart. However, she didn’t jump back into it. Rose shut the door, following Bayley as she took her horse’s reins and led the way towards the road she had pointed towards.

After turning down said road and walking past a few houses, Bayley stopped the cart again.

“Our first stop,” she said, releasing the horse’s reins and walking around her cart. Rose pulled open the door, watching as Bayley scanned the clipboard.

“A bottle of Vintage and a necklace…” she muttered to herself.

As she did, Bayley set the clipboard down and climbed onto the step in the back. From inside the cart, she pulled a square, thin box, as well as a longer, rectangular one.

She handed them to Rose, who held them as Bayley stepped back down. She shut the cart’s door, picking up her clipboard before nodding towards the house.

Rose followed Bayley down the short path and up onto the porch. Bayley knocked on the front door, waiting for a reply. The porch itself was rickety and worn from many years of use, attached to an old house.

Surprisingly, it was a fairly younger woman who opened the door. Rose was expecting someone older, but this woman looked no older than her mother. She greeted the ladies with a smile.

“Ah, you’re out even on New Year’s Day?” she asked, and Bayley nodded.

“Many things to be delivered,” she said.

Rose shifted, glancing over at Bayley.

“You had ordered something from the Lady, yes?” Bayley asked, taking the two boxes from Rose. “Mrs. Lucida Thomas?”

“That’s me!” The woman said brightly, and Bayley handed her the two boxes. “Thank you, girls!”

“Thank you for your purchase!” Bayley replied brightly, offering a smile before turning and walking off the porch. Rose promptly followed as the woman shut the door.

Bayley made haste towards the cart, taking her horse by the reins. As she had walked, she took a pen from the clipboard and scratched an “x” in a box at the end of a name.

“It’s really simple,” Bayley said as they began to walk again. “You walk up, you knock. If they’re home, you give them their packages. If not, you leave a note for them. The Mistress refuses to leave the packages outside, because they’re so expensive to make— she doesn’t want to risk them being stolen.”

Rose nodded, following Bayley closely and matching her stride. She kept her hood up, however, continually glancing over her shoulder. She only saw the occasional person walking along this street— much of the town was already in the Square.

“If they’re not home, we just try again tomorrow.”

Rose nodded again, glancing over to look at Bayley’s clipboard.

The same process repeated over and over. They’d find a house, see if the owner was home, and act accordingly. Though, it was after they passed the butcher’s shop when the tension grew in the air.

Rose’s heart leapt into her throat after glancing down a road, she and Bayley having paused at the intersection. At the very end of the drive, a house stood, with its porch and front steps shoveled. The icicles hanging off of it had been broken off onto the ground. Though Bayley didn’t look at this house, now that she was seeing the street, Rose could definitely place Bayley a little better.

The Evans lived opposite to Todd, a few houses down. Rose had never really paid them much visit, and she usually only saw the mother, father, or the two boys. She had only seen Bayley once or twice before the Castle, really.

Rose noticed Bayley’s posture was visibly stiffer, a look of displeasure and discomfort etched into her face. She looked over to Rose, gave the tiniest shake of her head, and then tightened her grip on the horse’s reins and continued walking.

Rose followed without hesitation, pulling her cloak tighter around herself and assuring her head was covered. Her heart practically punched into her ribcage, but neither of them needed words to voice the tension and anxiety between them. Rose figured that Bayley wasn’t in the mood for a family visit — she, too, pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

They noticeably made a faster pace when in that part of town. They kept their heads down, trying to finish orders quickly and constantly glancing over their shoulders. Rose felt a chill unlike any cold they were walking in.

Once passing the butcher shop again, Rose shot the store a glance. She knew that inside, no doubt, was Todd. He was probably stewing over some fresh cut, opposite to Alex. Rose half wondered if he had forgotten his lunch— he often did when they lived together, causing Rose to track him down at the shop and deliver it. It was on days like those that Alex might take it for her— so she didn’t have to see him. It was for that she was grateful, and she almost wanted to walk inside to say hello. However, she couldn’t— she had no doubts that Todd would be furious if he found out she was still in town, and being on such friendly terms with another man would send him into a rage unlike anything she had suffered previously.

A shudder made its way down Rose’s spine, and she rubbed subconsciously at her scarred cheek.

Bayley nudged Rose with her elbow, pulling her from her memories. Abruptly, Rose turned to face Bayley.

“We’ve got a few more, c’mon,” Bayley said, “then we can get back inside and get warm.”

She led the way over the drawbridge on Main Street, her horse trotting along as dutifully as ever. It snorted when she patted it on the muzzle. Rose followed behind the cart, her pace brisk as she shot one last glance to the butcher shop’s door. However, she quickly turned away in order to keep up with Bayley.

When passing the tavern, the woman acting as a bouncer and standing outside the door gave them a look through narrowed eyes. Rose was a bit taken aback by the look, walking a bit faster to catch up to Bayley before speaking.

“Why is— Why is t-that woman staring at u-us like that?”

Bayley paused, turning to look over at the tavern. Bayley hesitated, for after catching sight of the woman, she began to walk again.

“The tavern doesn’t like the Maidens,” she said quietly. “we’re not allowed in. They’ve technically got the right— they can refuse service to anyone.”

Bayley huffed, brushing her hair back.

“It’s fine— neither of us drink often anyway.”

Now that she thought about it, Rose didn’t know if she’d ever seen Bayley drink. Perhaps she had at the parties, but she had been… occupied with other things.

They reached their last street and made the last of their deliveries. Everyone had been home that day, so the cart was empty upon reaching the last house. Bayley locked the door to it tightly, tucking the key back into her pocket after tossing the filled out clipboard in the back of the cart.

“We’ll hop in once we’re out of town— I don’t wanna risk hitting someone,” Bayley said, taking the horse by the reins once more. “We shouldn’t be too far from lunch— hope they made something good.”

Rose tilted her head just a little, following Bayley down the road and back towards Main Street. Their boots and the cart’s wheels made parting sounds against the muddy street, freshly salted from that morning.

“They a-always make—make good food!” Rose said, matching Bayley’s pace. “I-I don’t think I’ve had— I’ve had a displeasurable m-meal since I’ve been t-there!”

“Occasionally you’ll get something odd— I’ve found that a few fish don’t quite sit well with—“

“You, there!”

Bayley was interrupted by a voice, shrill and loud. Rose quickly turned to look for its source, noticing Bayley had stopped.

An older woman with long, straight blonde hair was approaching them quickly.

“You two! You work in the Castle, right? You work for Lady Constance?”

The woman only stopped when she was up close and personal with the pair. Rose noticed that her eyes were puffy and red, like she had been crying. The despair in her face made Rose’s stomach sink.

“I recognize those uniforms— you do! You work for her, right?”

Tentatively taking a step backwards, Bayley gently took Rose’s wrist and led her behind her back.

“Can I help you?”

“You— Please! Please, tell me— what happened to Samantha?”

Rose noticed Bayley stiffening, her hand closing tightly on Rose’s wrist. Rose winced, tugging her hand.

“I— I-I’m sorry—“

“Tell me where she is!” The woman wailed, suddenly grabbing Bayley by the shoulders. “Her name is Samantha Birch! Please! Tell me where my daughter is! She’s been missing for months— not a letter, not a peep! Please! Tell me what happened to her!”

Bayley was frozen in place, the color drained from

Her face. Rose noticed that she almost seemed a little green— as if she were sick. Her lips were parted like a fish out of water, struggling for the words. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“Tell your Mistress to find my daughter!” Mrs. Birch said, her voice erupting in the air with shrillness and agony. “It’s not like her to be silent! Something has happened to her!”

She almost violently shook Bayley by the shoulders. Bayley’s breath came quickly, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“B-Bayley!” Rose tried, prying her wrist out of Bayley’s hand. “Bayley, snap—snap o-out of it!”

Bayley blinked a few times, quickly shaking her head and almost forcefully shoving the woman back. Her hands were trembling.

“I can’t help you!” She said quickly, again grabbing Rose and leading her horse swiftly down the road. She stepped around the woman.

However, their predicament wouldn’t be so easily resolved, for Mrs. Birch suddenly grabbed Rose’s cloak. Rose yelped, turning to face the woman. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“I’m sick of waiting!” The woman cried, tears dripping down her face. “Tell me where my daughter is!”

“I-I can’t help you!” Bayley shouted, though she sounded far from certain— in fact, she sounded quite terrified.

“Let go!” Rose cried, taking hold of her cloak and pulling. “I—“

“You’re lying! You’re both lying!”

Rose’s chest felt tight. Her heart beat against her ribs, feeling like a threat that might burst them.

“LET GO!”

She didn’t expect such a sound to escape from her mouth. Her voice rang through the street— terrified, desperate to make the clinging woman release her. The woman did so, staring at Rose with wide eyes.

Taking the chance, Bayley held Rose’s arm tight and began to run. With the horse in tow, they reached the main street in no time at all. Rose only shot one last look over her shoulder.

Mrs. Birch stood there, eyes wide and tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked almost stunned into silence.

However, they turned a corner. Promptly, she was gone— hidden by whatever building stood in the way.

Once they reached the edge of town, on the road back towards Castle Constance, they paused. Bayley had led them a little ways further into the woods — still on the path, but far enough away from town to catch their breath. Bayley released her horse and Rose, heaving for breath as she crouched near the ground.

“B-Bayley?”

Rose took notice to this, crouching down next to Bayley. The smaller woman had her face in her hands, and was shaking all over. Soft whimpers escaped from her lips.

“Bayley…”

Rose wrapped her friend in a hug, gently pulling her hands away from her face. Bayley’s face was soaked in tears, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. The tear tracks might as well have froze to her cheeks.

Rose took the moment to catch her own breath, and it wasn’t until then that she realized that she, too, was shaking. Her heart was racing so fast it felt like her whole body throbbed with each beat.

“C-Come on,” she said quietly. “Come on— you don’t w-want to freeze, do you?”

Bayley didn’t answer. Her arms were wrapped tight around Rose, her hands gripping Rose’s cloak even tighter. Her head buried into Rose’s shoulder. Was this how she had felt the night Samantha lashed out— had she buried it for Rose’s sake?

Rose gently hushed Bayley, running a hand up and down her back in a reassuring movement.

“It’s cold, let’s go home— I-I can walk you home, do you want that?”

A few moments of quiet. However, Rose felt her nod after that. It was small, but enough confirmation for Rose to know that Bayley could hear her.

“A-Alright— what do you—you do a-at the end of your deliveries? Where do— Where d-do you take y-your horse?”

It took a few moments longer for Rose to help Bayley stand, sniffling and wiping her face with her jacket sleeve.

“I-I— I take him to his stable,” she said, taking a few deep breaths. “I put the cart— I p-put it next to the stable.”

“T-That’s good! That’s good— can you show me?”

Bayley nodded, again rubbing her eyes. Rose watched her breath turn to clouds in the frigid air, and watched as Bayley jumped up into the seat at the head of the cart. Rose went around it and joined her on the opposite side.

