#n being alone makes it too easy to drown in that darkness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barbarianbookhoe · 6 months

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hiiii! request for kaz x reader but they have a toddler together

Aww, I love toddlers! I have a cousin who's almost 3, and I play so much with him, ah (I swear he never sleeps)

A/N: I kinda imagine Kaz as a boydad (not really sure) (but if requested I can write one where he has a daughter) Kid's age isn't specified, around 2-3 years old. Btw, I tried a gender neutral reader, but it wasn't as good as I hoped, so this is a fem!reader x Kaz. Sorry for grammar mistakes!

TW: touch aversion, loss of brother, miscarriage

(I swear it's a fluff story, we just need to get through the dark ages first)

It was a faint noise at first, which Kaz decided to ignore, despite his instincts. It was coming from one of the streets below. Another noise came, this time louder, that was definitely coming from the room next door. He still tried to ignore it.

The third time around Kaz didn't bother pretending that the crying noise would resolve itself, so he sat up in bed and reached over to his side. He found it empty, which made him get out of bed and walk over to the entrance of the room attached to the bedroom.

But he came to a stop when he noticed the crying toddler from mere seconds ago, now soundlessly sleeping in your arms, as you cuddled him to your chest, lightly rocking yourselves in the rocking chair.

"It's okay, I got him. Go back to sleep," you whispered to him, not even looking up from your son. Kaz let out a quiet scoff. "And have conversation with the ceiling? If we're both already awake, then I'm staying." He said and sat down on the windowsill next to you.

"Your grumpiness in the morning won't be my fault," you told him on a sing song voice, not wanting to wake your child. He just rolled his eyes as he caressed his son's head. "You hate the mornings too, wife."

"At least I don't have the temper of a wet cat, husband."

Husband. Kaz took a moment to take the word in. Even after years of being married, he still couldn't believe it when you called him that. Calling you his wife came easily to him, as if his well protected heart knew who you were, long before his mind got drowned in you.

You never would've guessed you'd be holding his hand, let alone be in the same bed with him. It took the two of you months to get this far. Ever since Kaz told you that he wants you to stay with him, in his own way of course, he had been trying to get past his aversion to touch. He never told you, worrying that you wouldn't see him the same, so he did it in a way that wasn't easily noticeable.

It started with the proximity. Day by day, he sat or stood closer to you and the Crows, getting used to the possibility of accidental touches. Then came touching your arm and back, making it seem as if he's just guiding you somewhere. He did that a lot as a protective gesture.

After the second month of these little things, Kaz got fed up with himself one night, when you got stabbed on your leg and he couldn't help treating your wound. So, out of pure annoyment with himself, when you came into his office with some documents he asked for, he grabbed your waist and held you close to him. Your bodies weren't touching yet, but it was closer than you've ever been to him.

Both of you just stood there, not moving an inch, getting used to the feeling of Kaz holding you, despite the multiple layers of clothing. It was like a breath of fresh air.

So, with months of carefully calculated work, Kaz was able to sleep in the same bed with you, holding your hand, without a knot in his stomach, or phantom hands trying to pull him under. He only needed one look at your calm, content face and he felt like he could breathe again.

"This is what I've been saying! I shouldn't have even though about it!" Kaz said sternly, more to himself than you, as you sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his shirt to your chest.

"Kaz, we both knew this wasn't going to be easy! But the fact that you've been making progress for more than 3 years now, means that you care enough to try," you told him as his hands went through his hair. "You care enough about me, about us. And that means a lot to me."

"Clearly not enough, if I cannot even do this..." he whispers to himself, but you hear him and look at him with anger. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you, that I don't need you to do this? That I'm not demanding this from you?"

"You know you could make it easier," Kaz finally looks at you, frustration written on his face. "You could go to a brothel and get it done, without watching your partner lose his mind and cry in a corner."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, the disbelief clear on your face as you stare at him. "Oh, you're serious? Damn it Kaz, I did not stay in Ketterdam because it was the easy way! I did not stay to watch you punish yourself for everything!" At your raised voice he looked at you as if he couldn't decide if he heard you correctly.

"Do not look at me like that, you know what I'm talking about! I'd like to remind you, that you were the one who said progress takes time, and that it's worth the waiting. That I am worth the waiting! So please Kaz, don't beat yourself up over this," you say the last words on a soft voice, that Kaz swears could lull him to a dream.

Kaz curls his hands into fists, but lets them relax as he sats down on the edge of the bed next to you. You look at him patiently, waiting for him to reach out to you. Despite the feather light touch he places on your cheek, his cold blue eyes seem to hold a certain heat to them.

"I'm blaming myself, because I can't touch you, or hold you, the way I want to," he whispers, his voice raspy from his emotions. "The way a woman like you should be held," he practically mouths the words onto your shoulder, slowly making his way to your neck.

"I would give all my money to treat you like you should be," he places a kiss on your cheek and pulls away from you, and you keep yourself glued to your spot, respecting his boundaries. Though, a voice inside you tries to convince you to pull him back.

You don't hide your feelings from him, instead you look at him with a heated gaze, and let him decide if he wants to continue or not. You could do it tonight, you want to do it, Saints you've been wanting to for a painfully long time, but you will never pressure him to make the first step. It won't lead to anything good if you push him, so you just keep sitting there, patiently staring at his eyes.

And when he nods, just a slight tilt of his head meaning he's ready, you reach out to take his face in your hand.

"Kaz?" You whisper and he hums in response. "I will give you all the kruge in the world, if you have tonight alone with me."

"You're bribing me into my own bed? I didn't expect this from you, Y/N," he says as he slowly removes the shirt you're still holding to your chest. You move up on the bed as Kaz tovers over you, his hands on each side of your head.

"Anything to get what I want," you whisper as you glance down to his lips and back to his eyes. Kaz slowly leans down to your lips, not wanting to rush himself. "Oh? And what do you want, darling?"

You don't even have to think before the word slips off your tongue, as natural as breathing.

"You."

Everything was fucked up. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. When Kaz reached out to his Crows for a job, for old times sake, a heist that shouldn't have been quarter as serious as the Ice Court, it went sideways at the last minute.

It was a blur to all of them how they got out, and none of them dared to question their luck. While you and Nina carried a bleeding Jesper back to the Slat, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, fearing that it might've been from a kick, or worse, a stab wound.

Inej, Wylan and Kaz surrounded the three of you, keeping an eye out for any more threats. Kaz pushed the Slat's door open for you to go inside, and Nina helped you get Jesper up into his old room, quickly setting him down on a desk he left there.

You were all grateful that almost no one was in the building, too busy living their life on a Friday night.

The pain in your abdomen appeared again, and you quickly checked yourself for a wound or bruise, but finding nothing you ignored it. Maybe it's from stress, it wouldn't be the first time.

The silence quickly disappeared when Nina and Kaz walked into the room, Wylan and Inej hot on their heels. They began arguing about Kaz's planning, Nina's still intact fear of using her abilities, Kaz's stubbornnes, and so on. You tried to yell at them to stop, not wanting to deal with their differences at the moment, but they didn't listen, even after multiple of your attempts.

During one of your outbursts, you sent Inej down to the kitchen to calm Wylan down and keep him company. She only returned to gave you a bowl of water and a towel, to clean off Jesper's wound.

As you worked, the sharp pain increased in your stomach and it took every ounce of your will to not double over. You didn't notice when Kaz and Nina had stopped their argument, but you did notice the eerie silence that followed. You were just finishing stitching Jesper's side, when you grabbed your stomach as a new wave of pain washed over you.

No.

No, no, no, no. This can't be happening. This is not what I think it is, you thought.

Please, don't let this be what I think it is.

You took a glance at your dark pants, but didn't notice anything, so you slided a hand between your thighs and checking it, you saw blood. You knew what it meant. You knew what this was, yet you had to take a second to fully wrap your head around it.

"Are you alright?" Nina asked from the foot of the bed, checking both you and Jesper. "Are you hurt? You look pale as a-"

"If she was, she would've told us Zenik," Kaz said on his usually cold voice, making Nina snap back at him. "How am I supposed to now, if I don't ask? Wouldn't be the first time one of you hid a wound-"

"Just shut up," you told them, but they didn't hear you over their new argument, and you felt the tears burning in your eyes, as you put a blanket over Jesper out of protectiveness for him.

You could feel the blood dripping down your pants, down to your leg, and you felt like throwing up. You took deep breaths to keep yourself from completely breaking.

"Wait, just, shut up for a minute Brekker!" Nina told Kaz and he was ready to snap at her, when Nina turned to you sternly. "Alright Y/N, I can literally feel the blood around you, so if you have any-"

"I need you to bring me my bag," you told her, not looking up at her, the pain still too evident on your face. "It's a brown bag, with clothes and hygienic stuff in it, it's under the bed in Kaz's room."

"Are you sure you're alright? I can check if there's anything that-"

"Nina, I'm having a miscarriage, would you fucking go and get it?!" You snap at her and making the mistake of staring at her while doing so. The unshead tears mixed with the pain in your eyes makes both Kaz and Nina freeze.

Kaz looks at you with wide eyes, his face going visibly pale, and his cane almost slips out from his hands. He manages to catch himself and leans his back to the wall for support. Nina doesn't know what to do, she just stands there, the tears streaming down her face. Before she could even try speaking up, you stop her.

"Please Nina, I beg of you, just get me that damn bag," your voice cracks as you try to hold back yourself from crying. As Nina opens the door to go, you will yourself to walk out the door, away from Kaz's hand, all the way to his room. Nina doesn't say anything as she gives you the bag, just looks at you mournfully, gently giving you a half hug.

You and Kaz stand in the room for what feels like hours, when you move to the small bathroom, unpacking your bag.

Why did I even ask Nina? I was heading here anyway. Nevermind, it got me time to compose myself until I got here, you tell yourself, a distraction from wanting to collapse to the floor.

When you felt the first tears escape, you furiously wiped them off, quickly getting some stuff from the bag. Your vision began to blur from your tears, despite your violent attempts at getting rid of them.

Kaz watched you with a mix of sadness, frustration and shock. He didn't even know you were pregnant. Maybe you didn't either, maybe you were just guessing, figuring it out. The state he saw you in when you realized what was happening, it was a stab to his heart. He didn't know how he could comfort you. He always understood your pain, but this time he knew he wouldn't. He would never fully understand this loss.

As he watched you become more furious with your tears, still trying to keep yourself from falling apart, he was there to catch you. Kaz abandoned his cane and wrapped you in a hug and let himself slowly slide down to the floor as you sobbed in his arms.

You told him you weren't ready for a child. He agreed that he wasn't either. Then why did this hurt you so much?

"I can't," you said but Jesper just scoffed. "Oh come on! I celebrate my wedding only once, and I already got Inej to drink. I believe the pirate life got to her," he giggled and you just shook your head at him.

Yes, Wylan and Jesper finally got married, which resulted in a small celebration within the Crows. Everyone was at their mansion in the dining room, congratulating the newly wed couple. Kaz was more alert than ever, never once leaving your side for more than a few minutes. Jesper even commented on it, which resulted in Kaz hitting his head with a slice of cake.

Jesper didn't mind though, he ate the remains off his head without problem.

"Just a sip for me, love! I even bought that fancy drink you like," Jesper said, practically begging you, but you just giggled at him. "Jesper, if a woman says no, then it's no."