“D-Do you want—want me to d-drive?” Rose asked, to which Bayley shook her head.

“No— I don’t— I don’t let o-other people drive my cart. N-Nothing against you, Rose, I-I just… don’t like it.”

Rose nodded, turning her gaze forward. Bayley’s grip tightened on her horse’s reins, and it took a few moments for her to steel her nerves and call for her horse to move.

A silence fell, only broken by the sound of the cart in the mud and the clopping of the stallion’s hooves. That, and Bayley’s occasional sniffling. Every now and then she’d wipe her eyes, and Rose noticed the glistening of the tracks left on her freckled cheeks. Rose was shaken herself, but didn’t voice it further.

The wind began to pick up and clouds began to stretch across the sky. It sent a chill through both of them, cold against their fingertips and faces. Although, the cold didn’t bother them for too long— soon enough, they were back at the castle. Bayley led the way around the Castle and past the vineyard, which was blocked off for the winter. Around the back of the castle, they were met with a fenced-off area, surrounded by the trees of the woodland.

The fenced pasture had a small stable and shed. Bayley led the horse and cart into the shed, before detaching her horse from it, grabbing her clipboard, and heading towards the stable. Inside, she led her stallion into an empty stall. She gave him some fresh hay, water, and a carrot, which was stored in a bushel at the end of the stables. Rose noted that there were only two other horses — a rich, dark brown mare, and a massive gray and white stallion.

“The Mistress’s horse isn’t here,” Bayley said quietly, in the process of hanging up the horse’s harness and reins, “Lord Velkan’s attendants tend to Opal.”

“O-Opal?” Rose asked as Bayley began to walk out.

“Opal is the name of the Lady’s horse,” Bayley replied.

“A-And the others?”

“The mare is Jada’s, she’s more of a show-horse than anything. She named her Mousse. Then, that gray and white stallion— he’s the workhorse when Sora’s unwell. He’s Maximillion— we usually just call him Max.”

“Sora?”

“Sora’s mine.”

Bayley led the way out of the stable, before shutting the doors behind them. It was relatively warm inside, at least, and Bayley locked the doors with a padlock and a heavy board.

“The Head Maidens come out to make sure the horses are cared for, so they’re out here in the grass sometimes.”

“Why— Why does t-the Lady’s horse s-stay all the way out there?” Rose asked, watching as Bayley did her last minute checks over the shed and stable.

“It’s a privilege to have her cared for by a Lord’s attendants, so I’ve heard. Lord Velkan’s stables are the most secure, and the horses are well-cared for by his stablehands.”

Rose nodded, pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself before doing the same with her cloak.

“We’ve gotta tell Jada before I go,” Bayley said over the wind. “I check in and out with her every day— a condition of me moving out.”

They pushed through the snow back towards the castle. At the servants’ entrance, they curtsied the guards before entering.

Rose was grateful for the warmth of the Castle, letting out a sigh of relief as she entered. She hadn’t quite realized how frigid it was outside until then, the warmth hitting them like a wave from a furnace.

“They must have lit the fireplaces,” Bayley muttered quietly, knocking her boots on the doorframe before continuing inside. Rose followed her lead, mud and snow falling off said boots in clumps.

Despite their efforts, their boots squeaked against the smooth floor. A few of the maidens’ gazes followed them, eyebrows furrowed, but Bayley paid them not the slightest hint of mind. Rose could practically sense the exhaustion from her.

“Bayley?” Rose asked quietly, moving from following behind her to walking beside her. “A-Are you alright?”

Bayley nodded, keeping her gaze ahead.

“I just want to be home,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting to run into Mrs. Birch…”

Rose bit her cheek, tentatively placing a hand on Bayley’s shoulder. Rose didn’t blame her for being rattled— she was too, but Bayley had actually been slashed because of what had happened that night. The scar on her face was an ever-present reminder of that.

“Do-Do you know where Jada m-might— might be?” Rose asked after a few moments.

“If she’s not by the work board, she’s probably at lunch already. That, or doing some task— it should be listed on the board.”

Bayley headed past the stairs and towards the room as effortlessly as if she had done it thousands of times— and she likely had. Rose followed quietly, the squeaking of their boots on the floor stopping the further they went.

Soon enough, they were standing before the board listing the names and tasks of every Maiden in the Castle. Listed at the very top were the Head Maidens, separated from the rest of the list by a line. Listed in alphabetical order, it was easy to find Jada’s name.

Jada Gordon - Record Keeping and Supervision. Millie Hendrickson will be collecting said records at 6 PM.

“Who’s— Who’s Millie?” Rose asked, turning to Bayley. She hadn’t met a “Millie” in the Castle, though she had only been working here a few months…

“Millie is the Lords’ accountant. She works at the Archives— probably why you haven’t seen her.”

Rose glanced at the clock. It was about noon— maybe she’d spot this “Millie” later.

“So—So Jada’s i-in… the Mistress’s o-office, then?”

“Most likely. I just hope she isn’t in the cellar… we’ll never get her out, then.”

Rose watched as Bayley let out a long sigh, brushing her hair back and rubbing her eyes. She then set off once more, Rose quickly following suit up a flight of stairs.

Navigating the Castle grew easier with time, but it still felt labyrinthine every time Rose had to navigate it. Having Bayley helped, of course— she had been working here for years. Thus, they reached the office in no time.

Bayley was the one to knock on the door, wherein she was met with a “Come in.” Afterwards, the pair entered.

Jada was tapping a stack of papers against the desk to align them. She lifted her head upon the two of them entering.

“Miss Atropa, Miss Evans. I wasn’t expecting to see you two here,” she said.

“We made our deliveries,” Bayley said before Rose could start, “I’m finished for the day.”

Jada raised an eyebrow, looking at Bayley’s face, and then her gaze flicking to Rose’s and then back again.

“You want me to dismiss you,” she said bluntly, “This early in the day?”

Bayley shifted uncomfortably. Rose discreetly placed a hand against her back.

“We ran into… some trouble,” Bayley started, “while we were making our last deliveries—“

“M-Miss Birch’s mother— she s-stopped us!”

Jada’s gaze snapped back to Rose, eyes wide. If looks could kill, Rose would have dropped dead to the floor.

“We do not speak of her,” Jada hissed, causing Rose to shrink backwards and Bayley to flinch.

Rose shifted uncomfortably, stuck under Jada’s sudden hostility for a good few seconds before she spoke again.

“It—It-It left us a-a little rattled,” she stammered, swallowing hard. “S-So Bayley w-wanted to— to head home t-to try and collect herself.”

“She could collect herself here,” Jada said a bit harshly, eyes narrowing. “The condition of you moving out, Miss Evans, was that you would not allow it to interfere with your day-to-day tasks.”

“It-It’s not interfering!” Bayley said, and Rose noticed a crack in her voice. “I finished all of my tasks—“

“Even tonight’s scheduled dinner? Even the laundry? Even the dusting of the upstairs?”

Bayley shrunk backwards, lowering her head.

“I think it’s that you want to go back to that lovely boyfriend of yours. What was his name again?”

“I get it, I get it!” Bayley snapped, and Rose noticed tears beginning to prick at her eyes. “I get it, you don’t like that I moved out! Please— just let me leave, alright? I’ll work twice as hard tomorrow, I don’t care— I just want to go home!”

Rose felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest, anxiety crawling up her spine like cruel claws hooking into flesh. A wave of cold washed over her.

She sounds like Samantha…

Visions of that night flooded her mind, reeling behind her eyes like a cruel film. The blood pouring down Bayley’s face, the screaming, the Mistress taking Samantha by the throat…

“You dare to raise your voice at a Head Maiden?” Jada snapped, her teeth bared in anger. “You disobey me? Who went to bat for you— gave you leniency so you could leave?! I could revoke those terms at any point in time— I could make all of your right to leave be revoked in an instant!”

Bayley flinched again, shutting her eyes tight. This snapped Rose, if only from her visions, to move her attention to Bayley. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her breath came in shudders.

The raised voices seemed to have prompted some intervention. There was a knock on the door, prompting Jada to snap her head towards the door.

“Who’s there?” she said, a little harsher than was necessary.

The door quickly opened. In stepped a woman - of course - that Rose had only seen a few times. She was a little shorter than Rose, and had long, wavy, white-blonde hair. Behind her ears, said hair was braided, and tied underneath the rest. She had brilliant brown eyes, faint freckles, black lipstick, and a set of earrings - one of which was an upside down cross on a chain. She was dressed in a Head Maiden uniform.

“Miss Ariandel,” Jada said stiffly, narrowing her eyes at the smaller woman, “We’re busy.”

“Really? I just heard a bunch of yelling— what seems to be the problem?” Miss Ariandel said, tilting her head. “Something about disobedience? I figured you’d be glad for the help.”

Jada sneered, curling her lip and rolling her eyes. Rose felt tense, though Bayley looked almost slightly relieved.

“You hardly warrant me any help,” she said bitterly, and Miss Ariandel shrugged.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that! I think I give you a great deal of help!”

“What do you want?”

“I can take this little matter off your hands—“

“You don’t get to disobey my orders, either! Miss Evans is to come to me to be dismissed—“

“I’m under the same authority, and screaming at her does nobody any good! Come, ladies.”

Miss Ariandel quickly and promptly left the room, after waving for Rose and Bayley to follow. Bayley shot Jada one last glance, before taking Rose by the arm and quickly following after Miss Ariandel.

Miss Ariandel led them out of the room and down the hall a little ways, before taking them both aside.

“I apologize— she shouldn’t have been yelling at you. What was it that you needed, Bayley?”

Rose was taken slightly aback by the use of Bayley’s first name from a Head Maiden— from anyone, really. Usually, from what she had seen, they addressed each other with last names unless they were somewhat close.

“I— I finished my deliveries for today,” Bayley said, turning to Miss Ariandel. “I was going to see if-if I could go home— we had an encounter that… r-rattled me a little bit.”

Miss Ariandel clicked her tongue, listening intently. After a few moments, she nodded, resting a hand against Bayley’s shoulder.

“Head home. I’ll talk to Jada— we wouldn’t want our delivery girl not at her best, would we?” she said with a smile.

Bayley sighed with relief. Rose felt the tension leave her shoulders as she, too, felt relief flood her body.

“Rose is-is gonna walk me home, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. Just as long as she comes back.”

“I-I will— I will, t-thank you.”

Rose gave Miss Ariandel a grateful courtesy, but Miss Ariandel held up a hand.

“No need for that. You two head out, alright?”

They both nodded.

“Thank you, Lilith,” Bayley said quietly.

Rose perked up, glancing over at Miss Ariandel. She only nodded, offering a small smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bayley.”

With that, she turned and headed back down the hall, towards the Lady’s office.

The walk wasn’t very eventful. A light snowfall had begun, and the path crunched under Bayley and Rose’s boots. The tree branches swayed in the slight breeze.

It was a long walk— though, their pace wasn’t exactly the quickest. Part of her wondered just how early Bayley had to get up to be here before sunrise every morning.

Bayley had taken out her key ring, and it was now that Rose noticed she had not one, but two keys on it.

“What’s the second key for?”

Bayley hummed, turning the key over in her hand.

“You’ll see,” she said quietly.

Rose watched her for a few moments more before turning back to the small trail. It had been carved out by Bayley’s daily walks— at one point, it followed along the edge of the steep slope that was the cliffside.

The snow dusted their heads, and Rose more than once found herself gazing out over the cliff towards the village below. The people walking about town were hardly more than pinpricks entering the shops and church. The trees were covered in a thick layer of snow, drifts of which fluttered in the slight breeze.

However, soon enough the trail turned from dirt to pavement. Rose perked at the change, looking down at the ground to find the path neatly shoveled. However, looking up garnered more surprises.

A few years back, this was the site of construction. Rose had never seen the finished product. That was, of course, until now. Of all the things to expect, she wasn’t expecting this.

The building melded easily with the rough terrain of the cliffside. It had a ground floor and a story above that, the roof slick with snow and icicles. Windows were clouded with ice, so it was hard to gauge just what it was like inside.

The house itself was made of stone, but the front porch was made of wood. It had four steps, which were shoveled as well. Leading up to the porch and front door, the paved path continued through the yard. Like everything else, the yard was covered in snow. In the yard, to the left of the house, was a smaller building with a shutter door— presumably, a garage. However, the main things that caught Rose’s eyes were the massive wire fence before them, and the tall towers near the edge of the cliffside - presumably, radio towers for Douglas’s show. On the other side of the fence, opposite the cliffside, trees continued thickly— around the house and along the cliffside. In the distance, through the trees and up the slope of the mountains that surrounded Crow’s Rest, Rose could very faintly see the waterfall. From up here, one could see for miles and miles.

Bayley was unfazed by this abrupt change of scenery, walking up to the fence and taking her key in hand. At the gate, she used her key to unlock it. She pushed the gate open, motioning for Rose to follow.

Rose glanced up, swallowing hard before following Bayley.

“So—So this i-is where he-he lives?” she asked, following Bayley towards the porch.

“Yeah. He’s probably live right about now— he was outside, though.”

As they approached the porch, Rose picked up a whiff of cigarette smoke. Though, there was nobody else outside.

“So— H-He is home, t-then?”

Bayley nodded, stepping up onto the porch and knocking her boots against the steps to rid them of the snow caked to her heels.

“Like I said, probably live. He’s usually on air around midday. If not, he just got done smoking.”

Rose bit her cheek, hesitating to step up onto the porch. Bayley walked right up to the front door, inserting the key into the knob before it, too, unlocked. She then tucked the key back into her pocket.

“Thank you,” she said quietly after a few moments, turning back to Rose, “for walking me home.”

“O-Oh-! You’re welcome— I-I’m glad to have b-been able to walk with you!”

Rose offered Bayley a smile, which was returned with gratitude.

“Do you— D-Do you need a-anything else?” Rose asked, to which Bayley shook her head.

“No— what I need is a good old-fashioned nap,” Bayley said with a small laugh. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, hm?”

“O-Of course!”

With one final wave, they head their separate ways. Bayley turned into the house after opening the front door, and Rose stepped off the porch and walked back down the path. She took one last glance at the house, with the door swinging shut behind Bayley, before exiting the fenced yard.

With that, shutting the gate behind her, Rose began to walk down the trail once more— into the woods, and back towards the Castle.

The next morning, Rose awoke as usual. However, this time it was in her own bed.

Her tasks started, once more, with helping Bayley load her cart and delivering orders. Bayley, as always, was up and awake. Seeing her sitting in the cafeteria brought back the thought:

“How early did she have to wake to come to work on time every day?”

Either way, after a brief breakfast, Bayley led the way out to the cart. Today, the items were already loaded inside.

“Lilith must’ve been in charge of it, today,” Bayley murmured to Rose.

Again, she left to retrieve her horse. Rose stood with the cart, aware of the glare of the guards standing at the door. Even in the dim morning light, their faces were obscured in thick shadow beneath their cloak hoods.

Rose shifted uncomfortably, their gazes locked on her face. She swallowed, pulling her hood over her head.

The sun shone over the tops of the barren, leafless trees. Crows cawed in the distance, knocking snow from clattering branches and accompanying the soft chirping of morning birds.

Soon enough, Bayley came walking back with her horse, reins in hand. She fixed him to the cart with a harness, before joining Rose in the seat at the head of the cart.

The first part of the drive down was quiet. Rose wasn’t used to the silence between them — Bayley always had something to talk about, at least to Rose. Finally, Rose decided to break the silence - aside from the clopping of Sora’s hooves and the mud of the path.

“I… I-I wasn’t expecting t-the house to look like that,” Rose tried, turning to Bayley.

Bayley perked up, tilting her head.

“Which— Douglas’s?”

Rose nodded, pulling at her sleeves of her jacket.

“It’s very big. L-Last— Last I saw it, i-it was s-still a construction s-site.”

Bayley laughed, running a hand back through her hair.

“He built it himself, really. It’s a nice house— has that log-cabin feel to it.”

“Oh— does i-it?”

“Inside it does. There’s lots of room… Douglas wants to get a dog.”

“Oh!”

“Mhm— h-he’s been looking. Haven’t found one just yet.”

Bayley took a deep breath, straightening her posture a little before relaxing against the back of the seat. Rose looked up at the sky through the barren tree branches above. There was a momentary quiet, broken only by the morning birds.

“D-Does— Does Lilith use f-first names for everyone?” she asked after a few moments.

“Mostly— she doesn’t call Lady Constance by her first name, though. She considers it rude when someone is of a higher standard. She’s one of the more bearable Head Maidens— trust me.”

“I-I’m starting to s-see that… Do she and Jada— do they f-fight? Jada looked l-like she wanted to kill her.”

“Jada doesn’t get along with anyone. She thinks she’s so great because she has seniority— been here about a decade. She worked one year under the previous Lady, so she thinks she’s got the most experience and is thus the most important. She’s nice at first— then she starts to get petty over small things. Minor uniform infractions, tasks not done to perfection… she’s the one who leaves the packages next to my cart, because ‘it’s not her job to load it.’”

Bayley scoffed.

“Lilith is one of the only Head Maidens I can stand.”

Rose bit her cheek. From the tone, she figured Bayley had many problems with Jada in the past.

“We shouldn’t have too much to deliver today… it’s not too bad. Be in and out of town by lunch… hopefully we don’t run into trouble.”

Rose shuddered, though it wasn’t from the cold. Yesterday’s encounter with Mrs. Birch had stuck with her through the night— despite her tasks the previous night to occupy her, it felt impossible to quite brush it off. It had occupied her mind, leaving her with restless sleep.

“I-I don’t think—think I could h-handle more trouble,” Rose murmured quietly.

They made it to town soon after, no hitches to their arrival. Bayley, as standard, halted the cart and hopped off of the seat to walk next to her horse. Rose followed suit, keeping pace with her easily.

Bayley, again, went through the list in hand. It was significantly shorter today.

“Maybe if we get done quick,” Bayley said, turning to Rose, “we can grab a pastry from the bakery. What I wouldn’t give for one of Molly’s apple pie muffins…”

Rose perked at the mention of the baker. She hadn’t seen Molly in a long time… she vaguely wondered if she was the same as ever.

Rose hoped she was. With all the changes to her environment in just a few short months, she wouldn’t mind something staying the same.

“Although… I can’t leave the cart alone. Could you watch it? I’ll buy you a muffin.”

Rose perked, looking over to Bayley.

“Y-You can’t leave— leave it?”

“I’ve dealt with people trying to steal it before. I’d be in and out in maybe five minutes— if you’d like to go in, I can watch the cart.”

“Oh— no, no, I-I can watch it! N-No problem!”

She gave Bayley a reassuring smile, which Bayley returned.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

With that, Bayley led the way down a side street. Rose followed quickly, their footsteps crunching against the salted cobblestone. Most of the shopkeepers salted the road outside their buildings to keep the ice from causing slips.

The routine followed. Rose even took a few of the orders and delivered them, splitting away to a house a little further down the road once or twice. Bayley seemed grateful for the help.

Town was just as busy as ever. Bodies bustled on Main Street, over the drawbridge in the center of town and into shops for work or purchase. Given that there was a persistent smell of fresh baked goods, Rose suspected that Molly was already working for the day.

Luckily, they encountered no trouble thus far. Rose had yet to see any too-familiar faces, of which she was dreading seeing. She kept her hood up over her head, keeping her head down in the busiest part of town.

They made excellent time. Even before the sun was directly overhead, they had delivered every order. The luck continued in that everyone who had ordered was home, so they didn’t have to take anything back to the Castle.

Bayley took the lead back towards Main Street. She walked with a bit of a spring in her step, seeming in a much better mood than the quiet brooding she had that morning. Maybe it was the prospect of a baked good— maybe even the quick delivery. Either way, she seemed bright.

As promised, Bayley led the way back into town and halted the empty cart outside the bakery. She handed Sora’s reins over to Rose, who took them in both of her hands.

“I’ll be in and out in five minutes, alright?” Bayley said, gently squeezing Rose’s shoulder.

“I-It’s no problem, r-really! Just—Just head inside— I-I’ll be here!”

Bayley let out a soft huff, glancing around at passerby before giving Rose a small smile. Afterwards, she turned, opened the bakery door, and walked inside.

Rose shifted in her spot, absentmindedly trailing her foot over the lines of cobble that made up the street. Salt scraped at the tips of boots, though they were lucky to not have encountered much ice.

Anxiety prickled at her chest. She hadn’t been alone in town since she had become a Maiden at Castle Constance— and the fear of familiar faces clawed as present as ever down her back. She kept a watchful eye, though tried to keep her head down.

She watched each passerby. All varieties of people— tall, short, young, and old. A group of children ran past, giggling with sleds in hand and making for the mounds up the street, leftover from shoveling the snow away.

She even smiled, watching their bright, smiling faces as they ran past.

“Rose?”

However, that joy halted as sharply as a stab to the gut. A wave of icy cold washed over her almost violently, causing her knees to feel weak and terror to take a hold on her chest. Her throat tightened, and she felt physically sick to her stomach. Her stomach itself felt like it had dropped to the floor.

Rose slowly turned to the voice that called her name.

Icy blue eyes were fixated directly on her. His brown hair was messily tied back into a ponytail. Stuck on his face was a look of something like shock— like he wasn’t expecting her of all possible people. He was dressed for work, on top of which he wore a warm jacket.

Rose felt out of breath. She could have swore her heart stopped. She began hyperventilating, unable to stop the shaking that quickly enveloped her body like a fist. There was this suffocating presence on her chest— like her lungs had shrank, and her heart beat against her ribs like a fist to a door.

Todd took a few steps towards her. He was slow, like he was in disbelief. Rose tightened her grip on the horse’s reins. The horse whinnied, as if he could tell that she was uneasy.

“Is that really you?”

Rose’s voice failed her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. She felt frozen to the floor— like the ice in her veins rooted her to the stone.