"Alright, alright," he held his palms up, not pushing further. "Just tell me why. Normally, you wouldn't miss out on an occasion like this."

You took a quick glance at Kaz, and when he tried to cover up his boyish smirk with downing his drink, you smiled at Jesper.

'Yes, but normally I wouldn't be four months pregnant." The silence that came was filled with shock. Except the sound of Nina choking on her food, and Inej hitting her on the back for help.

"You're what?!"

"I'm gonna be an aunt, I'm gonna be an aunt!"

"I knew there was a reason Kaz acted like a guard dog lately!"

"Saints help this child,"

Everyone got so excited and busy with talking to you, that it gave Kaz a moment to relish in your presence. The way you were constantly smiling at them, already glowing from joy, your hand never letting go of Kaz's under the table. When Kaz felt someone's gaze on him, he glanced around to see Nina staring at him with a bittersweet smile, as if remembering the same thing he had on his mind.

This will be different. This will be better. This will be good.

As you came closer and closer to the end of your pregnancy, you became a hurricane of human emotions.

After announcing the news to the Crows, it was only a matter of time before you started showing. You and Kaz were both terrified of what could happen if anyone in the Barrel found out about your pregnancy. After endless days of debating with Kaz, you decided to move to Lij, Kaz's hometown for a few months.

The countryside relaxed you, and Kaz found it that if you had moved here sooner, maybe he could've evaded the aftermath of your mood changes. He thought this calm and happy version of you was far better than the one throwing knives at his head for gaining weight.

Since you came here, Kaz tried to deal with his trauma in this place too. He could still feel Jordie here, and in the first few weeks he was sure he was going to go mad. Until one night, when you were over the moon with the baby kicking, you advised Kaz to find peace within this place. So he did.

Reluctantly, annoyed and terrified to his core, but he did. He made a headstone for his family, he let himself mourn, remember the boy he once was.

He also didn't stop being Dirtyhands, now doing it via letters. He had Wylan and Jesper to take care of things for now, along with Anika and Specht. Kaz made sure to check on them quite seriously, despite not being able to go for more than a day or two.

One day he found himself working on the same things his father did in his memories. He made sure the little farmhouse had stable staircases, he rearranged the furniture almost everywhere, he fixed the bed frame in the bedroom, also fixed every single lock, door knob, window, and even made time to take care of the farm itself; the trees, the crops, the two horses in the stalls.

Despite trying to keep his hair as dark as possible, Kaz Brekker couldn't hide from the sunlight. Especially not when you looked the happiest when seeing him basked in sunlight, his hair brown like chocolate basked in honey.

"Just one more!" Nina shouted as you groaned in pain. You told Kaz that you wanted Nina to deliver your child, despite her lack of training. Though Nina helped assissting births before, this was different. All three of you knew it was different.

The baby was coming weeks earlier than they should've, which made you panic more than anything. You gripped the bedframe above your head so tightly, you could hear the wood creaking.

You've been at this for a few hours now, and you just wanted it to stop. Everything hurt and you wanted this to be over. Nina kept shouting at you, finding it the most effective way of keeping your focus on her. Kaz didn't leave your side for one second, except when Nina needed something to help her.

At first he kept his gloves on, the sweat of your skin making him doubt himself, but as the hours passed he got rid of them. His hand was gripping yours, trying to take away from your pain, if it was even possible.

But when you heard that cry, you felt the world stop. Nina was saying something as she checked on the newborn to make sure he was alright, but you couldn't hear it. The only thing that you focused on was the little boy, that was now placed on your chest. Everything fell into place as you stared down at him, with Kaz wrapping an arm around your shoulder, looking at his son like he was some kind of treasure.

You have spent hours in the rain to get information. You had knives thrown at you. You escaped death multiple times. Once you even drank poison to make a bluff look real.

All of them seemed like a walk on Sunday compared to the first year with your son. You could go on and on about how he didn't want to sleep, then didn't want to eat, then he would only stop crying when Kaz was holding him, then when he was constantly crying in his arms, scaring Kaz who had a hard time keeping the newborn at his chest, that when your son began sitting you were in constant fear of him somehow rolling off the bed, and-

And you would still say you love him more than anything. Because when he wasn't frustrating you, he was the happiest kid you've seen in your life. His giggle and laugh, the way his eyes lit up with joy while playing with him. Saints those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, the exact replica of Kaz's. Whenever you looked at the two of them, you couldn't even try to deny they were father and son.

His hair turned out to be what you imagined: light brown, almost blonde, as if it was Sun kissed. He could be tricky just like Kaz too.

When he first stood up, not yet walking, you didn't saw him do it, but Kaz rushed to get you to make you see it. It was only a few seconds, but your son looked at you and sat down, and after asking him multiple times, he wouldn't stand up again. And the boy was giggling all through it.

His first steps were something that you'd keep in your memories forever. Because it wasn't a milestone just for him, but for Kaz too. Your son was past his first birthday, and Kaz was having a hard time with him. Something always went sideways, wether it was accidentally making him cry, or having to give him to you, because he couldn't hold him anymore.

You were moving back to Ketterdam to a quiet neighbourhood, where no one knew your face, the apartment purchased under a fake name.

Kaz was on the front porch of the farmhouse, getting the lighter boxes into the carriage. He heard footsteps behind him and when he turned he saw your son standing at the front door. You were just a few steps behind unmoving, not wanting to make him stop.

"You're gonna keep standing there, or will you help?" Kaz asked him, as if he could give him an answer.

He did this a lot with him. You noticed the habit by accident, when one time you came back from the market and heard Kaz talking to someone. You thought maybe one of the Crows came for a visit, so when you saw Kaz in deep conversation with your newborn about investments, you were more than surprised. From then on it became a daily routine for the two of them to "have a chat".

The child babbled something and Kaz nodded. "Start by coming here and picking this up," he said and held up a little toy blanket Inej got for your son.

And he did. He took four wabbling steps towards Kaz, purposefully looking at him before landing on his foot. Kaz instantly picked him up and when you saw one of his rare smiles, your heart melted a little.

Living in Ketterdam with a 2 year old was definitely the biggest job you and Kaz had to pull off. It helped that Wylan and Jesper was closer this way, if you needed someone to take care of your son.

What didn't help was the noise at night. Both of you got used to the sound of fights and drunks on the street, the neighbourhood far from the Barrel not escaping their voices. The two of you could've slept like it was nothing, if it wasn't for your child crying out in the middle of the night.

You had to take multiple turns in one night, and it was tiring the both of you out. With Kaz now back in the Barrel, doing his business, building his empire, it was slowly taking a toll on him. So one night, with the help of Jesper, Kaz snuck out with your son to his office in the Slat, figuring out a way to keep him calm.

You were in the Crow Club, tending to a few things, giving the impression that you were just travelling and doing jobs the past two years. You felt relieved to see how well Anika and Specht worked together, and felt a childish giggle in your throat as you fell back into your role as a guard. The rush you felt finally wearing your old clothes, the feeling of the knives strapped under your coat, and the sadistic joy of twisting a man's arm for the first time in years, it was unfathomable.

When you went to the Slat and made your way to Kaz's room you heard him talking again. Picking up on the calmer tone he used, you entered and noticed your son sitting in Kaz's lap, as he was pointing on a map in front of them.

"You're saying we should invest into Fifth Harbor?" Kaz asked but the toddler just said "ma". "Could you elaborate?" And with that he put the child's weight on his good leg and lightly began shaking his leg, as if the boy was riding a horse. He giggled as his own voice trembled from the motion.

"Yes, but in that case it'd be wiser to expand the Crow Club, or rather establish a new gambling den." Another sound came from the toddler, this time saying"mama". "Go, ask your mother yourself."

You were about to put a bullet in your head. Or at least ask Jesper to do it for you. By the look on Kaz's face you would have to wrestle for it.

You were spending the evening at Wylan's and what do you know, Jesper was ready to keep your son entertained the whole time. You on the other hand, were scared of what your toddler would accidentally say. He's been trying to talk to you for weeks now, only knowing words and not actual sentences yet.

But one night, when Kaz was late because of something he had to take care of, you were waiting for him in the kitchen after putting your son to sleep. He came in with blood all over his shirt, thankfully his coat covering most of it.

What you didn't notice though, was the small presence at the doorway, listening to the two of you talking.

"So, you just left him there like that? In his own kitchen?"

"You rather I tell him he's been a bad boy? The asshole was being overconfident with himself. Plus, he owes the Dregs."

"What did he even say?"

"I told him I have his contract with the Council, to which he said "You can shove it up your ass". I had a difficult day, so you know why I-"

"Your ass." The little voice said, wich made you look at him in shock. Your son was hiding behind the doorframe, clutching his stuffed animal to his chest. You looked back at Kaz in disbelief, which turned into annoyment.

"Would it kill you to teach him a decent word?"

"He knows the swear words from you, wife," Kaz told you with a smug look. "Fuck you," you whisper to him, but unfortunately still loud enough for your son to hear.

"Fuck"

"This is all your fault Kaz,"

So you were waiting for the bomb to drop, for your son to finally say one of the bad words he picked up, but the night went on without it. You bid your goodbye to Jesper and Wylan, your son holding your hand and waving at them as you did.

"You'll have to tell me where Jesper keeps his liquor," you ask of Wylan, and the little boy next to you finally speaks.

"Up your ass," he smiles. You just stare back at Wylan and Jesper's face with the best poker face you have, ignoring Kaz's cough next to you. Your son also says the word "fuck", but you're too stunned to pay it any mind.

"Uh, see you next week then," you tell them and turn to leave, but Jesper's voice stops you.

"Where the hell did he learn these?" He tries to contain his laugh, but the smile on his face fails him.

"Ma-ma,"

"I swear he's doing this on purpose."

A/N: The first half was more tragic than it should've been, I'm so fcking sorry, the idea just slipped out :/ Hope you liked it, though😅

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #six of crows #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x reader #grishaverse fic

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 6 months

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Have you done a piece yet for jean being jealous? If not you totally should. 😋

captain jaeger and jealous jean

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader (x eren sort of, not really)

wc: 1.8k+

tw: alcohol, inebriation, fluff, cursing, eren’s a dickhead, a little heated at the end 🤏🏻

a/n: thank you for this request! i hope you like it! also not proofread

if you’d ask him, jean would define jealousy as the deafening sound of a pulse canceling out every other noise. he’d also say he doesn’t get jealous. was he competitive? sure, but that didn’t mean he was jealous.

athletic rivals with eren, those two were always butting heads about something, anything. jean was easy to rile up and eren was a relentless tease. eren found an extreme amount of joy in raising the other boy’s blood pressure. but no, jean wasn’t jealous of eren. he hated him and that idiotic man-bun of his. the way he’d blink a certain way and some easily fooled girl would slip him her number. the way things came naturally to him. it wasn’t jealous, he’d say, it’s hatred.

y/n wasn’t the jealous type, either. there were girls prettier than her and she knew that. nothing she could do about it, so she didn’t worry. besides, she didn’t want to be the type of person to make every other girl her competition. she felt like a plain jane and she was contempt with it, oddly enough. she attracted just enough attention to feel pretty every now and then.

so when eren jaeger, the gorgeous captain of the baseball team, chose to talk to her at his house party, she felt divine. she felt seen.