He drew closer to her, finally jolting Rose into taking a few steps back away from him.

“It is! Rose, oh, Rose!”

He suddenly rushed towards her, taking her by the shoulders and wrapping her in a tight embrace. Rose immediately began to squirm, yelling and trying to push him off.

“You’re alive! You’re alive, oh, thank the Lords! I thought you were dead, or kidnapped, or worse! Oh, Rose, you’re— you’re…”

Rose squirmed from his grasp, finally slipping out of his arms and dropping Sora’s reins.

Todd’s face looked almost shocked, downcast. He was staring at her hand.

“…You’re not wearing your engagement ring.”

His gaze fixated then on her face. Rose felt her heart thundering in her throat, so hard she thought she might choke.

“T-Todd—“

Before she could say another word, he had violently grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall of the bakery. She screamed out in pain, the wind being thrown from her lungs as her back hit the stone. She shut her eyes tight, unable to stop shaking.

“Where have you been?!” Todd demanded, his face twisting into an expression of such rage that his cheeks turned red. “Tell me! What rat bastard has had you?! You’re seeing some other man, aren’t you?! After what we had, Rose?!”

His voice raised to a yell, causing Rose to cower and sink against the wall. Tears began to drip down her cheeks, and she struggled to catch her breath. Her ribs felt all too suffocating against her lungs, and she thought she might pass out.

“Tell me! Speak, you wretched whore! We were supposed to be married by now— but you just had to go and run!”

Rose nearly choked on her own words, desperate to say something. She wanted him off— she wanted to run! She needed to breathe, to get out!

“You were supposed to marry me!”

“N-No-!”

“‘No’? ‘NO’?!”

Todd shook her violently by the shoulders, forcing her back against the stone once more. She let out a grunt as he did.

“You will return home this instant! Whatever fantasy world you’re living in— it’s not gonna fly here!” Todd snarled, his vivid blue eyes filled with such rage that Rose thought his glare alone might kill her.

“NO!”

Rose mustered up every bit of strength she had, lifted her leg, and kicked him hard. Her heel dug deep into his abdomen, and he cried out in pain. At that moment, when he had been shoved backwards off of her, Bayley’s horse whinnied loudly and reared on its hind legs, backing up from the fighting pair.

Rose didn’t hesitate any further. She broke into a sprint, ducking past the cart and making a break down the street.

“You conniving bitch!” She heard Todd scream after her, but she didn’t turn to look. “Get back here! You’re as good as dead if you keep running!”

Rose heaved for air as she struggled to sprint. She shoved past passerby, who gasped and cried out when she pushed them out of her path. Tears dropped down her cheeks, and her boots hit hard against the salt and cobble. Only a split second thought crossed her mind— had Bayley heard the commotion? Would she pick up the cart?

“STOP HER!”

She didn’t ponder long, however. Todd’s roar of anger followed her as she struggled to make it through town, making a break for the woods. As she crossed the tree line, the cobble street sunk into a muddy trail. Anxiety practically ate her alive as each step threatened to pull her boots off of her feet, despite the clasps. She heaved for breath— she couldn’t escape nearly as easily in the daytime!

His heavy footfalls followed her, bearing closer. Suddenly, she was caught— his hand had taken a hold on her cloak, holding it in his fist and causing it to tighten around her neck. With a choking gasp, Rose was violently thrown to the mud, her feet slipping underneath her. With a disgusting splat, Rose found herself thrashing to escape.

Todd’s fist closed around her ankle. He, too, had slipped in the mud— his face, hands, and front were smeared with it, though did little to hide his furious glare.

“Hold still, you little-!”

Rose yelped, squirming onto her back and trying to wrangle her foot from his grasp. However, he held firm— that was, until Rose lifted her leg and kicked him hard in the face. As soon as her heel collided with his cheek, he screamed out, releasing her ankle.

“YOU BITCH!”

As soon as he had let go, Rose again twisted onto her hands and knees, wrestling enough strength to pull herself out of the mud and continue her mad sprint up the trail.

Her feet threatened to slip from beneath her, but she dared not allow herself to fall again. She ran closer to the edge of the path— despite the risk of the snow, her feet hit the ground harder and easier than being pulled down by the mud.

She didn’t even acknowledge the horrible iciness that clung through her clothes and to her skin. Her hair was clumped together with the thick mud.

Her throat burned with the effort of heaving breath. She didn’t care how much her body hurt— she just needed to run. She needed to find safety…

The terrain grew less kempt, still indented by the cart this morning. Soon enough, through a break in the trees, the final stretch— a set of massive wooden doors, illuminated with torches on either side. It drew closer with every patter of Rose’s boots in the dirt— her salvation.

Todd was hot on her heels. The terror gripped Rose like a vice, and she prayed to whatever deity might listen that she make it to the door before he caught her.

Visions of the past clouded her eyes in tears. What would he do now, if he caught her?

With one final burst of adrenaline coursing through her veins, she forced a little more speed from her body, rocketing up the stairs and practically throwing herself against the heavy wooden doors. It felt like a monumental task, every heartbeat a moment too long as she pushed against the doors. However, it finally caved against her weight, swinging open and allowing her inside the Castle.

She slammed the doors shut behind her, her heart thundering in her ears as she quickly pressed herself against them. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she heaved for breath, sobs finally forcing from her chest. They were sharp, ragged— agonizing with each breath.

She could hear his fists colliding with the door. His faint scream echoed ever present:

“Come out of there, you whore! You’ll regret what you’ve done to me— just you wait! You’re going to get it when I finally get my hands on you!”

There was the sound of pattering footsteps on the tile. The door pushed against Rose’s back, and she pushed back as hard as she could— desperately digging her heels into the floor, only dully aware of the horrible squeak her muddy boots made on it. Through sobs and gasps for breath, her strength was beginning to fail.

“Rose! What’s happening?”

Rose’s head snapped to glance at the maidens who had come to investigate the commotion. There were about three of them, watching with wide eyes like scared deer.

“Help me!” Rose managed to croak out, her throat and voice hoarse.

However, before any of them could help, her strength finally gave under a sudden hard shove against the door. Rose screamed out as she was thrown to the floor, the door shoving her. Todd staggered onto the floor, clearly not having expected his brute force to work so easily.

Before she could even gather herself, Todd had forcibly grabbed Rose by the front of her shirt and lifted her off the ground. He then slammed her against the wall, insanity written across his face as violently as the force he shoved her with. When her back met the wall, the wind was thrown from Rose’s chest. She let out a cry, blinding pain erupting from the back of her head as it smacked against the wall.

“I’ve had enough of you and your shit,” Todd snarled, his grip tightening on her shirt. “You and your thinking you can disobey me— running off is so funny, isn’t it?! You think you’re in charge?! No… No, I am the one in charge of you! And you—!”

He raised his fist, and suddenly brought it down upon her. Rose screamed out as pain erupted in her face— blinding red, the pain agonizing.

“—will not—!”

Another fist colliding with her face. Rose choked out, struggling against his grip and trying to push him back.

“—DISOBEY ME!”

He raised his fist to hit her one last time, Rose instinctively flinching and shutting her eyes tightly. However, it never came. Rose shuddered, waiting for the inevitable— but the longer she cowered, the longer nothing happened. Finally, after what felt like hours  - which in reality may have only been a second or two - she dared to open her eyes.

Todd’s face was still twisted with rage, and his heavy breathing felt hot on her face. However, there was a hint of confusion.

A pale, near-paper white hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist— arm raised above his head to deliver a final blow. Behind him, a presence loomed with a rage and tension even Rose could sense.

Todd didn’t even have to open his mouth before a voice spoke behind him.

“Now, what do we have here?”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A King’s Wrath.

Word Count: 1.8k 

Pairing: Yandere!Overblot!Leona/Reader

Synopsis: Last time Leona lost control, you had help. Back-up isn’t a privilege he seemed intent to give you, this time around.

TW: Graphic Violence, Blood and Delusional Mindsets.

Overblot was a terrible thing.

You should know, you’d been around it enough to see the signs, to recognize just how depraved it could make the people you thought you knew. It was messy, it was desperate, it was an affliction you couldn’t fight off until it’d already ravaged your peers and hurt your friends. It was a curse, in every sense of the word. You were almost glad you hadn’t been born with magic, somedays, when you got a chance to see what it could do if it got out of hand.

Leona, in particular, was not a man to be underestimated. Even before you really knew him, when you were still confused and lost in a world you barely understood, you hadn’t been able to recognize the monster he turned into at the slightest hints of imbalance. You could barely stand to watch, the sight bringing tears to your eyes as surely as the sandstorm he’d summoned, but you’d figured that would be a one-time offense. It was over, and his childhood strife was behind him. He’d grown from it, and you’d helped him. You were proud of him, even if you’d never dare to say that outloud. He didn’t need the ego boost, and you didn’t need to deal with another cocky, self-satisfied lecture on the vastness of his superiority. 

Well... you thought he’d gotten better, at least.

You were starting to think you’d gotten your hopes up too soon.

You could feel it. The electricity in the air, the searing warmth mingling with a distinct, sudden chill, neither feeling managing to completely block out the other. You were sweating, but you were shivering. You were scrambling backward, searching for ground that wouldn’t fall out from under your feet, but you were frozen in place, rooted to the soil that wanted so badly to push you away. It’d been instantaneous. One moment, he was guiding you into the forest surrounding the academy, your hand in his and a whine playing on your tongue about his bone-crushing grip or his unmatchable pace, and the next, you were like this, his expression fallen and his confident confession crushed and discarded by your awkward, rushed rejection. It’d been too blunt. It’d been too harsh.

It’d been honest, and you could never be honest with Leona.

You weren’t dumb enough to try to talk him down or take him on. You were alone, painfully, stupidly alone, out of the reach of the Headmaster or Malleus or someone who could help you, not that you had the right to be picky, at the moment. You wished you’d insisted on taking Grimm with you, or Ace or Deuce or anyone you could’ve convinced Leona to bring along, but you didn’t. Your only chance was to flee, to push yourself to your feet and run for it, even if you doubted you’d be able to make it. Still, it wasn’t much of a choice. Cramping lungs and sore legs were far preferable to the creature you’d left behind you.

Leona wasn’t one to be neglected, though. Already, you could hear him catching up to you, recovering from his blind rage and falling into a targetted, pointed wrath, putting your suffering above the destruction of trees and flowers that’d only witnessed his humiliation. Dust hung in the open air, fragrant and overwhelming, your eyes stinging and your throat going dry, although you couldn’t be sure whether that was Leona’s magic or your own suffocating fear. Each crushed leaf made it worse, every noise sending a jolt through your chest, giving you a new reason to run faster, to scream louder. Somewhere in the distance, Leona laughed, the noise throaty, threatening. Easily drowning out your voice.

But, he could laugh all he wanted. You could see a soft glow, the lights of a dormitory, although you couldn’t guess which it was. It didn’t matter, though. Soon, you’d have help. You’d be safe--

Without warning, the ground underneath you fell away, turning to something malleable and pliant. You slipped before you put a name to it, falling into the shallow pit of sand that’d formed between you and a kneeling Leona, a single palm carelessly pressed to the ground. You tried to get up, but even like this, Leona was faster than you, moving like a predator seeking out its prey, his fist closing around your wrist and wrenching you to your feet before you could stand on your own. The pain was immediate, burning. As if your body was trying to tear itself apart, and you just had to stand back, watching as defined trails carved themselves into your skin. There was blood, but it disappeared as it washed over his hand, mixing with the blank ink that already stained his fingertips. You wondered if it would leave a mark, when he turned back.

If he turned back.

A low, wordless groan forced its way from your grit teeth, and Leona pushed his shoulders back, taking on the air of a victorious warlord as if you’d already admitted defeat. You supposed you had. “Does it hurt?” He asked, a cruel lilt heavy in his voice. You didn’t think before nodding, hoping for the smallest hint of mercy, but Leona only cocked his head to the side, the gesture unnaturally angular, drawing attention to the lopsided smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. Rigid and symbolic, not unlike his touch. “Good. I’m not wasting my time, then.”

Claws found their way into your skin, and it dawned on you that he might want a response. You didn’t have much of a choice than to give one to him. “Leona,” You forced out, his name half a gasp and half a mumble. “This isn’t who you are, you’re… You’re in danger. If you don’t snap yourself out of this, your body’s not going to be able to--”

“I think this is exactly who I am,” He growled, cutting you off with little more than a snarl and a narrow-eyed glance. “I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend and play your little, oblivious game and be patient. Do you know how long I spent sitting back and waiting for you to come around?” It was a question that didn’t warrant an answer, a single talon driving itself into your flesh, nearly cutting to the bone. You screamed, and he rose his voice to speak over you. “I spent so long acting like your friend, you don’t have the right to--” He interrupted himself with a hitched breath, his mouth closing and his jaw locking into place. And yet, he wasn't any more rational when he decided to continue. “It was pointless. You denied me, and you made it pointless.”

“I-I’m sorry.” An apology felt right, albeit manufactured. He’d told how he felt, and you hadn’t shared his sentiment. He’d said he loved you in that lackadaisical, noncommittal way of his, and you hadn’t known to take him seriously. There was nothing to be sorry for, not from your perspective. Leona was just a brat who’d never been turned down, not by someone he considered so far below himself. Still, you were the one who needed a reason, an excuse that would calm him. A selection blended together on your lips, forming something more incoherent than soothing. “I didn’t know you were… I don’t know what I was saying, I want to be with you. We can be together, but first, you have to stop, alright?” You did your best to sound sympathetic, letting your words draw out into something tender. Something compassionate, despite the pain slowly spreading to your shoulder. “You have to let me help you.”

“You’re the only one that needs help, herbivore.” You were used to the pet name, the playful jab at his place on the food chain, but it didn’t sound like a buy for your annoyance, not when he was standing behind you, his brute force only outmatched by the sweltering heat that surrounded him like an aura. It was a warning, now, a reminder that he had fangs and strength and magic and you didn’t. “If anything, I should’ve done this months ago. It’s so fucking easy.” You can practically hear his sneer. It wasn’t like he made an effort to hide it. “It’s not like you would’ve been much of a challenge, even without the extra blot.”

At that, Leona let you go, more out of disgust than concern. Automatically, you reeled back, bringing your injured arm to your chest as you moved to run, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you managed to turn around, his heel made contact with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground with a new ache forming in your calf. In the blink of an eye, his fingers were entangled in your hair, his magic thankfully, thankfully neutralized but his grip so tight, you almost wished he’d just put you out of your misery.

Unfortunately, Leona had never been kind.

You couldn't speak, but he didn’t seem to mind. Rather, he was content to jeer and grin and laugh as you writhed, your hands clamped around overgrown grass in an effort not to lash out and anger him further. But, not fighting back was a double-sided blade, one that gave Leona the authority to assume he’d won. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, abruptly, his faux-empathy layered on so thickly, you didn’t have to wonder if he was trying to be honest. “I should’ve known someone like you would be too dense to understand. You’d never give me what I want, not unless I force it out of you.”

You stiffened. You felt him pull back, letting go of you entirely, but you didn’t dare try to get away. “I don’t… What do you want?”

“I can’t have a throne, can I? I can’t have your heart, and I doubt you’re going to hand it over now.” He sighed, the sound a wistful thing. One that left you more unnerved than his threats ever could. His hand came down again, petting over your hair so gently, you were tempted to melt into it for a brief, fleeting second. “But…”

He was gentle, then he wasn’t, his foot pressing into the small of your back, shoving you to forward without a chance to prepare yourself. Involuntarily, you glanced over your shoulder before yiu could hit the ground , taking in the shadows that danced around him for the first time. The brightness in his eyes, golden and unfamiliar, the shape of something primal and animalistic looming behind him. The cruel, possessive smile on his lips, a smile that only broadened when you failed to look away.

“You can still bow.”

[051093]

shaking faith | 707

wc: 2958

pairing: saeyoung “707″ choi x reader

genre: canon compliant, angst w/ smidge of fluff, mutual pining, sad fic for sad boy

description: in which he comes to check on you after a fight, only to find you asleep — and he confesses things he shouldn’t have.

my masterlist.

Saeyoung has more work than ever, and he can’t do any of it.

Every time he finds himself close to being productive, his memory betrays him, bringing him back to fated encounter with Saeran a few days ago. His long lost twin brother with hair the color of cream and coral, turquoise irises like black holes. You, your back pressed against Saeran’s chest, your neck lodged in the crook of his arm as he threatened your life. The sentence you cried out, your frightened eyes swimming with tears—

I love you!

“Fuck,” he hisses, nimble hands lifting from the keyboard to knot in his crimson hair.

Try as he might, he can’t forget how your words made him feel: how high his heart leapt, how a tide of fierce happiness seemed to soothe every ache in his body. When the syllables left your lips, everything was okay, and you were just two young adults in love. He wanted so badly to cross the room and sweep you into his arms like he should’ve done on day one, to hold you close and promise you he’d spend the rest of his life shielding you from harm.

But the fantasy only lasted a few meager seconds, and reality returned like a dagger to his stomach: your life was in danger and Saeran was deranged. And both were his fault.

After Saeran had left and the countdown stopped, Saeyoung was left with a horrible clutter of emotions he couldn’t decipher, his head swimming with fear, confusion, hatred, betrayal, and hope all at once. He went into overdrive, like his laptop sometimes did when he had too many programs running, and he ran the last command he could: yelling at you.

“Luciel…” He hated that name but loved the way you said it then, so fondly and kindly that it filled his frozen heart with warmth. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“No,” he snapped back. “Not only that, but I don’t think you should be in the RFA anymore. Forget about us. Forget about the party. As soon as it’s safe, leave.”

Even without looking at you, he sensed the flash of hurt in your expression. “Why are you deciding my future?”

“Because I know what’s best for you.” He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Look, you’re free to do whatever you want, but my thoughts won’t change.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“This is nothing for a person like you to get involved in.” He swiveled, eyes ablaze. “ I am nothing for a person like you to get involved with. You’ll only get hurt, you understand me?”

“I’d like to decide that for myself,” you responded coolly.

“Then you’re asking for it,” he snarled. “The darkness, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the demons. When you’re engulfed in these things because of me, you’ll remember that you were stupid enough to want it.”

“I want you.” Your response came through louder and clearer than anything Saeyoung could’ve spat through his lying teeth. “I want you. Let me help you fight these demons. Let me guide you out of this darkness.”

“That’s…impossible,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “I need to work. Don’t bother me.”

You stood up from your seat, making long, confident strides across the apartment until you were standing so close that he could smell the lovely scent of your hair.

“Aren’t you being too one-sided?” You breathed. “What am I supposed to do about my feelings for you?”

His heart danced with a maddening flutter, but his face told a different story, contorting with rage. “I said don’t bother me!”

He hated the way you flinched and stepped back into the kitchen counter. He hated how sad you looked. He hated himself.

“I don’t care about your feelings, alright?” He spat. “Get your priorities straight. You’re living with a bomb right now.”

“Luciel—”

“You could’ve died today.” His voice cracked. “It’s not the time to think about your feelings for me. Just worry about staying alive, will you?”

You only blinked back. He wished he could shake some sense into you, he was so frustrated, but he knew he couldn’t—he couldn’t keep himself at a single touch.

“How can you be so naive? So calm?” He sighed deeply. “Please, Y/N, for the first time in your life, put yourself first. If you ever get hurt, I’ll…” He forgot how to speak. “I’ll…”

“I know,” you said, quietly but firmly, “that this is your way of caring about me.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, but his voice lacked resolve and you both knew it. “You’re free to think whatever you want, because we’ll never see each other again once this hacker thing is resolved. Just do yourself a favor in the meantime: stop wasting your emotions on me.”

You looked like you wanted to touch him too, your hand twitching at your side, and he would’ve liked nothing more than for you to cradle his jaw with a caring hand, to smooth away the creases of stress in his face. But he was glad you didn’t.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Like he held all the stars in the sky, like he was the only man in the world. He turned, drawing his jacket closer to his chest. “God, this won’t do. I’m going out to the hallway and I’ll come back when you’re asleep. Sort yourself out in the meantime.”

Unable to look at you another time, he left the apartment, pacing in the hallway and muttering to himself agitatedly. He came back a few hours later to a dimly lit and silent apartment, indicators that you’d indeed fallen asleep. He drew out a chair, opened his laptop, and tried to work, juggling restoring the apartment’s security algorithm and getting Vanderwood and the agency off his ass. But it’s been a vicious cycle of almost focusing, remembering you love him, and losing any sense of concentration all over again, and he’s starting to think he won’t get anything done tonight no matter how much longer he spends staring at his screen.

He closes his laptop, turns off the light, and, without really thinking, makes his way to your room.

Cast in the soft glow of a night light, you’ve been reduced to a lump under the blanket in your unconscious state. Saeyoung slips soundlessly past the door and stands by your pillow, his golden gaze taking in the long lashes splayed against your cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, the tousled hair that shrouds your face.

For as long as he’s known you, you’ve been headstrong, bold, outspoken; incredibly, unconditionally kind, always standing up for what you think is right. In the last few days, especially, you’ve been hovering over Saeyoung’s shoulder despite him begging you not to, drilling into his head to please use you as a resource; to let you help; to let you into his head and his heart. Between planning the party, communicating with the other R.F.A. members, and nagging at Saeyoung, you haven’t even stopped to take a breath. And his heart aches with contentment, so much that it nearly physically hurts, to see you so peaceful.

He comes to a crouch, and just being so close to you brings a flush of color to his cheeks. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen no matter what expression you’re wearing, but you look younger now that your face is absent of worry or sadness. He wishes he could capture your innocence right now and store it away in a place where the dangers of the world can never taint it.

He’d do anything to keep you from harm, to keep you so undisturbed, even if it means taking the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Y/N,” he breathes, your name hardly a whisper on his tongue. “You’re asleep.”