*************

typical pop music flooded the house, drowning out any sentences that would normally otherwise be coherent. eren jaeger’s living room was flooded with girls in tight clothes and boys who were just a little too sweaty. it was cramped, almost making you feel claustrophobic.

you’d never been to a party before. at least, not the one’s you’d seen on the television. the type where people were passed out in random spots, where the scent of booze lingered heavily, where there were people making out upstairs in the bedrooms. this party certainly exceeded your expectations, despite it still being early on the night.

you’re not quite sure why you’re here. your friend, mikasa, had invited you earlier on in the day. she said that eren had wanted you to come. and with her being his childhood best friend, you believed her. mikasa and you weren’t exactly besties or anything of the sorts, but she was more than an acquaintance.

there you were, standing in the middle of the most popular boy’s living room, dazed and alone. an overwhelming desire to become a wallflower strikes you. fighting the battle of a lifetime, you swat away your urge to be antisocial and head to the kitchen where the drinks are sure to be plenty.

the kitchen is only slightly less crowded than the previous room. a group of people are huddled around the kitchen island. fortunately, you identify mikasa by her jet black wolf cut.

“hey, mikasa.” you shout to upstage the music.

mikasa spins around, revealing a red solo cup in her right hand. ‘mik’ is written sloppily on it in black sharpie. her eyes, with no less than half a pound of eyeliner on them, skim you up and down. as you start to worry about your outfit choices, she smiles.

“y/n, you came,” she starts, “you look cute.” mikasa compliments as she wraps her arms around you.

there’s no chance for you to respond with an attempt of feigning your belonging because eren is breaking away from his spot at the counter. he stands at a crisp six foot one, towering over both mikasa and you. like everyone else at the party, eren is sporting a red cup, holding it by it’s brim. ‘captain’ is written messily on it, along with the number ‘17.’

a few pieces of his dark hair frame his face. wonderous green eyes that search yours. a chiseled jaw you imagine slicing your finger open on.

oh, just looking at him you could bleed.

“hey. what’re you drinking?” he asks, tilting his head down.

casual. his words are casual. like it isn’t your first time truly holding a conversation with him.

“anything, i don’t really…” you trail off as your eyes flicker between his.

this makes eren smile. he throws up one finger on his left hand, signaling you to allow him a moment to find something he finds suitable for you. he rummages through the fridge and pulls out a red wine cooler.

“this good?” he asks, raising it in the air.

“yes,” you yell back whilst nodding your head.

eren comes back as mikasa gives you a look. she tilts her head up and shakes it at her friend before leaning back onto the counter, rejoining her previous conversation.

he stands before you, extending the hand that holds your drink. just as you go to grab it, he raises it so that you can’t reach it. a smile is painted across his face, revealing bright white teeth.

you blush.

“you can have it,” he cocks his head to the side, “after you do a shot with me and my friends. i’ll even let you use it as a chaser.”

your brain has gone completely fuzzy. eren jaeger invited you to his party, gets a drink just for you, and is now peerpressuing you to indulge in bad decisions.

“okay,” you blink. “i can do that.”

he grins and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder. “thatta girl,” he says, just low enough for you to hear.

eren weasels you two between sasha and mikasa, the ponytailed girl at your side. she pays no mind to your intrusion and instead offers a smile.

“listen, you delinquents,” eren interrupts them. “we are going to do a shot in honor of my pending status of captain.”

“you are so arrogant, jaeger,” a man scoffs.

across the counter, a messy dirty blonde mullet sits on top of a beautiful, angry face. his forearms rest on the granite as his body leans forward, eyes set directly on the man with his arm around your shoulder.

“oh, jean,” eren coos. “you can’t always get what you want.”

grabbing the malibu bottle by it’s neck, jean laughs. “you haven’t gotten anything yet,” his hazel flickers briefly to yours. “we won’t know until tomorrow.”

the way he talks makes a pit form in your stomach. you’re a smart girl, you know what they’re alluding to. it’s you.

“i guess you’re right. but i’m pretty much guaranteed to score,” eren tightens the bun on the back of his head.

“here,” jean slids you a shot glass. it reeks of coconut.

“you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to,” sasha says. “they’re a bunch of dorks.”

“no, it’s fine,” you shake your head as your fingers wrap around the clear glass. the liquid inside is taunting you.

“eren just wants to get you drunk,” jean says nonchalantly just as the cold glass touches your bottom lip.

“i know,” you respond.

it burns. coconut flavor isn’t strong enough to mask the burning left on your tongue. you can feel it light your esophagus on fire as it travels down, settling in the depths of your stomach.

“i’m going to kill you, kirstein.” eren’s voice raises a few notches as he drops his arms from your shoulder.

jean just laughs. he’s not laughing at eren though, he’s laughing at you.

“what’s so fucking funny?” eren hisses.

“she’s too smart for you,” jean shrugs his shoulders.

“are you too smart for me, (y/n)?” eren asks teasingly, looking down at you.

“i just think that you can’t always get what you want.” you blink your eyes lashes at him a few times before grabbing your bottle out of his hands. he looks dumbfounded as you head towards the living room, leaving him with the sounds of sasha and jean laughing at him.

your feelings are hurt, there’s no denying that. you had felt special and now you know you were just going to be a notch on his belt.

after a few drinks, you find yourself back in the kitchen. this time, there’s no crowd of people in here. just half-filled cups and bottles. faint sounds of terrible karaoke are heard.

you’re standing in front of the faucet, staring out the window, watching people do keg stands. eren’s out there egging them on.

“don’t make me take back what i said.”

“about eren?” you ask, turning around to see jean. he’s drunker, too.

he walks around the island, eventually leaning his back against it as he positions himself in front of you.

“about being too smart. you’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“no,” you sigh. “how did you know he just wanted to fuck me?”

“because that selfish prick can’t let me have anything for myself,” he growls. his grip on his cup tightens. it slightly indents under his pressure. “he just wanted to piss me off. i should fucking kill him.”

“what are you talking about?”

“c’mon,” he sets his cup down. jean pushes himself off the counter and leaves mere inches between the two of you. his forehead is hovering above yours. the warmth of his breath makes the hairs on your neck stand up.

“jean,” you whisper. you’ve never been so still in your life. afraid whatever this is might die, you hold your breath.

“you’re smart, (y/n), too damn smart,” he purrs. “use that brain of yours.”

the vibration in his dialect makes your heart race.

“i don’t understand why you keep calling me that,” your lips part.

jean’s fingers find yours. his brush gently along them, leaving a wake of goosebumps. “you knew what eren wanted but you still chose to get drunk. you got drunk and didn’t sleep with him, just to piss him off. i’m starting to think i might be a part of that plan. you want to make him jealous?”

you swallow the lump in your throat. chest heaving with butterflies, you nod.

“good,” jean replies. the space between your foreheads close. his skin is burning hot, warming your entire body. “because he was making me so fucking jealous,” he draws a finger along your jaw and stops at your chin, “dirty fucker had his hands on you.”

“jean,” it’s the only word you can speak. everything else is forgotten.

“i’ve wanted you for so long. do you know what that’s like?” he waits for you to shake your head before he continues, “maddening. and eren knew all about it.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“just wanted it to be perfect,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “and now it is, hmm? i get to piss him off by doing this.”

jean’s thumb and pointer finger center your chin as he draws in closer to you. without hesitation, your lips open slightly as his meet yours. they’re softer than you expected. it’s electric. warm hands snake around your waist, pulling you away from the counter. your brain is scrambled, all parts of you lost in jean.

he pulls back for a second, rubbing a thumb along your side. “can’t believe i let jaeger work me up this much,” he kisses your right cheek. “never been this fuckin’ jealous,” he kisses your left cheek.

“i can’t believe you’re jealous…because of me.”

“especially because of you.”

read my jean fic here

176 notes · View notes

veeisdunn · 1 year

Note

can you write something to do with exam stress, loneliness and suicidal thoughts (if you're comfortable with it) finals season is coming and it would comfort me a lot. could it be a tommy x sister reader? Maybe the reader is stressed about her exams and is being bullied in school. I really enjoyed your first two fics (the sh ones) and I would really appreciate this. Lots of love xxx

Bargain

Tommy Shelby x sister!reader

I'm sorry that this took so long! It is kind of ironic as I'm also going through this right now with my A-Level exams. I understand how dark things tend to be getting in these times and you sound like you've got a lot on your plate. I really hope you enjoy this, I made it especially for you! ♡

warning: suicidal thoughts and actions

WC: 3.6K

MASTERLIST

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

One day, though you couldn't remember when, the jokes stopped being funny. Your classmates were relentless - to them you were gypsy scum, the spawn of a criminal family. You used to laugh along but the taunting wore you down.

It didn't help that you began to shut your family out as well. Ever since you passed the entrance exam at that God forsaken grammar school, you withdrew. Too much reading and research to tally up the betting books and mediate domestic disputes.

As you moved onto your final years of education, you saw a way out of your family's situation - if you got into university then you wouldn't need to join the family company or marry a rich man to escape. You could have your own career which didn't break the law.

Of course, in the 1920s, this was no easy feat for a woman - or anyone. Luckily for you, you were attending one of the best grammar schools in the country, but, though you weren't in poverty, you were at a disadvantage with your peers. Most of your classmates had options: they had a dad with a PhD, a legal family business or an arranged marriage with a wealthy man lined up in case they failed their studies.

The pressure seemed never ending. You needed this, there simply was no other option. You had to grapple with this reality as well as deal with the tormenting of your classmates and the fear that one of your family members would end up with a bullet in their heads.

You didn't speak to anyone in your family about your crippling concerns. You didn't think they'd see the value in a university education - especially for a woman.

School work distracted you to such a point where you didn't even notice Tommy's concerned presence shadowing you most days. He just kept popping up everywhere you went.

School gate? Tommy.

Library? Tommy.

The kitchen at 3am? Tommy.

Did that man even fucking sleep?

Eventually, you "confronted" him. You had a tradition of being in Charlie's Yard on a Friday night. You would sit and look into the water - laughing, crying, sometimes screaming in frustration. This was a solitary activity, but one particular Friday, Tommy was already waiting there for you.

"(Y/N)!, you're late!" He shouted across the yard, taking a puff of his cigarette with a cheeky grin.

Fuck’s sake.

You hurry your pace, slushing your boots in the mud making your way to the wooden dock. “What are you doing?” you call out, frustrated.

“Is a man not able to sit, eh?” Tommy shuffled over and gestured for you to sit. You just huffed in response and remained standing.

“Look, Y/N/N, I can leave if you want, but I just wanted to see you? You’re always buried in a book these days.” His tone turned more sympathetic. You relented and sunk down next to him.

“I can’t be long. I have an essay, Tommy.” You spoke timidly, you were mentally prepared to break down alone but now you had to hold yourself together.

“You have the weekend.” He turned to look at you but you turned away.

“No. I have more work for the weekend.” You choked and turned your body so you were facing away from his stare, “I have a lot of work to do. I’m bloody drowning in it Tommy.”

He took a deep, prolonged breath and discarded his cigarette. “I think, Y/N, I think you need to spend a lot less time on work. Aren’t your friends all out on a Friday night? Why don’t you join them?”

You scoffed. “Friends? No one wants to be friends with a gypsy, or a Shelby.”

This struck a nerve with Tommy, he was also both of those things, yet he was respected and you were isolated. “Yeah? Say’s fucking who?”

“People at school.” “And why are you listening to them?” “Because - it’s just hard. You wouldn’t get it. I’m so fucking worn down.”