You don’t stir. Again, so naturally he barely thinks beforehand, he sweeps your hair from your face with a gentle hand, tucking the stray locks behind your ear.

“You’ve been talking all day, but you’re so quiet when you’re sleeping,” he continues. “You’re so damn weird, you know that? I had to have hurt you by saying all those things, but you still manage to be so bright…”

And thank goodness you’re asleep, because the way he’s looking at you right now and the tenderness in his words contradict everything he shouted at you earlier today.

“You’re so genuine and honest. And I’m just complicated and two-faced.” He takes a deep breath. “The 707 from the chatroom is optimistic, supportive, friendly…but that’s just a mask. This icy person, Saeyoung, is me. My background, my upbringing — everything about me is so dark and pessimistic that I will always be incapable of making you happy, no matter how much I wish I could. I want you to know that.

“You should get angry at me,” he mutters. “I wish you would once in a while. But no, you just have to be so understanding all the time. I can’t believe you’re real sometimes — that one person can be so wonderful, that I got so lucky to meet you.

“God, what am I doing? I — I clearly need to get some sleep. But before I go, I want to tell you this, Y/N, regardless of whether you can hear me or not.

“Don’t trust me.” He fights to keep his voice steady. “Don’t trust me, don’t trust V, and don’t trust anyone in the R.F.A. Please be less nice to me, so it’ll hurt less when I have to disappear. And, when I do, forget about me and be happy. Please. You have to be happy, okay?”

His trembling hand finds yours beneath the blanket and he squeezes gently, an unspoken farewell. He stays that way for a few heartbeats longer, then rises from his crouch and turns around, padding back towards the door.

“Saeyoung?”

His knees nearly give out from beneath him, he’s so shocked to hear your voice.

“Saeyoung,” you say again, and he slowly turns around, his breath batted.

Your beautiful eyes meet his, the blanket falling a little lower as you sit up. You’re wearing a white blouse that leaves your lovely neck and shoulders on full display. You’re so damn beautiful, your skin and hair set aglow by the soft light behind you, an angel sitting barely-clothed in bed with his name dangling from your sweet lips. He’s absolutely gutted. And panicked , because he’s nowhere near ready to have this conversation with you right now.

“How much did you hear?”

You hesitate. “Every word.”

He starts to turn away, face flushing with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to talk,” you say, and he stops in his steps. “I just…want to be with you tonight.”

He swallows around a dry throat. “I don’t think — ”

“Today was really scary,” you say, your voice softening. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep if I don’t have company.”

He stands still for what feels like entire minutes, his lower lip between his teeth, every limb in his body gravitating toward you but his head screaming at him to stay put.

“Please, Saeyoung?”

But his resolve crumbles around him like snow.

He sinks into the mattress beside you, his hands quivering with nervous energy. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments more, his amber eyes locked with yours as if asking what’s next. Then, there’s a rustle of blankets, a soft sigh — and you’ve wound your arms around his neck.

He caves at your slightest touch, and you feel the way the tension leaves his body, his shoulders sagging as you draw him close. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck and breathes in the sweet scent of your skin; relishes in your feather-light hands tracing comforting circles on his back, the warmth from your body and comfort from your care. You hold him tightly enough that he can’t slip away, gently enough that he won’t break, and, maybe for the first time in his whole life, he feels cared for. Protected.

The sound of your pulse nearly drowns out the sound of your voice, you’re speaking so quietly. “Is this okay?”

“This is perfect.” Saeyoung murmurs. He curls an arm around your waist, his hand accidentally riding up the hem of your blouse to brush against the warm, bare skin beneath, and he blushes a deep red that makes his hair look monochrome. “You’re perfect.”

He feels your breath catch in your throat, your heart skip a beat. “You can’t say things like that if you don’t want me to fall for you.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It just slipped out.”

For a while, the two of you lay in silence, wrapped up in each other’s arms with legs entwined beneath the covers, hearts beating in a rapid but perfect unison. Your fingers comb through his silky hair, your touch so soft and affectionate that Saeyoung’s eyelids begin to feel heavy, all of the troubling thoughts in his mind replaced by all that you are. It’s not until he begins to drift off does your voice taint the room’s silence once more.

“It’s not Seven or Luciel that I have feelings for, you know.” A beat. “It’s Saeyoung.”

And he’s wide awake again.

“The boy who came to my rescue recently. The boy who can be cold sometimes, but only because he cares so much that he feels as if he’ll drown in it all. His line of work forbids him from having friends and family, but he does — and he loves them more than anything, and he knows being friends with him will put them in danger.” You swallow. “He knows being in love with him is basically a death sentence.

“But he's worth it. Because danger is nothing compared to everything else that comes with being by his side: care, protection, kindness, laughter, and so much happiness.”

You dust a hand beneath his jaw, tilting his chin up so you can gaze into his eyes, and his heart is hammering so hard he swears you can feel it through the material of his T-shirt.

“I meant what I said earlier. It wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment, impulsive declaration,” you whisper. “I love you.”

His breath hitches in his throat, his blood running cold, but the way his heart sings is unmistakable. He feels the same way and he knows it, no matter how hard he’ll try denying the truth.

“And I understand if you can’t feel the same way, but I only ask that, if this really is as temporary as you say, that you remember me.” Your voice trembles. “To remember, years from now, how my heart and my soul once belonged to you. How you once made me feel like I could fly. Like I was safe.”

Saeyoung hears your words echo long after you’ve finished talking. Everything about this has him approaching sensory overload — your confession, your fingers brushing his hair out of his face, your dilated pupils and breathy tone, the feeling of your skin beneath his hands and the tip of your nose just brushing his. In his stomach, a fire ignites where there’s only ever been small flames, and he does the only thing he can think of doing, the only thing he wants to do so badly that he no longer can control himself.

He closes the distance between you and kisses you, his hands tense on your hips and his face burning. For a horrible second, he wonders if he’s overstepped his boundary, if you’re ready — but then you begin to kiss him back, and the fire grows like it never has. Your lips part and he loses all consciousness aside from the taste of your mouth, the wonderful pressure that has him reeling. Your hands navigate his skin until they flutter to the sides of his neck, your thumbs grazing his jaw and coaxing him into a blissful stupor. His entire world reduces down to you and you only, your lips so incredibly soft and sweet, and he kisses you slowly but deeply, melting into your touch.

The curious way kisses do, this one comes to its natural end in time. He leans his forehead against yours and the two of you stay there in a comfortable but sad silence, his fingers lacing through yours reassuringly.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he murmurs, his amber gaze so soft and loving that you have no trouble believing him at all. “You already knew that, I think, but I really do, so much that it scares me. And I’m sorry that this has to be so complicated. I hope you understand that I have to be cautious, as much for your sake as my own.

“But I’m done pushing you away,” he promises. “Because now that I know you feel the same way, I can’t lose you like I’ve lost everyone else. I’ve learned that the world doesn’t seem quite so bleak with you around. You make me happier and give me strength more than anyone I’ve ever known.” He cradles your hair, looking at you with all the sincerity and affection in the world. “It will be difficult, and there are so many things we need to figure out first, but we’ll get there. I’m sure of it.” He leans his forehead against yours. “There’s nothing I can’t do with you beside me.”

You lean in and seal his promise with one last lingering kiss. The two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms that night, basked in a loving, safe warmth that you’ll find out all too soon is only fleeting.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Teach You a Lesson | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  Tom has quite enough of your petty behavior during interviews. He is going to teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.

Warnings: Smut, Rough Sex, Consensual Non-Consensual, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Hate Sex, Face Slapping, Spanking, Face-Fucking, Vaginal Sex, Restraints, BDSM, Dom/sub, Aftercare, Name-Calling, Degradation, Orgasm Delay/Denial

-

“You fucking bitch!” Tom shoved you into the bathroom in the empty hotel suite. His grip on your arm is bruising. Even through your blouse and jacket.

“What the fuck did you say to me, Hiddleston?” You twisted in his grip, which caused him to dig his nails into the soft flesh of your arm. “Ow!”

“You fucking heard me. Or you are deaf as well as stupid?” he sneered as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Only then did he release your arm.

You shuffled to move past him, but he boxed you into a corner. His nostrils flare and his hand balled into fists.

“That is that last fucking time you pull that petty shit in an interview.” He stepped towards you. Your back pressed against the wall.

“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about you lunatic!” You ducked underneath his arm and reached for the door. It’s locked.

“Unlock the door.” You demanded.

“I don’t have a key.” Tom spat out. Your eyes widened and Tom chuckled. “It would seem you are my prisoner. It’s time to make you pay.”

He lunged for you, grabbing you by the waist and pushing you against the counter. He leaned forward.

“You think I don’t hear the snide remarks, or the little jabs in the interviews?” He pressed his pelvis against you, his cock hard against your leg. Against your will, your pussy fluttered. “Or how you eye fuck every male reporter?”

His breath is hot against your cheek. Tom licked a stripe along your cheek. You winced and turned your head in disgust. Tom grabbed your chin, squeezing your cheeks with his fingers. His blue eyes flashed with anger.

“Perhaps I should fuck a lesson into your cunt?” he growled against you.

You reared back and slapped Tom hard on the cheek. Your ring caught his cheekbones causing a slight cut. He touched the wound with his finger and for the first time you feared for your own safety.

“You’ll pay for that.” he growled, his tone calm. You shivered against him. His body radiated heat and his cock painful against your leg.

Tom reached up to grab the sides of your neck with one hand. His long fingers squeezed the sides. You moaned as your head lolled to the side.

Tom’s eyebrow quirked up and his lips curled into a smirk. “Oh do you like that you little slut?” His hand wormed its way down to the hem of your skirt, rucking it up to slide your panties aside. His fingers pushed roughly inside you. “You’re already dripping and I haven’t even pulled my cock out yet.” Tom pumped his fingers inside you. Tom pressed his lips against your ear. “Whore.”

You slipped your legs further apart. Tom bucked his hips against you. His fingers curled and pumped inside you. Tom nipped at your ear before assaulting your neck. His teeth nipped at the skin while his lips sucked hard. He left a trail of bruises. He added a third finger and pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing the lace against it. His other hand released your throat to grope your breast. His grasp is rough, manhandling your tender flesh. He pinched your nipples through your blouse. You moaned, bucking your hips against his fingers, fucking yourself on his fingers, desperate for release.

“Do you want to cum, little slut?” Tom snapped back. He pressed painfully hard against your clit.

“Yes.” you breathed.

“Too fucking bad.” Tom pulled his fingers from you. “This isn’t about your pleasure.” He released you, tossing you against the counter. Everything goes flying. He popped his fingers into his mouth. Tom made a show of laving his tongue over his fingertips, slurping. You licked your lips.

“Did you want a taste?”

You leaned forward, the tip of your tongue slipping past your lips. Tom cupped your chin, tilting your head upwards.

“Yes.” you nodded.

Tom stepped back to allow you to stand. “Then on your knees.”

You stood rooted, blinking.