The man took another sigh, realising he was fighting an uphill battle. “Your classmates aren’t in Small Heath, you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone here, you know that?”

You shook your head rapidly “No. No Tom, I don’t care about my social life. If I don’t do well in my exams, I’ll never get into University. I need to go, I want it so bloody bad.” You were so engrossed in your emotions that you didn’t even feel the salty tears run down your cheeks.

Tommy was taken aback by your reaction. He couldn’t fathom why you were putting so much pressure on yourself. Of course, he would rather you made your goal something a bit easier than perfect grades, but then whatever you dream was became his by proxy. He had spoken to your teachers, they were certain you’d get the grades you needed. They had even mentioned your tendency to overdo things, but things weren’t nearly as bad at home at that time so he disregarded it. What a stupid mistake that was.

He was about to reach out to touch your hand, but you could feel the floodgates bursting, so you tried to leave.

“Y/N!” He shouted, following close behind you.

Go away. Go away. Go away.

“Look, I didn’t fucking ask you to come here.” You snapped as he grabbed your arm.

“You didn’t need to. Your my fucking sister, you don’t need to ask. I didn’t want to be so blunt but you need to calm the fuck down with the books, ay?"

"No. You don't understand." You shook your head adamantly , "if I don't do well in my exams, then what's the fucking point in anything anymore?"

—

"So, how'd your chat with Y/N go?” Polly asked her nephew as the evening dawned.

He settled into the sofa and took a deep inhale, rubbing his cold, sweaty palms together. “She didn’t take it very well. She probably just came back here to study more upstairs.

Polly leaned forward in her seat: “she never came home.”

Shit.

“Did you upset her, Thomas?”

“I couldn’t tell you. She’s hard to get these days.”

—

Tommy thought little of her absence. The library closed at 6PM - she’d be home by 7.

7:30. Still no Y/N.

He went to check your room to see if you’d slipped in and snuck to bed. Your room looked like it had been ransacked. Books, pencils, papers, and clothes covered every surface. Your bed was unmade and the curtains were drawn. It reminded the man of a house that had been robbed. The air was stagnant and cold.

On your bed, a book stood out to Tommy. It wasn’t a textbook or workbook, it was a small leather-bound diary with fraying ribbons pulling it shut. Without much thought, he settled down onto the bed and yanked the curtain open, amber sunset pouring in. The book felt heavy and the spine was stressed. He noticed that lots of other papers had been shoved between the pages.The edges of some were visible, your handwriting adorning them. He pulled the end of the matted ribbon firmly undoing the knot and allowing him access to what he came to realise was your diary. He flicked to the latest entry and saw it was dated for just the day before. He skimmed your scrawls: I will never be good enough, I just can't do it. I can't do anything anymore.

After freezing for a second he slammed it shut and threw it against the wall. He was fuming with the situation, and with himself. He knew you were struggling but he thought it was your need to prove yourself to your bullying peers - he could have never dreamed that you hated yourself this much.

Without much more thought, Tommy grabbed his coat and practically launched himself out of the door. He wasn't going to come home until he had you with him.

—

After your altercation with Tommy, you found yourself back by the cut. Your emotions were always heightened there, you tried not to go to the part where your mother jumped in, that was usually reserved for the anniversary of her death, but for some reason your feet carried you down there. You never knew her and by the sounds of things, you were very different people. You didn't even know why she did what she did, you were too young back then to understand. One thing you did know was how she must have felt. The feeling of utter despair. The loneliness.

You'd had a serious case of suicidal ideation since the start of your new school. In the back of your mind you always knew what to do if everything became too much. You had written letters to everyone and stuffed them under your pillow. You were ready. Perhaps tonight was the night?

This revelation almost gave you a twisted sense of euphoria. I don't need to go home again. I never have to write another essay. I never need to be called another name. No one will need to look after me. I can just end it all.

These thoughts carried you to the edge of the water. You thought about how your mother would have felt drowning and freezing. Calm, hopefully. Release.

You collected some large stones from the dusty mud around you and stuffed them in your coat pockets. You figured that being pulled down would make you go quicker. You knew that your brothers would be sad but you also knew that they'd move on. They'd done it once before, they could do it again. After all, they all had lives and you had nothing but stress and pain and anguish.

Looking down into the gloomy water you could feel cool droplets splashing onto your face and mixing with your tears. The abyss was inviting, your doubtful thoughts that had stopped you in the past were whispering to you but you told yourself that you wanted this. You wanted this, right?

You took your shoes off and laid them neatly at the edge of the water.

A leap. A splash. A scream.

Cold.

Then you felt someone grab you.

—

Tommy had barely made it in time. He saw you, shoeless, on the edge of the cut. He could only shout and run after you as you descended into the water. Without hesitation, he jumped in after you and grabbed you. He tried to pull your body up to the surface with him but you were fighting him. Your coat was sinking first, weighing the both of you down, so he wrestled it off you. All either of you could hear was splashes and all you could feel was the paralysing blanket of cold.

Holding onto your wrists, he went up for air to gather strength, before diving back under to pull you up. You were barely underwater for a few minutes but the frigid water had knocked you out. Tommy paddled to the steps a few metres away from where you'd jumped and pulled his drenched body onto them. He wheezed and gasped for air then dragged you up the steps by your armpits. The water level was particularly low so the steps seemed to go on forever. He'd boarded boats from these steps but never did he think he'd be ascending them with your limp body.

Your breathing was shaky and erratic. Tommy was just glad you were breathing at all. He laid you down in the dirt and rolled you onto your side just in time for you to involuntary convulse and cough up water while he hyperventilated. He firmly patted your back as your lungs cleared. Despite the heaving, you were still unconscious. Your lips were going a dusky shade of blue and the skin around your eyes was darkening, either from the cold or the lack of oxygen, he wasn't sure.

Tommy desperately tried to get control of his breathing so he could compose himself but his body was viscerally reacting to the shock of the cold water overwhelming his senses. He was in such physical anguish that his emotions had completely dulled. He'd honed the ability to turn his thoughts off while in the trenches and it often came in handy.

His main priority was getting you warm and dry. He tried to drag you up but didn't have the strength in his cold and wet state. Instead he had to resort to shouting for help, knowing that there were Blinders at the entrance to the docks. A few of Tommy's associates came around the corner, their coats flying in the wind behind them and the group of them managed to carry you back to Watery Lane while your body continued to involuntary spasm due to the cold.

Nobody else was in the house so Tommy flung your body on the floor in front of the fireplace and set a copious pile of logs on fire. He hunched over you and basked in the heat, ripping off his coat, hat, and suit and discarding them into a pile. After sitting for a moment shivering in a vest and underwear, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel.

In the living room, you'd rolled over so you could be closer to the heat, you weren't entirely sure what was going on but you liked the feeling of the warmth against you.

He ripped your drenched shirt off you and tried to ring your hair out with the towel. You were mumbling something incoherent but he ignored it. Your body laid next to the fire as he dried himself off.

You awoke when he accidentally knocked a book off the coffee table. Your body felt numb and you were extremely confused. He rushed over as you tried to roll away from the fire.

"Tommy?" you croaked, even more confused than you already were. What was he doing here? The look on his face then reminded you. He was drenched. You'd actually done it. You'd actually done it and he stopped you.

You ignored his demanding stare and sat up, coughing. You wheezed, holding your hands around your neck to reassure yourself that you weren't drowning.

You didn't drown, but you were soaked to the bone.

"What were you thinking, eh?" Tommy studied your startled expression, you couldn’t tell if he was mad, disappointed, or feeling sorry for you, "What the hell is going on with you?"

You remained silent and refused to look up at him.

"Y/N, what did you just do? And don't tell me that you fell. Your coat was full of stones."

He was going to make you say it. Dick.

You could only think of two words: “I’m sorry.”

Tommy scoffed and sat down in front of you. “You’re sorry? You are sorry?”

Did he want to know why? “I’m sorry that you jumped in and got wet. You look cold.”

He was physically taken aback by your words. “The only thing you should be sorry for is not talking to me.” He picked up the towel and began to dry you, understanding that trying to reason with you in this state was no better than arguing with a brick wall. After your hair was no longer dripping, he brought you dry clothes and made you discard your wet ones in the bathroom while he pressed his ear up against the wall to listen to your every move.

Tommy was angry with himself. He’d sat back and watched the pressure on you accumulate, only realising when it was too late. You’d nearly died. Y/N. His baby sister. The girl he held as a baby. The girl he read bedtime stories to. The girl he taught to ride horses. The girl he loved unconditionally. It was fate that had just saved your life - he very easily could have looked for you somewhere else and that would have cost your life. The thought made his heart hurt. You’d nearly died. You’d nearly died. Before he’d even realised, he was crying against the doorframe as you left the bathroom.

You tried to apologise again but he ignored you and wrapped you in the tightest hug you’d ever felt. He was scared to loosen his grip as he feared you would slip away. He cried gut-wrenching sobs into your shoulder. You gave in and began to cry as well. You couldn’t even figure out why. You were plagued with a viscous mixture of anguish and guilt - you were also still really fucking cold, the pair of your shivered in eachother’s arms.

Tommy pulled away and stared directly into your eyes. Instinctively your gaze turned to break the exchange. You couldn’t stand his distraught stare, it made you want to vomit.

“Y/N” He took a deep breath, “I’m here now and I’m not leaving you ever again, so you better tell me what the fuck is going on inside that head, eh?” You gulped. Only one coherent thought was running through your head. “Cold.”

With those words, the pair of you were huddled next to the fire.

“I’m gonna fail, Tommy.” The admission slipped out.

He held back his rant he’d repeated to you countless times and let you continue. All he wanted to do was scream and shout, to tell you and the rest of the bloody street how talented and capable you are.

“I want to make something for myself just like you have but I can’t do it. I just feel like I can’t do anything right. If I’m a good person then why do people hate me?” You took shaky breaths to process the thoughts you’d aired. Tommy pulled you in so you were resting on his side while the fire crackled in front of you. He waited to say anything until he could be sure that you were finished.

“Look, Y/N. Some people in this world are just full of hate, they wouldn’t know kindness if it hit them between the eyes. You just want to make everyone happy but you can’t because some people are gonna fucking resist until they die. I’m so proud of you, Y/N, you have grown up to be a talented and smart woman. You will make a life for yourself as long as you remember that. If you want to do that through school then, by all means, go for it, but there are other ways. What you need is some time to rest, and you need to get away from that fucking school. You’re in your final year, just finish things off at home, I’ll get you a tutor or anything you need as long as you never go back.”

He leaned back against the sofa to physically recover from his speech. He couldn’t see your face but he watched as you curled your body into a tight ball and leaned in even closer to you.

“It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore. Everything is so dull. I’m not happy.” No shit. And then you began to cry for what felt like the millionth time.

He just held you and stared into the flames. “Shh shh, no, it’s alright. you’re fine, shh. No more anything for the rest of the weekend, Dr Shelby’s orders, alright?” You chuckled lightly while he remained serious, “Over my many, many years, I’ve realised that if you work on something forever it never gets done well, but if you take enough breaks and are kind to yourself, it will get done. I can bet everything that you will become a strong and independent woman one day.”

After a few more back and forths, you spilling your negative thoughts and him retorting with a classic Tommy speech, the two of you fell asleep by the fire, the heat thawing the pain you’d both felt. Tommy came to the conclusion that you were simply too good for this world, but he knew you better than anyone and was certain it would all work out for you in the end.

The next morning, the pair of you made a deal that you would tell him about all the bad thoughts you were having and he promised he’d always be there to listen. After a few meetings with a doctor and your school, Tommy set you up a study area in his office. The two of you would work during the morning, eat lunch together, then you’d shadow him in the afternoon to - as he put it - “learn from the master”.

You took time to reflect on the things that really mattered to you - not the things that really mattered to the girl who was hated by her peers and would have died for flawless grades - the things that mattered to you, Y/N Shelby. You cared deeply about those around you. Seeing how broken Tommy was after your attempt made you want to cooperate with him and your doctor to become well enough to live the life you so desperately craved. It was almost ironic that you’d nearly taken that opportunity from yourself.

You still had days when the light at the end of the tunnel faded and you’d again lose sight of your future, but keeping up with his side of the deal, Tommy was always there to coax you out of it.

When you were younger, your brother taught you lots of things, and now he felt like he was giving you a final, important lesson. To learn to use your life, because he could so clearly see the potential you have.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

please drop me a comment or message with any feedback or suggestions! I'd love to hear from you ♡

Vee x

MASTERLIST

#peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #shelby #finn shelby #angst #hurt #comfort #shelby sister #peaky fookin blinders #cillian murphy #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #imagines #peaky blinder imagines #shelby sis #tw self harm #peaky blinders x sister!reader

373 notes · View notes

mochiimac · 1 year

Text

About Love 3

My head gets messy when I try to hide

The things I love about you in my mind

Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x Fem!Reader

Summary: Becoming a best selling thriller author? Part of the plan. Living in the city and isolating yourself from everyone? Part of the plan. Inheriting your late uncles home in the woods, his sassy assistant and fortune after he died mysteriously? Not part of the plan. Oh, and he failed to mention the 7 'surprises' he left you as well. And come to think of it... was his death an accident? Or is your imagination going wild again?

Genre: Hybrid!AU

Warnings (if bolded then this chapter contains these elements) : Fluff, Hurt, Comfort, Angst, Death, Abuse, Smut, Violence, Dom/Sub, Dom/Sub Elements, Non-Con Elements, Slow Burn, Trauma,

Rating: M 18+

WC: ~6k

Tag List: CLOSED- Tumblr doesn't like my list, I'll most likely have to do the list on a separate post... I'll figure it out lol

Notes: I'm so happy to be writing again! Thank you to everyone who waited and to those who have just started to read <3

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After being thrown into a brick wall, drowned in scolding black liquid, ran over twice, and bent to the point of snapping in half did sweet mercy come to relieve the pains of the world. It just so happened to be in the shape of a large metal box. And smell like every health violation known to man and hybrid kind.

Clunk!

Y/n’s damaged phone hit the bottom of the dumpster, the loud noise nearly being lost in the dark alleyway thanks to the busy traffic of the city. The device was now gone and irreparable (which may or may not have been extremely fun to do- perhaps he has some pent up rage he should work on...) meaning it could no longer be tracked. He was oh so careful about it.

He was careful when arriving in the city, taking detours and making random stops before settling on a random alleyway with a dumpster. Despite knowing he was alone Jackson remained careful though, double checking his surroundings before exiting the dumpster and heading back into his car. It might have seemed too extreme to someone looking in, but if the knew the Spades family. Knew what they were capable of...

Closing the door with a little too much force, he leaned back in his seat and let out a long sigh. Jackson closed his eyes, feeling the freshly fallen snow slowly melt and dampen his jet black hair. His lips were pulled into a thin line, nearly sucking his teeth, as the events from the day played back in his mind.

The day was supposed to be an easy one. Get the new heiress into the new home, help unpack, question her mini library and the knickknacks he had noticed from prior visits, then head home. Simple. Done. Takoda made this all sound extremely easy in the will. But that man could make lassoing the moon look as easy as riding a bike. He was the kind of man who accomplished what he put his mind to and didn’t hesitate. Jackson admired him for it, looking up at him as a mentor ever since he was first hired. Even now the young man wanted to strive to be like his late boss.

He really wished the old man was right there with him, to help shed light on what Takoda was up to. And what Jackson should do with the chaotic mess he was in.

Not only does Jackson now have to worry about the Spades family but now hybrids. He never held any ill thoughts towards the beings and honestly viewed them just as he viewed humans: there were good and bad hybrids just like there were good and bad humans. Of course he found it odd that even now, so long later, they weren't given basic human rights. Hell, many places still want to keep them on leashes. He just couldn't see how they could be treated that way.

Well... maybe for one hybrid he could. Jackson scowled at the fresh memory of the shaggy brown haired hybrid that held him in that death grip. He would enjoy that one being in a doghouse, more for the sake of his injured ego than for the hybrids actions. A large part of him wanted to stay and ensure Y/n was in good hands. But judging at how they reacted to him was enough to let Jackson know she was going to be safe. His ass still hurt from the youngest canine tackling him to the ground.

‘Little shit.’

Bzz! Bzz!

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking the warm and calm atmosphere of the car. At first he was prepared to see a new number, knowing Y/n would be calling to give him her new cell phone information. However he was surprised at the name that appeared, his eyes narrowing for a moment. He really didn’t want to take this call…

But he had no other choice.

“Hello?... Hold on, what? … No, that’s not possible. I just… He what?...” He paused as he heard the new information being told to him. “... Of course he did… Alright.” The line went dead and he tossed the phone into the passenger seat. For a brief moment he stared straight ahead, allowing the new information to sink in.

He blinked.

Sighed.

BEEEEEP!

And banged his head into the car horn.

People walking about on the sidewalk jumped and stared at the parked vehicle who’s car horn was going off for a long period of time. But Jackson didn’t care. No, at that moment only one thing was on his mind: what the hell was Takoda up to.

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The entire drive was rather relaxing. Namjoon kept a keen eye on the road while also engaging in conversation here and there. Jungkook and Jin decided to ask you a million questions, the duo's eyes were shining the entire time. It were as though you were telling them the greatest story to ever be written, even if it was just tidbits of your life. You did try to ask them questions about their own lives as well but they would get shy and nearly clam up.

It was shocking compared to how flirty and outgoing they were most of the time. You wondered if it had to do with their files... Those manilla envelopes might be holding their history and maybe some secrets they are afraid of speaking. It was hard to ignore when Namjoon would tense up beside you; Jungkook would let his hair fall in his face and glance down; Jin's smile would freeze before he stuttered a question of his own.

Did they really think you would kick them out from what those files stated? You heart clenched at the mere idea of it. Judging with how they acted you knew they were kind, too kind for the world they were created for.

And it made you nervous thinking of all that could have happened to them while being alive.

"You have arrived!" The GPS announced as the car slowed down. You were too busy with the pack that you failed to realize how fast time had gone by. "Welcome to Unova Mall!"

There was a time where shopping centers were dying out. Online shopping had grown and become popular with how easy it was to merely pick up your device, press a few buttons, and you’d see the item within the week. It wasn’t until hybrids came to be that mall’s began a resurgence. As more and more people began to adopt they soon realized that they had no where to showcase their new adoptions; restaurants were hardly allowing hybrids in due to them being seen as animals and highly dangerous (especially the first generation of hybrids), and parks were working on regulations on whether they needed leashes or not.

As the world shifted with the new profound creations certain businesses picked up on this opportunity; mall’s were revamped to accommodate hybrids, allowing specialty stores of all types to gather together. For some it was convenient to shop for themselves and hybrids in one go. For others it marked a great place to allow their hybrids to be seen by the world; from owning the latest generation to the rarest of breeds it was the place to go.

Personally you never shopped in malls before, never had a reason to. You preferred to get what you needed online or by running to whatever market you stumbled upon. However you knew there was no better place to complete your shopping list than the mall. Even if it made you cringe on the inside. The mere idea of being mistaken for someone who uses hybrids for clout... It left a rotten taste in your mouth.

Pulling up you could see the appeal of walking around in the large shopping center. The stores appeared to be outside but upon closer inspection you could see a glass ceiling covering all the stores, protecting shoppers from the elements. There were large and tall metal pillars placed throughout the area; units designed to heat or use AC depending on the weather. While there was a parking lot for people to park, the stores had large paved areas for everyone to walk around freely without worrying about traffic.

“I’ve never been to a place this large before.” Jungkook whispered, gold eyes large as he watched everything from his window. The car parked itself close to the front of the main entrance.

You were taken back once more to those files, wondering what their histories were like. Even now, stepping out of the car, that logical part of your brain was alerting you that you didn’t truly know these males. And, of course, that small voice in the back of your mind was reluctant to think of them as anything less than perfect. Nearly purring at the idea of them being the best men out there.

You really hated your brain sometimes.

“Alright beautiful, where do you want to go first?” Seokjin stood next to you. He kept close, his body acting as a shield to the wind and most of the snow.

“Furniture first, it’ll be easier to get that out of the way.” You responded. You stuffed your hands in your pockets, trying to keep the cold away.

Despite being mainly outdoors, the main entrance to the shopping center could easily be noticed by the large LED 'Welcome!' screen, models posing with hybrids wearing big smiles. The screen would shift and list attractions and new sales that the stores located all around would have. The stone pathway began right where the large welcome screen was, a directory stationed right beside it to assist in finding certain stores faster.

Namjoon walked beside you with Jin and Jungkook following close behind. “Do you know what you need exactly?”

“A bit, yes. I have a mental list of everything.” You beamed at him, your eyes meeting his amber ones. “It really shouldn’t take too long. Hardly any time at all.”

“Are we going to buy things for the arcade room?” Jungkook asked with a hint of hope in his voice. It did have you grinning but you shook your head at him.

“No, at least not today. We’re going to focus on the basics today.”

"There's still hope." He whispered, Namjoon rolling his eyes as the youngest grinned at the mere idea of having an entire game room to themselves.

The minute you stepped foot on the stone pathway entrance you felt warmth engulf you. The entire area felt warm and cozy, and even smelled good: you could smell hints of something sweet in the air almost like a bakery. A nice place such as this would provide air scents to boost appeal from the customers and create a relaxing atmosphere. Even Namjoon looked calmer though he was looking around and familiarizing himself with the place. His eyes were alert on the few people walking around, body shuffling closer to you.

‘What a good alpha.’ The pesky little voice in your head swooned. You mentally stomped on it with a boot and shook your head. With a quick glance you spotted the store with ease. “The store is right over there! Hopefully they have expedited shipping.”

“Are you in a rush for a coffee table or something?” Jin quirked an eyebrow, bright blue eyes looking confused for a moment.

“Not that, but I need a place to sleep.” You laughed as you all walked into the store. It was brightly lit and held displays for various rooms a household could have. It went far beyond what you could see from where you were standing. Glancing around you saw the bedroom area and quickly went towards it. “You guys got the bedroom since there are three of you in your pack. I’ll take another room and make it my own.”

You could feel a small amount of tension and turned to see the three hybrids staring at you, stone still at the entrance of the store, with mixed emotions; Jungkook looked hurt, Jin looked confused, and Namjoon appeared to be troubled. There was no telling what was going on inside their minds as you stopped mid-walk and blinked at them.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s what we want to know? Was it the nest?” Jungkook quickly walked up to you, eyes searching yours for something that you didn’t know. “I can do better. Make it better.” Your face heated up as he knelt to your level, hands on your shoulders creating warmth and security that you hated to admit that you loved. “What did we do?”