“I said… KNEEL!” his voice bounced and reverberated off the tile walls. You lowered yourself to the floor.

Tom loosened his belt and trousers. He pushed them just low enough for his cock to pop free. Your eyes grew wide at the sight. Precum dripped from the tip.

“What are you staring at?” Tom stepped forward. “It’s not going to suck itself, darling.”

Your mouth fell open. Tom teased his tip along your lips, pushing into your mouth. You lapped at it with feeble effort.

Tom grabbed the back of your head and shoved himself down your throat. you gagged as his hair tickled your nose. “Come on, darling, you can do better,” He tugged on your hair as he pulled back. “Suck on it like you mean it. Dear.”

You hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue along his shaft. Your hand cupped his balls and Tom groaned as he loosened the hold of your head.

“That’s right my cockslut, show me how well you can suck my cock.”

Tom thrusted in and out of your mouth at a bruising pace, fucking your face. Drool dribbled from the sides of your mouth and your eyes teared. As your jaw ached, Tom’s balls tightened, his orgasm close. He removed himself from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.

“Such a sight, but I shall have all of you. As a lesson to not disrespect me.”

He jerked you to your feet and pressed your hips against the counter. Your chest pressed flat against the top. Tom pulled his belt from his trousers and wrapped it tight around your wrists. He yanked you up to press against his torso.

“You fucking disgust me. Your flirtations, your words. Even now, you stand here a dribbling mess, desperate for release. Desperate for me to fill you. Such a whore.” The words dripped from his lips with disdain.

He lined up with your pussy and pushed into you, snapping his hips. You fucked back onto him. He smacked your ass in response.

“Can’t fucking help yourself, can you? So needy for my cock.” He purred to you. His hips snapped against you again, pushing you hard into the unforgiving counter. Much more and it would bruise you for days.

“Fuck me.” you hissed, gripping the counter to steady yourself.

“If you insist.”

His pace was harsh and brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room. Tom grunted from exertion, sweat broke out of his brow and he gripped his belt tight with one hand and your hip with the other. Your walls fluttered as your orgasm approached.

“Can’t even control yourself long enough for me to paint the inside of you white? You are pathetic! Nothing more than a set of holes for my pleasure.”

You groaned as you came. Your pussy clenched around his cock. Tom’s strokes faltered as his own release washed over him.

“That’s it, darling. Milk my cock, you needy slut.” Tom snapped one more time before spilling inside you.

The two of you collapsed against the bathroom counter, exhausted. Tom’s chest heaved against your back. He loosened the belt, letting it fall to the floor. Tom spun you around and pulled you tight against his chest.

“Sorry about my ring.” you apologized, face buried against his shirt.

“That’s my fault. I should have proposed with something smaller. You chuckled against his chest.“Was that convincing, love?” His lips ghosted against your hairline.

“Very much so.” Your voice a whisper. “Thank you.”

“I was afraid I might hurt you.” He kissed your wrists, first the right, then the left.

“That’s what the safe word’s for.” you responded, melting into his arms.

Tom nodded and smiled down at you. “Right. Well, are you ready for dinner?”

You glanced in the mirror, your lipstick smeared, mascara on your cheeks, your hair and clothes mussed and wrinkled. “I need to get cleaned up.” You glanced down at Tom’s pants. “and so do you.”

Tom quickly tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped up. “Quite right.” He glanced around the room. “I’ll leave you to it, darling.”

“Unless you would care to join me?” You shed your jacket and undid your blouse.

Tom’s face broke out into a wide grin, and he tugged at his tie. “I thought you would never ask.” He followed you into the spacious shower.

[inkykeiji]

if i find a way would you walk it with me

characters: dabi, shigaraki tomura

genre: hmm a healthy mixture of fluff and angst, i think

notes: weeee set in the break my bones but act as my spine universe!! ever wonder how dabi’s apology to the reader goes??? how he ‘makes it up’ to her???? well here u go! bit of tomura at the beginning because i couldn’t help myself yikes!! -sigh- poor dabi <33 | title credit: star shopping by lil peep

warnings: uhhhhh one (1) mention of cum in that very first paragraph (nice) but other than that i think it’s all good??? OH oh + use of the word Daddy (u shouldn’t be surprised by this point lol)

words: 3.7k

synopsis:

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he says, and to the untrained ear his voice would sound flat and monotonous, maybe even rude, like he doesn’t give a fuck about the words tumbling from his lips. But you—you can hear it, the sheer honesty embedded in his tone, the rawness bleeding into his voice, the way it’s ever-so-slightly rougher around the edges than it normally is.

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰           

It’s rare, nowadays, that you wake up to Tomura still at home. He’s sure to give you goodbye kisses every single morning before he leaves for work—kisses that last way longer than they should, kisses that are slow and messy, that manage to pull little mewls from you and leave you breathless, kisses that more often than not turn into your hands fisting in his dress shirt, little fingers playing with the buttons as you sleepily pull him closer, pleading in soft whimpers for him to fill you with cum before he goes—but he’s rarely still around by the time you actually wake up.

So, naturally, it startles you when you hear his voice, deep and gentle, murmuring that it’s time for you to wake up, princess, as slim fingers brush your hair away from your face, tracing along your cheek and jaw. Rolling onto your back quickly, your eyes snap open and you breathe out his name, heart pounding in excitement as you push yourself up onto your elbows, bleary gaze finding his.

Your near instantaneous reaction pulls a little chuckle from him, crimson eyes shining as they study your face, voice tender when he tells you that he finds your eagerness cute.

A pout settles on your lips briefly at his teasing, evaporating the moment your foggy brain realizes that he’s still home.

“Daddy! What’re you—A-Are you taking me to school today?” you gasp, sitting up a little straighter, a tiny glimmer of optimism in your eye.

And, God, the sheer, unadulterated hope on your face, eyes bright and as they search his, a tentative little smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you anxiously await his answer…it breaks his heart to shake his head slowly—he swears it fucking cracks in his chest when your expression absolutely falls, makes it feel like his ribcage is caving in, yielding under the weight of the ache that settles deep at the very core of his body.

A large hand cups your face, calloused thumb caressing your cheekbone, your eyes closing briefly at the contact, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm.

“No, angel,” he tells you softly, a frown marring his lips. “I have a meeting this afternoon, and it was easier to take the morning off and work from home,”

It’s only partially a lie—he does have a meeting, some fancy lunch with pharmaceutical distributors interested in investing in the drug they’re currently developing—but the ‘work’ he’s doing from home would technically be more productive if done at his office.

Really, he’s worried about how things might go with Dabi. If things get worse, there’s a chance he might just bring you to the stupid lunch with him instead, university be damned.

But you—you can’t help the sudden onslaught of tears that spring into your eyes, emitting a quiet, hurt sound that you nearly choke on as your chest hitches with a tiny sob, head nodding jerkily. Tomura coos, forehead wrinkling in concern as large hands find your hips, pulling you onto his lap and cradling you to his chest.

You shouldn’t be this upset. You know you shouldn’t—not over Tomura not being able to take you to school, and not over Dabi’s sharp words from yesterday. No, Dabi’s words shouldn’t even matter to you, shouldn’t mean anything at all…so why does dread flood your body at the prospect of seeing him, of being stuck in a car with him for a good half hour, at least? Why does it feel like your heart’s turned to corrosive acid, eroding everything around it, when you consider if he actually meant what he said, if that’s how he truly feels?

“I don’t wanna see him, Daddy,” you mumble into his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut tightly against the inexplicable fresh wave of tears the mere thought affords you.

“I know, baby,” Tomura says softly, fingers trailing up and down your spine. “I know,”

He doesn’t want to think about why Dabi’s words, that one simple sentence, have you so torn up.

Nor do you.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Dabi arrives just as you’re finishing your breakfast, switching between fork and pen as you annotate a last-minute reading for school.

The entire atmosphere morphs the very instant he steps foot in the penthouse, and you swear you can almost see the tension in the air, heavy and suffocating. You wish Tomura were with you, have half a mind to hop up and run into his home office as you glance over at those thick mahogany doors with your lip caught between your teeth, but then Dabi’s heavy footsteps come to a halt, and your gaze snaps back to him.

He stops a few feet away, staring at you with those stupidly pretty sapphire eyes, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black leather jacket.

His face used to be unreadable, but you’ve gotten better at deciphering his expressions, at decoding them to reveal fragments of his thoughts or mood, since you began spending more than eight hours a day with him.

So you know what it means when his jaw clenches twice (annoyed and dreading the interaction), when his front teeth nibble at the inner skin of his lip (unsure and nervous), when he readjusts his stance, nudging his feet just a little further apart (anticipating a verbal blow).

Placing your pen down on your textbook, you turn on your barstool to look at him fully, arms crossed over your chest and legs crossed at the ankles.

You steadily hold his gaze, and he briefly wonders if you’re expecting an apology, what Tomura told you about their discussion late last night, if Tomura told you about their discussion late last night.

“Hey,” he says, wincing at how gravelly his voice sounds and clearing his throat.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“Hi,”

“About yesterday…” he begins, eyebrows pushing together as he trails off, exhaling a harsh breath through his nostrils.

God, he fucking hates this. He hates that he spent most of the morning, the drive to and from going to get your apology gift, rehearsing what he was going to say, hates that it completely vanishes from his mind the moment he sees you, glaring at him in expectation or apprehension—he’s not sure, he can’t tell.

He hates that this is stupidly difficult—definitely more difficult than throwing an apology and gift at you should be—can’t fucking stand the incomprehensible feelings swirling around in his chest, the ones that make him feel like he’s inhaling smoke, choking on air, like he can’t manage to get enough oxygen into his lungs no matter how deeply he inhales.

He swallows, throat dry and scratchy, runs his tongue along the front of his teeth, and tries again.

“About yesterday,” he repeats, more sternly this time. “That was—I probably shouldn’t have said that,”

And the face you make as the word probably leaves his lips—features crumpling and contorting, your mask of passivity disintegrating to reveal pained eyes and a little pout—has him quickly backtracking before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Definitely—I definitely shouldn’t have said that,” his chest heaves with the force of a heavy sigh, raking a hand aggressively through his hair. “I didn’t mean it. I, uh, I promise,” his eyes bore into yours, his stare so intense it takes everything in your power not to look away.

It’s unsettling in the very least, to hear him this unsure of himself. You think you might even be able to detect the smallest hint of a tremble to his voice, but it only seems to be audible on certain words.

It makes your heart ache in the most inexplicable way, bottom lip jutting out further as your pout deepens. Really, you think you should still be furious at him. Really, you wish you were. You shouldn’t be feeling sympathy for him, not after the way he’s treated you the past few weeks. You shouldn’t have to resist the urge to run to him, to take his face between your hands and tell him that it’s alright, it’s fine, you forgive him—anything just to stop the way his voice quivers ever-so-slightly on the word promise, anything to eradicate the melancholy in his eyes.

“Look—what I’m trying to say, I guess, is—”

The tiniest, softest little mewl sounds from his jacket and he looks down sharply, scowling at it. Eyebrows knitting, you laugh a little, head quirking to the side in confusion.