“I- you guys did nothing,” You stammered over your words, noticing the rest of the pack gathering around you as well. A million questions rocketed in your mind, not knowing where this behavior came from. You really needed to do your own research or communicating would be nearly impossible. You could ask but you couldn't find the nerve to; you were already viewing yourself as a terrible owner for leaving them alone for months. Asking questions on basic information made you even worst in your own eyes. Stressing them out, not knowing enough about their species... you needed to do better and give them some hope in you and your abilities.

“You guys are a pack and would want to stay together, so you guys can take the master room. Since I’m not a pack member I really shouldn’t intrude.”

You could tell Jungkook was ready to argue, however a deeper voice was faster. “We understand Y/n. Thank you for thinking of us.” Namjoon gave you a soft smile, though it was a small one. His eyes seemed to be swimming through emotions that you couldn’t decode no matter how hard you tried. There was a pang in your heart at the thought of hurting them though you had no idea what you even did. If anything you were trying todo what was best for them.

As if sensing your doubts he gently took your arm and began to lead the way to the other showcases. Jin followed and offered you a soft smile as well, but just like the pack alpha’s it was small and didn’t reach his eyes. You pushed your questions to the back of your mind as the bedroom displays came into view. Instead you focused on what you needed and went straight to the mattresses first, needing to test them out and see which one would be comfy for you.

Namjoon and Jin did help you, making good points. Jungkook, however, not so much. He decided to full on pout and whine, hands tugging on your jacket as he tried to sway you with pitiful words. Small attempts at pointing out minor flaws (“It’s an ugly color!”) didn’t help him either. Sitting on the seventh bed, you felt like it was made from a cloud. And no pouts from the youngest hybrid could sway you.

“It feels like I’m on a cloud, I really like this one.” You sighed and leaned back, closing your eyes. “I think I’m taking this one. Scratch that, I know I’m taking this one.” Since entering the store you could feel yourself feel less tense and stressed, boy molding into the soft material. You were ready to take a nap right there and then. The mattress shifted and you cracked your eyes open to be met with a pair of gold eyes boring into your very soul. You heart nearly stopped in shock at the canines presence. You didn't even notice him near you.

“But why not just stay with us?”

Jungkook saved the puppy dog eyes for last. Large doe eyes were staring right into your soul, lower lip jutted out in a pout that could shake even the iciest of hearts. There was determination behind the adorable stunt that you could see; the sharpness in his eyes as he waited for the perfect moment to try and persuade you once again. And what better way than when you had your guard down? He was hovering over you, hands on either side of your head, knees placed on either side of your waist though not a single ounce of his weight touched you. He was holding his own weight easily, without so much as a second thought. Your cheeks heated up as you realized the position you were in and blinked rapidly up at him, trying to collect your scrambled thoughts.

Your heart hammered in your chest, nearly jumping up your throat. You willed it to be steady for your own sake. “Jungkook, we talked about this. You guys need space as a pack.” Your words were met with a frown tugging on his pout, eyes searching yours once more. But you had no idea what he was looking for. So you changed tactics instead. “Besides, I’m the worst to sleep near. I’m certain I snore a lot.”

“I doubt that. Prove me wrong, spend the night with us. If we don’t mind then you stay.” His tone was firm, almost a command. Having him be this persistent should have made you roll your eyes and be snippy with the hybrid. But instead of feeling annoyed or even angry you felt yourself sag a little. Almost as if you were going to follow his orders, your eyes dilating ever so slightly as you stared up at him. Some type of trance seemed to take place over you, as if you were in your own little bubble with Jungkook where he was in control over everything. And somehow you were perfectly fine with that, hell you found yourself relaxing even more.

You couldn’t explain what your body was doing, you just felt the need to let go and let him take control. Maybe he was right… “Trust me, it’s best if you don’t. I-I also toss and turn all night.” You sounded weak, words spoken in a hush that not even you would have believed.

The pout had disappeared moments ago, the moment you relaxed under him. Jungkook was now gazing at you with a small smirk and hooded eyes, the gold shining brilliantly against his dark lashes. He seemed to be in a trance himself as he slowly lowered himself closer to you. His body was a hair's width away from you now, if you so much as took a deep breath you would be pressed against him. You could feel his warmth radiate off of him, his voice dropping several octaves, almost a growl, as he spoke. “We can keep you in place. Namjoon-ah especially.”

The next second happened too fast for you to grasp. The smallest of whimpers slid past your lips just as Jungkook yelped and disappeared from your view. It was as though the trance you were in shattered entirely and you sat up quickly, face ablaze as you looked around. Namjoon was gripping Jungkook by the back of his neck, the youngest looking almost ashamed with his head bent. Jin was reaching to slowly pull you up with sigh. There was no one else around (thankfully for you) and you nearly forgot where you were.

“Sorry about the brat, beautiful. He can be very persistent. We looked away for one moment and this happened.” His tone sounded remorseful, hands carefully pulling you up from the mattress. Those blue eyes carefully watched your face for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen. For you to do something or act out.

What even was that? You didn’t know what came over you or how it happened. Truth is you honestly didn’t want to know. Not yet at least. For now you were blaming it on your lack of intimacy. It has been quite some time since you were with someone…

Shaking your head you sighed. “It’s alright, he tried though. But I want this mattress.”

Taking note of which one you wanted, you continued down your list and got the rest of the things you needed. Namjoon kept Jungkook a bit away from you, the leader sending cool glares when he got too close. Jin was the one who did most of the talking with you, assisting you in certain items and his thoughts. An hour later and you were heading outside the store with your new belongings expected to be delivered that evening. While Jin was walking with you, Namjoon and Jungkook were following behind. The youngest was sulking while the leader was giving him a side eye. Whatever happened definitely wasn't approved by Namjoon.

'It's probably best if to keep my distance.' You thought, trying to keep some space between you and Jin. The husky sent you a questionable look that you ignored completely. You needed to get everything done before something else happens.

Next on the list was the hybrids themselves and getting them whatever they wanted or needed. You didn’t want them to feel rushed to shop, hence why you grabbed the furniture first. This ensured that they had plenty of time to browse and take a look around at whatever they needed. The store you had seen was not too far away; a mere few stores down was the famous store known for hybrids: Brand New Day.

BND was a large store that was filled to the brim with supplies for any type of Hybrid. It was a staple store in the community, being known for their amazing customer service and embracing acceptance towards all Hybrids. The four of you walked through the glass doors and towards the softer glow of lights that gave the store a warm appearance. The entire place felt like a giant hug; from the soft color scheme to the classic wooden floors. Displays scattered all around the store showcased all sorts of items, you felt lost looking around for a moment- where to even begin?

“Hi, I’m Lisa! Is there anything I can assist you with today?” A young woman approached your group, her hair glossy and as black as night. Her smile was kind, eyes meeting each person in your group. She wore an all black outfit with a beige apron, the BND logo embroidered on the front. Lisa looked relaxed and eager to help, eyes mainly trained on you since you were the owner of the trio.

You smiled back at her. “Hi, yes we need help. You see, I recently adopted my hybrids and…” You trailed off, obviously not knowing where to start. You feared you were going to look like an idiot and maybe even laughed at but the smile never once faltered. Lisa seemed to understand your predicament and give you a reassuring smile.

“I totally understand, it can be overwhelming. Especially if this is your first time.” Sliding her hand into her apron pocket she pulled out a small stack of pamphlets of various colors. “Now, what breed are each of your hybrids?”

You told her their names and their breed and she handed each one a pamphlet of different color. Jungkook had her faltering for a second, eyebrows knitting as she looked at the pamphlets. The wolfdog shifted his feet, gold eyes cast down as the seconds ticked by. Jungkook seemed uncomfortable as Lisa flipped through more pamphlets. You frowned, opening your mouth to ask what was wrong but Lisa was quick to perk up and smile at the two of you.

“Ah, here’s one for general canines and one for wolves! A crossbreed such as his is rare and while these are a good guide to buy the products you need, but Jungkook can absolutely browse and make his own selections. They all can really. These just help answer any questions you may have.” She explained, smiling gently at your group.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Jungkook looked almost embarrassed about the whole thing. And to make matters worse he seemed to be watching your reactions, gauging how you reacted to it. Sending him a soft smile you nodded.

"Thank you for your help!" You truly meant it too; Lisa provided a warm presence and reassurance. The fear of being laughed at or frowned upon for your lack of knowledge was slowly melting away. There was something about her presence that made you feel better.

"It is not a problem, if any of you have any questions don't hesitate to ask! I'll be on the floor if you need to find me." One last cheerful smile and a small bow she made her way back to her associate duties.

The pack was looking around with wide eyes, glancing in every direction. BND certainly had a wide variety of items, which was incredible for those who had owners of different breeds, and easier to find what you were looking for. You were about to ask where they wanted to go to first but held back as you remembered how Namjoon behaved earlier; his iciness when Jungkook behaved in the furniture store was hard to ignore.

'It'll be best if I let them get their own items. Give them space.' You didn't want to cause another incident and have an angry wolf on your hands. Instead you gave each of them a small smile, ignoring the uneasiness you felt of your choice.

"Why don't you guys go and gather what you need? I'll have Lisa open a register for you to place your items as you go." Your voice was light and positive, watching their facial expressions, especially Namjoon's.

Those amber eyes met yours, the corners of his mouth turned ever so slightly down. "Actually-"

"Sounds like a lovely idea, beautiful." Jin smiled at you, grabbing his pack mates arms. "We'll gather what we need. Is there a limit on what you wish to spend?"

"No, gather what you need or want. If it can fit in the car it can be purchased. Have fun!" You quickly turned on your heel, looking for Lisa. You didn't want Jungkook or Namjoon to try to persuade you to linger. Besides you assured yourself that they would love the space to shop freely without you hovering.

Spotting the raven haired woman, you explained your plan to her: leaving the trio inside the store to shop while you ran out to get a new phone. You were vague, explaining that your previous one was damaged from being left on top of the car. Whether she believed your or not did not matter and she only smiled and promised to keep an eye on the trio while you were out.

Exiting the store you nearly jogged to the phone store located several stores down. Not too far to cause worry and only a few minutes to walk to. Once inside you got down to business, determined to finish everything up as soon as possible.

Which happened to take over an hour.

You had to close your old account and open a new one with a whole new number (you claimed you had a stalker named Jackson) and decided to add three more lines to your account. What took you the longest was picking out which color phone to give to which hybrid. It was so slow in the store that several phone service representatives began to vote for colors for each hybrid (you did have fun with that though) and settled on three new colors along with one for you.

Once they were set up, you were handed a bag and free to dash back to Brand New Day, mentally praying that nothing bad had happened. However opening the glass door you stumbled upon a heartbreaking scene.

Jungkook was alone and curling in on himself, tail tucked between his legs, merle ears so low you could hardly see them from his fluffy hair. Soft whines poured from his hunched figure, back starting to shake. Lisa was next to him, her words soft as she tired to calm the canine down. She didn't touch him however; she was attempting at keeping his personal space for his own sake. But her words were falling on deaf ears.

Your heart splintered at the site of the hybrid shaking and turning his head to the side and away from Lisa and the door. A single tear rolled down his cheek, lips trembled as another whine came through. He sounded almost as if he was going to start howling. A wave of worry finally got you rushing forward, sliding towards your hybrid.