“Do you…Do you have a cat in your jacket, or something?”

Dabi sighs, shaking his head and murmuring something about how this was totally not your cue, furball as he holds his worn leather jacket open, revealing a small kitten stuffed into one of the inner pockets. He fishes it out gently—it’s so tiny that it fits in the palm of his hand—and holds it out to you, a peace offering.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he says, and to the untrained ear his voice would sound flat and monotonous, maybe even rude, like he doesn’t give a fuck about the words tumbling from his lips. But you—you can hear it, the sheer honesty embedded in his tone, the rawness bleeding into his voice, the way it’s ever-so-slightly rougher around the edges than it normally is.

You blink rapidly, shaking your head in disbelief with an odd little smile on your face. “Is it—Is it for m-me?”

Dabi rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk on his face. “Of course, stupid,”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips as you jump up, rushing forward to take the kitten from him and cradling it to your chest, cooing softly. Dabi thinks it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen, entirely powerless to stop the tender look that settles in his eyes as he observes you.

A thick, silky red ribbon tied in a large obnoxious bow adorns the kitten’s neck, a small tag attached to it with Dabi’s messy handwriting scrawled across it: I’m sorry for being an asshole. It’s fucking cheesy, cliché as hell, and you love every single thing about it.

“It’s uh, a Maine Coon, I think,” Dabi shrugs a little, hand rubbing at the back of his neck unsurely as his eyes dart away. “I paid a fucking fortune for him,” he says with a small self-deprecating smirk. “Three times the goddamn regular price,”

Your head snaps up, wide eyes finding his as the kitten gnaws on one of the drawstrings of your—Tomura’s—hoodie. “What?”

He shifts a little under your intense gaze. “Well, yeah, he technically belonged to someone else. Y’know how with those fancy breeders you gotta fill out those massive application forms and then wait for like, two years and all that bullshit,” he waves a hand in explanation as his voice trails off.

“Y-You paid six thousand dollars for this cat?”

“Just over,” he nods. “Plus a forty-five minute argument with the breeder, all for that damn furball, so you better fucking appreciate him, cause that guy was a jackass,”

Silence blankets the room again. You’re looking at him weirdly, and it’s starting to make his skin crawl, anxiety beginning to rise in his throat as he stares back at you, subconsciously holding his breath. Are you still angry? Do you not like the cat, was it the wrong breed? It was a cat you wanted, wasn’t it? Was this too stupid? Was it too much? Was it not enough? Tomura’s frequent yet random gifts are hard to compete with, but, fuck, he tried his best. He wanted to get you something that he knew you really wanted—he could’ve sworn he’s heard you go off on a tangent about how much you love cats, how you’ve never been allowed to have one before, at least three times in the short time he’s known you. He considered getting you the standard luxury shit women are ‘supposed’ to like, or whatever—he isn’t really into that gendered bullshit—but Tomura spoils you with these things so often and, well, they didn’t really feel like an apology.

Tingles flood your veins, feeling like sparks are coursing through your entire body, the thought of someone doing something so—so considerate making you feel giddy at first, then guilty. How could you not believe him, not believe his apology is sincere, when this gift proves to you just how attentive he actually is? That he doesn’t simply tune out your mindless rambling as he drives you to school, or when he lets you rest your head against his thigh after a long day? You’ve lamented to Dabi countless times about how you’ve always wanted a kitten—a Maine Coon in particular—and, knowing it’s the one thing Tomura hasn’t gotten for you, wouldn’t get for you…

Hastily placing the kitten on the island, you leap up, moving so quick he barely has time to register what the hell’s going on before you barrel straight into him, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. The force of your unexpected hug causes him to stumble back a few steps, knocking a soft “Oof,” out of him.

His body freezes as you press up against him—you’ve never been this close before. A hand slides up his neck and into the hair at the base of his scalp—an automatic reaction, something you’re so used to doing with Tomura that it’s become second nature now. You don’t even realize you’re doing it.

But Dabi does.

Your touch burns, fingertips searing into his flesh in the most exquisite way, has him instantly craving more as his head droops just a little further, allowing you more access to move, your fingers instinctively combing through the soft, inky hair at the back of his skull. He wants to feel your touch all over his body, branded into his skin. Hours from now, he’ll still be able to feel it, still be able to feel the scorching warmth from your little hands scathing his flesh, still be able to feel your little fingers tangling in his hair.

Your sweet scent invades the space around him, overwhelms his senses, and he idly wonders if you taste as sweet as you smell, if the rest of your skin, your body, would feel as scalding as your hands do against his bare skin, if—

You squeeze yourself closer, body pressed flush against his, and his mind finally snaps into action, recovering from his initial shock and wrapping both arms around your waist, responding to your squeeze with one of his own.

“Thank you so much, Dabi,” you whisper, lips grazing his neck as you speak, an involuntary shiver coursing through his body. “I already love him,”

“Am I forgiven, princess?” his voice is low, rumbling in his chest and reverberating off of yours, chin resting atop your head.

A pause.

“Yeah,” you nod, eyelashes fluttering a little on his skin. “I—I’m sorry, too,”

“You don’t—”

“No,” you cut him off softly, and he can feel you nuzzling your face against him shyly, his arms squeezing you again in silent encouragement. “I overreacted. I just, um,” you stop, swallowing thickly as you struggle with the words. “I—We were making progress; or at least, I thought we were making progress—What I mean is, I just want t-to be friends with you,” you admit quietly, thankful that your face is buried in his chest, hiding your burning cheeks from his eyes.

He doesn’t respond—not with words, anyway. He doesn’t need to—his actions speak louder than words ever could. Lips press against the crown of your head, first gently, then firm, scattering a few kisses across your scalp.

The kitten knocks your pen off the island, it’s clattering against the hardwood startling the two of you, and you reluctantly break apart. He thinks it should be awkward—No, it should definitely be awkward, when he just dropped several unwarranted kisses to the crown of your head—but it isn’t. He waits for it to come, surprised when all that seems to remain is that same pleasant warmth as he watches you scold the kitten playfully, bending down to pick up the pen and gently tapping it against the kittens nose.

Your giggles, ringing out around the empty penthouse, are the most precious sounds he’s ever witnessed. Thoughts invade his mind, belatedly realizing that he’d do just about anything to hear you giggle like that again, soft and innocent and full of delight. The unfamiliar feeling of contentment settles in his chest, makes it swell so much it’s almost painful, thrumming through his veins and alighting his body.

Later, he’ll be pissed at himself for letting his guard down so easily, for completely losing control of his thoughts and actions, for becoming so fucking soft around you. But for now, he allows himself to bask in the feeling, just for a few moments before those heavy mahogany doors inevitably creak open.

“What should we name him?” your eyes are bright as you back at him, a cute excited smile on your face, lashes fluttering a little as you wait for his answer.

We. We.

And he hates the way his heart skips a beat at that one, tiny two letter word. He hates the way it makes his stomach swoop, makes more unknown feelings—sensations he’s never experienced before—explode in his chest, hates the way that stupid little word pulls a large, genuine smile from him entirely without his permission, a chuckle of disbelief passing through his lips.

We.

“I dunno, princess,” he responds gruffly, finally finding his voice.

“How about…” you stop, humming and closing an eye as you think, little tongue poking at your cheek in concentration.

Dabi isn’t sure he’s ever seen a more adorable sight in his entire life, and he has to physically restrain himself from marching right up to you and kissing you until you can’t fucking breathe, heels digging into the hardwood and hands curling into trembling fists as his body goes rigid.

“Isaac? Or, oh! Clarke?”

Isaac Asimov or Arthur C. Clarke, two of his favourite authors.

And, fuck, he can’t help the hearty laugh that bubbles up in his chest at the realization, pleasant tingles of warmth shooting through his veins again—more intensely this time, feeling like tiny shocks bursting throughout his body, his whole figure buzzing, high off your presence.

“Both are cute,”

“Yeah, but do you have a favourite?”

Later, he’ll lay awake in bed tonight, sheets cold and empty as he listens to the muffled sounds of Tomura’s ridiculously massive bed slamming against the wall while he forces the most beautiful sounds from your lips—later, Dabi will think about that sentence, those seven words, uttered so gently, so sincerely from your soft lips as you stared at him in earnest, genuinely interested in his answer. Later, he’ll think about why his opinion matters so much to you—if his opinion matters to you, or if he’s just desperately hoping it does, if he’s overthinking this entire situation, why the name of a dumb overpriced cat matters this much to him…

“I like Isaac,”

Your eyes soften, smile stretching even wider as your gaze flits to the tiny fluff ball now curled in your lap, small hand petting its head gently as it begins to fall asleep.

“Yeah,” you murmur, watching your hand’s rhythmic motions, the kitten beginning to purr loudly. “I like Isaac, too,”

Tomura reemerges then, both of your gazes snapping towards him. He observes the two of you, scarlet eyes slow and careful as they scan the situation, finally landing on the small ball of fur sleeping soundly on your thighs. There’s an odd look in his eyes—something you’ve never quite seen before, and it makes your heart drop.

“Look, Daddy,” you say softly, holding up the sleepy kitten to show him. “Dabi got me a kitty!”

The weird, undecipherable look on Tomura’s face evaporates in an instant as his eyes connect with yours, features softening.

“That’s great, baby,” he says as he walks towards you, coming to stand behind you and placing a large hand on your head. You hum a little, eyes closing at the contact. “Looks like we’ll have to go out tonight and get kitty supplies, huh,”

Eyes snapping open, your head falls back, resting against his stomach as you stare up at him. “Me and you? Just us?” he nods, and you gasp, face absolutely lighting up. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he laughs a little, fondness settling in his eyes as he gazes down at you. “I’ll pick you up after class today, and we’ll go straight away. We can’t let poor Isaac go hungry now, can we?” Ruby eyes flit up as he speaks, hardening as they connect with sapphire. He holds Dabi’s gaze until the other man nods his understanding.

You’re so excited you don’t even realize you never told Tomura the kitten’s name. But it doesn’t matter—not in that moment, anyway, not when he tells you he’s decided to take the rest of the day off after the lunch meeting, to spend it with his baby and his baby’s baby. Not when you haven’t had a night alone with him in what feels like forever.

Tomura should be happy that it all worked out, right? He should be glad that he doesn’t have to find other arrangements, should feel relieved that you and Dabi smoothed things over, shouldn’t he? He is, isn’t he?

“Go get your schoolbag, sweetheart,” he instructs softly, tapping you on the nose. “You’ll be late if you don’t leave soon,”

You obey immediately, slipping off the barstool with the kitten cradled in your arms, explaining that you’re going to quickly ‘kitten-proof’ Tomura’s absurdly large bathroom and lock Isaac in there. For his own safety while you’re away at school, you say.

He watches you go, waits for you to disappear around the corner, before turning back to his colleague.

“Really Dabi, a fucking cat?”

Dabi bristles, exhaling slowly as he holds his boss’s gaze, and raises his eyebrows. “But she’s happy, isn’t she?”