“Jungook?” Your voice was high pitched, the worry leaking out into the open. Your own eyes were wide with worry as you tried to make your way towards the hybrid.

Hearing your voice he snapped his head to you, his ears perked up and twitched at the sound of your voice. Gold eyes brimming with tears. It only took a millisecond before you were nearly tackled. Strong arms encased you close and tightly as though you’d disappear if he loosened his grip. His nose was pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply before he sighed. “Couldn’t find you. I kept looking. Thought you left.” Although his words were muffled in your skin, you could hear them perfectly clear.

‘Was he left behind before?’ You had to wonder if this was something he had experienced, given that it was the first thing he thought of when he couldn’t see you. The mere thought had you holding him just as tight, a hand running through his locks. “I’m sorry, I had to grab something. Besides I can’t leave, not without my hybrids.”

Your eyes met Lisa and you mouthed a thank you to her, and she smiled back and nodded to the register where you spotted a confused looking Jin setting some clothes down and heading over to the two of you. "Jungkook? Y/n? What happened?" The concern in his voice had you feeling a little safer; knowing he was worried about you was almost reassuring in a way you couldn't explain.

"I had to run an errand, Jungkook couldn't find me and thought I left you guys..." You trialed off, feeling guilt eat at you now. You honestly didn't think it was going to take that long to get everything done, thankfully he only just realized that you were gone.

Jungkook peeked up from your neck and looked at Jin, the two staring at one another for a few moments before Jin sighed. "I'm glad to see your okay, Y/n." His lips curled down however, eyebrows knitting as his bright blue eyes pierced into yours. "However, you need to tell us next time. What if something were to happen? We wouldn't know where you were or went to."

His tone wasn't condescending, but there was authority behind it. An order of sorts. It had you looking down, feeling small and weak for a moment. "I told Lisa, I wanted you guys to have some shopping and fun without me breathing down your necks."

Hearing this had the pair of hybrids looking at you with confusion, Jungkook pulling away from you. His lips parted and whether he had a questions or statement you wouldn't find out; Namjoon's voice broke the three of you out of the quiet stare down you guys had going on.

"I think we got everything we need." The ashy haired wolf approached the group, eyes lingering on everyone with an eyebrow raised. Seeing the questionable look you jumped away from Jungkook, creating some distance from yourself and the others.

"If you guys got what you needed we can pay and head out." Ducking your head, you headed towards the register where Lisa stood with a smile. Everything was rung up and ready to go, two shopping carts filled with items the hybrids had picked out. With a quick good day your group left; Jungkook and Jin pushing the carts towards the car while you gripped the single shopping bag from earlier.

"Y/n?" Namjoon was standing right behind you, his deep voice making you freeze on the spot. Slowly you turned and looked at him with eyes slightly large.

You managed to squeak out a 'yes?' and stare at the wolf, wondering what he was going to do. Was he going to go off on your for what happened in the furniture store? Or for leaving and making Jungkook upset? You were on the verge of fidgeting the longer he looked at you. Those eyes scanning over your every feature making your heart beat faster. It was soft, barely heart but you know you did: Namjoon let out a soft whine in the back of his throat, his hand quickly reaching out for one of yours.

"What's wrong?" He sounded concerned, his voice coming out in a hush. His thumb was brushing slow circles on the back of your hand, the gentle action helping quiet your hammering heart. "Did something happen?"

"I... I just thought you guys would want space as a pack." You wanted to kick yourself for sounding so weak and quiet. It seemed to be happening a lot as of late and it bothered you a bit. Closing your eyes you decided to be honest and not dance around the bush. "After all that happened today, I thought it was what you wanted. You seemed upset at the furniture store-"

"Oh angel." Namjoon cut you off with a sigh, his hand pulling you closer. Your eyes snapped open, meeting his gaze head on. The new nickname had your cheeks turning rosy. "I'm not upset. At least, not with you. Jungkook... he did something that I disapproved of." Reading your confused expression he only brought your hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it, breathing your scent in deeply. "I'll explain once you read our files, angel."

When you only nodded he raised an eyebrow at you, not pleased with no verbal response. He raised his eyebrow for a second before his teeth nipped at your knuckles playfully, making you leap back and scowl. "Fine, yes!" He laughed at your response, gently pulling you towards the car.

"Let's get the groceries and head home." He laughed again, and looking up you spotted dimples with his wide smile. Grinning back at him you nodded in agreement with only one thought on your mind: You really liked how he said 'home'.

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It was eerily quiet in the large vehicle. The soft sound of the heater flowing through the vents from the front seat would have created a beautiful little bubble in the car. If it weren’t for the two passengers sitting in the back seats, shivering in their thin jackets. They learned quickly that the vents were either broken or the driver simply refused to turn the back vents on. The teasing of the heat that barely reached them would have created a sour mood. But not today.

No, today was indeed a perfect day in their eyes. And no amount of cold could dampen the light that their eyes held as they watched the large city come into view. Towering skyscrapers twinkling in the late afternoon, their lights illuminating the grays and whites from all around. The lights seemed to glow brighter as if sensing their hopeful hearts. He pressed his head against the glass, ignoring the biting chill of the surface and watched with wide eyes as the world around them zoomed by. What would they look like? For months he had envisioned what their savior would look like. He wondered what their hobbies were, their favorites, he wanted to know it all.

The daydream came to an abrupt halt much like the car that screeched to a stop on the side of the road, right outside of an apartment complex. It towered and loomed over the pair as they stared with mouths slightly agape. Was this the place? Was this where they were meant to go? The company gave them zero information on the matter with the exception of one name.

“Get out.”

The driver’s voice was as cold as the winter winds. Beady, dark eyes glaring at the two from the rearview mirror. One hand was gripping the wheel and the other was on the gear shift. He wanted them out as soon as possible. Obviously he wasn’t a fan of hybrids. It was a common occurrence but still the hate in his eyes had the pair tensing up.

“B-but which one do we-” The eldest tried to speak up, the cool glare already rattling his nerves. Even his sensitive ears he could hear the insecurity and softness in his words. He wanted to sound brave for his pack but it was hard when his own heartbeat betrayed him. He could have spoken up, perhaps sound stronger but those words died on his lips as the man in front of them laughed. It was scratchy and deep, full of mockery.

“Like I care. I was told to deliver you two here, nothing more, nothing less. So get out. Now.” He tapped the gas pedal once, cackling as the vehicle bucked forward sending the pair forward into the front seats.

Anger brewed inside but he knew arguing with the older man would only cause problems. Gripping his younger brother's hand he gently pulled him out the doors and into the cold winter air. The lightweight jackets they wore were no match for the icy winds and snowflakes that whipped around them. The moment the door was closed the car screeched off and out of sight.

“H-hyung, what now?” Arms crossed over his chest, the youngest leaned into the eldest to try and get warm. Pointed ears flattened against his head and bushy tail wrapping around himself as protection. “Sh-sh-should we kn-knock?”

They both knew that wouldn't work. At least not for them; two hybrids knocking on every door would only have Hybrid Protective Services called. And going back was not an option, at least not for them. Being homeless and living on the street would have been better than returning. Anything would have been better than returning to their company.

Today was supposed to be the start of a new life for them. A new chapter with possibilities and hope for a better future. A fresh start. Was this all a joke? Fear began to creep in as the thought of this all being one large prank grew; giving the two of them one last bit of hope only to have it ripped from them. It was very possible, knowing their company, and the thought had the eldest almost spiraling when a soft voice broke the chain of thoughts.

“Are you two from Faux Inc?”

A young woman stood behind them, shocking the pair for a moment. Dark hair was glittered in snow flakes, with equally dark eyes watching the two with curiosity and, from what they could tell, hope. She wore a professional pantsuit with a thick outer coat to help protect against the harsh weather. The air she had was calm and collected, though not cool- she was someone who felt dependable, a safe place to land.

The youngest perked up, tail wagging at the young woman. “Are you Mr. Takoda?” There was a hint of desperation in his voice, fingers gripping his hyung’s jacket.

She smiled and swallowed the giggle that tried to escape and shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My name is Soojin Seo, I was one of his three assistants. I was informed by your late owner to provide you with a home for a while, letting his niece get settled in before escorting you both to the home.”

“Late owner? Mr. Takoda has passed?” The eldest blinked in surprise, turning to the other. This was not something that they were told.

“That is correct. However do not worry; his niece will be your new owner. She is slowly adjusting with the changes.” Soojin smiled at the two softly, knowing this was a confusing situation. She could only do her best to help the pair while under her temporary care. Takoda was a well planned out man; she had her instructions and would follow them perfectly. “While she is getting settled, you two will be with me for a bit.” As she spoke she walked towards a large white SUV, gracing them with a reassuring smile. “I can answer all your questions to the best of my ability on the way back to my home. I’ll do my best to ensure your safety and happiness.”

The two shared a look with the same thought bouncing between the two of them: they had nothing left to lose anyway. Perhaps it was blind trust and the cold, or maybe it was the desperation of wanting a home. Regardless the pair climbed into the warm car, their hands clasped together as questions crept to the tip of their tongues.

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morganalatina21 · 2 years

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Manipulating Death: Chapter Two

(Not my gif)

Series Summary: When Harry discovers he has a twin sister that was hiding for years, he wants to know all about her, specially about her ability to bring people back to life.

A/n: Again, English isn't my first language so I'm sorry if I misspell or use the wrong time at any sentence. Also, this is my first time doing a series here on tumblr so please have some patience with little ol' me :))

Chapter One

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"So... you're Sirius' brother." Harry started, standing on his feet in the kitchen while the man had his back facing them.

The place was the exact size of the kitchen and dining room from his uncle's house at Privet Drive, only a balcony separating them.

However, the similarities stopped there, the oven was cleaner and looked almost untouched, the cabinets were a little darker and looked rather unstable. The amount of things on the top of each one Harry couldn't even count.

"Yes. And as you seem to know, when I was sixteen I joined the Dark Lord." Regulus replied without looking their way, too focused on brewing tea and cutting pieces of a fresh baked pie which Harry guessed there's where the smell of blackberries came from.

"However, I always knew what he was doing was wrong." To that, Remus scoffed. Regulus proceeded, unbothered. "So I started looking for flaws on his plans, and when I was too deep into that, that's when I died."

He started stacking the cubes of pie, making two pyramids in different plates.

"If you knew it was wrong why didn't you run away? Like Sirius did." Lupin asked, arms crossed and frown never leaving his face.

"You don't know how my mother was like." He simply answered. "Anyways, I died when I was barely eighteen and a couple years later your sister brought me back to life."

"But how?"

However, the answer didn't looked ready to be known by him, because it kept being dodged every time he asked.

This time, it was by a groan coming from the living room.

"You better go see him, he needs a known face so he won't absolutely lose it."

Remus gave Harry a nod, he still didn't trusted Regulus, so he wouldn't, under any circumstances, leave him alone.

"Y'know, Sirius told me a lot about how your family was." He commented on it when the boy left the room.

"I'm sure he did."

"And he also told me how you were your mom's favorite." To that, Regulus only hummed slightly annoyed. "So I'm sorry if I don't see how that can be a bad ambience for you."

"Someone who drowns at ten feet under water is just as dead as someone who drowned at four." The Black finally turned to him, only enough so he could see the professor with the corner of the eye. "I was the favorite because I wasn't a rebel like my brother, so they would put much pressure over me to be the perfect pure blood son."

"And Sirius knew I wanted to run away, I just needed to have something against Voldemort, otherwise my escape would be useless."

With that, he went back to cutting the pie in perfect squares.

Deciding to keep the rest of the questions to when Sirius was present, Remus sighed and the room dived into an uncomfortable silence, being broken only by the sound of knife against the dishes.

Regulus, on his own mind, was trying to organize everything.

What he should tell them, what he shouldn't, what he would deny until the day he died (again).

The thuds from upstairs kept his heart calm, they might not believe him, however they'd probably believe Y/n.

Even if they didn't, they had no idea where the house was, so escaping again would be easy.

"WHAT?!"

Disturbing his peace, Sirius walked in, stomping with eyes wide open and lips parted.

He turned slowly, not moving the hair away from his eyes just in case he needed to hide emotions yet again.

"How... Why... When... HOW?"

"Sirius let's calm down." Remus reached a hand to his shoulder, but got shrugged away by the Black.

"Don't ask me that RIGHT NOW." He screamed, not moving his eyes from the brother. "How are you alive? I remember the day I heard you died. I remember going to your grave. I remember it all too well." He stopped, catching his breath, tears making his eyes sparkle. "So how are you here?"

Regulus dropped the knife into the sink, swallowing thick before looking at Sirius.

"I died." Were the first words that came to his mind. "Just like you just did. And the same way, I was brought back to life."

"When? Who brought you back?"

His lips were sealed. It was not entirety his story to tell.

However, not everyone thought the same.

"Y/n". Sirius' head snapped at Remus. "It was Y/n Potter that brought not only him, but also you back to life."

The older Black looked fast at his godson before looking at his partner marauder.

"Y/n Potter died. Years ago, with James and Lily."

"That's what I thought too, Sirius. But I just seen her. She's alive. I don't know how, don't ask me that."

"So you all knew I have a sister?" Harry shouted, standing on the door.

"The entire Wizarding world silently agreed to never mention her, Harry." Remus started, looking rather guilty. "The night your parents died, everyone that walked into the house looked for Y/n, but not a single soul found her. We just assumed that the what occurred was opposite of what happened to you; that Voldemort had casted such a strong death curse on her, she vanished from existence. It was so horrible to even think about it, no one had the courage to mention it, and it stayed like that."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"When we made sure Voldemort and all his followers were gone." Sirius answered. "Losing your parents is bad enough, losing a twin that her body was never found..." he sighed, "We were scared we'd be giving you hopes she could be alive."

"WELL SHE IS!" Harry screamed, making the marauders take a step back. "SHE BLOODY IS! THAT'S MY SISTER! YOU SHOULD'VE TOLD ME!"

"We know..." Sirius whispered. "And we're deeply sorry, Harry."

Regulus, glad the attention wasn't on him any longer, went back to brewing the tea, not a big fan of knowing what happened when he was gone.

Y/n had told him the basics, Voldemort wasn't back but he knew if all the horcruxes hadn't been destroyed it would be just a matter of time; people still thought Sirius was guilty even though Dumbledore knew the truth, Snape was a teacher at Hogwarts and stuff like that.

The both got used to living a life where they were able to avoid the outside world, and Regulus didn't hate that.

"And you, brother." Once again, peace disturbed. "Why are you living with her?"

"As I said, she brought me back to life and just so happened that a month later you ran away from Azkaban, there were wizards searching for the Black blood everywhere, I couldn't risk it." He explained, sounding bored. "And when everything was settling down, she started having visions of Voldemort and Pettigrew."

"Wait, she had those too?" Harry interrogated, taking steps forward.

"She did. For months. I couldn't leave the house when the man I died to defeat was threatening to come back. So we just decided to live together."

He finished setting up the tray, with the one plate of square pie, teacups and the tea pot, putting it on the table and taking some steps back, his cup ready on the sink with the other plate of pie.

"The man he'd hate the most and the girl he couldn't kill." Sirius added, approaching the table. "In the same place. It's two birds with one stone, you'd be damned if he found out."

"Would you just shut up and eat? Hunger from resurrection is the worst."

He was right, Sirius stomach was aching.

So, despite the harsh words and the frown on his face, he sat down and started devouring the pieces of pie.

"And you guys shouldn't worry about safety. The house is completely sealed, the stairs are too, so are the bedroom doors, and we have special moves if anything happens. Believe me, we're safer together than separated." And took a sip of his tea.

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Speaking of.." Regulus started, hearing rhythmic footsteps coming downstairs.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked, when his brother pulled a chair and left close to a cabinet, opened a random drawer and grabbed some herbs from one pot that was near the stove.

The three boys seated at the table perked up when the girl walked in the kitchen. Headphones were plugged in her ears and she danced lightly at the song.

Regulus handed the entire plate of pie and she grabbed it with a smile, without saying anything.

And then, the younger Black's behavior started making sense.

The chair he pulled, Y/n used to stand on and reach something above the cabinet. The random drawer he opened, she pulled a potion bottle from it without even looking. Before she started searching for the pot, he handed her the herbs.

It was like he was predicting her every move. Even moving the chair out of the way so she didn't bumped into it.

He knew what she would do, and decided to make things easier.

"She won't listen." Regulus advised when Harry tried to stop her from leaving the kitchen. "She deals with death a lot, and sometimes the voices from the dead get a little too loud so she either sings or listen to music to avoid them."

"Why does she deal with death?" Remus asked the question on everybody's mind.

He sighed, imagining she wouldn't come back from doming the possessor so soon.

"It's a long story and it's hers to tell." He started, making Sirius roll his eyes and Harry's lips were pulled down a little. "But, basically, she's been trying to bring her parents back to life."

"She's WHAT NOW?"

"Don't scream! You'll attract the possessors!" The Black whispered-yelled, gesturing them to stay quiet.

They raised their heads, trying to hear any sound non-human around.

Fortunately, nothing but the basement door opening and closing, Y/n dancing steps disappearing.

"You didn't said anything when Harry was screaming." Sirius mumbled, taking another sip of the tea.

"Because I knew the possessor was with her, before she went to the basement it could've been anywhere."

"She said it wouldn't hurt us." Remus quoted the line the girl had said earlier.

"They're easily atracted to emotions, especially the bad ones. You ever felt the crippling feeling someone was watching you when you were on the edge of dying? You're filled with anger, sadness and fear. They smell it and get ready to take the person's soul."

The dining room was thrown into deep silence, Harry trying to be as still as possible.

Sirius had his eyes wide, the mouthful of pie stopped chewing and Remus held his breath.

"And Y/n is alone with that?"

"She can handle it." Regulus guaranteed. "It's nothing new and no one else here knows how to deal with them."

Harry kept quiet, adjusting his posture as if it'd make him hear a little better. He wished he'd payed attention to the sounds that creature made when it first came out, so he could identify it quicker.

However, nothing but silence came to their ears.

With that problem out of the way, they could focus again on what Regulus said.

"She's trying to resurrect our parents?"

The younger Black pulled a chair and sat down, legs crossed and hands enlaced on his lap.

All eyes were on him once again, waiting for the truth.

"I know you're about to say it's a long story and she should be the one to tell." Sirius interrupted before he even started. "But honestly, we need answers. That girl came outta nowhere, jumped into that motherfucking veil of death and-"

"What?"

Regulus' eyes were now glued to his brother, suddenly interested.

No, scratch that. He was interrogating, staring at the older man like he was about to rip his head off if he didn't repeated the sentence.

"There's this sort of veil that kills you if you go through it. Our beloved cousin hit me with a spell and I fell on it, she came running and entered that, and pulled me out so- why are you looking at me like that?" He stopped the story, clearly bothered by his brother's gaze.

The younger one never looked at him like that before, with such repressed anger.

"Excuse me, I'll be back in a minute." Regulus asked, standing up and marching out of the kitchen.

The three wizards stared at each other for a moment before raced out the room to follow the Black.

While the discussion was happening, Y/n sat on the basement, in complete darkness except for one lonely candle.

Sharing the pieces of pie with the creatures they had caged, song wild on her ears, she was thinking.

How exactly would she tell all of her life to two people who believed she was dead and one who didn't even knew she existed?

It wasn't exactly on her plans to bring her brother, her godfather and her kind of an uncle to her house.

So now, she'd have to smush on her routine some time to answer their questions. And currently, her own questions were ringing on her mind.

What if they didn't trust her? What if they didn't believe her story? What if Harry didn't like her? What if they would trust her but not Regulus?

For years she dreamt of what would happen when they reunited. But in not one of them she thought it'd be like this, escaping Death Eaters and Sirius almost dying without knowing her.

"It really sucks." Murmured to the brand new possessor. It wasn't the biggest one, but it certainly wasn't small. "Wanna know what's worst?" Asked, throwing a piece of blackberry pie to the creature. "I'm probably never going to bring my parents back."

She smiled sadly, looking at the circle of herbs she made on the ground to hold the possessor's power.

The door swung open, and she only noticed because of the light it send all over the room. Pulling the headphones off her ears, fortunately the whispers had settled down and she watched Regulus get closer to her, a very unpleasant look on his face.

"What was our agreement when you left to go to the Ministry?" He asked, hands on his pockets and the girl sighed. He was playing games.

She knew it and he knew she knew.

"That I'd see Harry, only do something if really bad things happened and would get out of there the moment Dearh Eaters showed up." She recited, seeing with the corner of her eyes the other three sneaking to hear their conversation.

"And what did you do?"

"I saw Harry, did something when bad things happened and got out of there. Safe and sound." She added.

"You forgot to mention you went through the veil." His words were sharp and Y/n could swore she saw poison dripping from his mouth.

She started standing up. "Yeah I did. So what? Big deal. Or I should've let your brother die?"

"You weren't prepared. You had zero equipments to help you, do I really need to tell you how everything could've gone wrong?"

The possessors around the room started waking up, glowing scarlet eyes watching them both, seeing their anger and frustration.

"But it didn't! I wasn't going to just stand there and watch Sirius die!"

"You shouldn't even be there! You should've left the moment you saw a Death Eater. You were reckless."

"I was and I'm not sorry for it. I finally met my brother and you got a second chance with yours. Can't we focus on that?"

Regulus kept quiet for some time, anger was bubbling inside him. She had been reckless, could've died and he wouldn't know until way later.

He thought about the three men hearing the discussion - of course he knew they followed him. The Black didn't wanted to give them another reason to think he and Y/n should be apart.

"Fine, I'll focus on that for now, and only for now," she smiled "if you stop this play date and go upstairs, I'm tired of answering all the questions alone."

The girl snorted. "Okay then, but knowing you I'm pretty sure you barely answered one." Taking one more pie square, she started walking. "Come on, they're so curious they forgot what privacy means."

Regulus suppressed a smile when he heard the loud mess of the wizards pretending they weren't listening and started walking with her, leaving the leftovers of the pie, and the candle behind for the possessors.

*********************************************

Next Chapter

Taglist: @intoanothermind @moonysupremacy01 @maraudersarelifee

#harry potter #regulus black #albus dumbledore #black brothers #dumbledore #order of the phoenix #remus lupin #sirius black #regulus black x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #Manipulating Death Series #regulus black x reader

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room027 · 3 months

Text

It's All So Incredibly Loud (Mayor Damien/ Actor Mark)

a/n : hiya! this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr please be nice, im experimenting with my writing style a lil so apologies if this is a lil weird to read :3 enjoy!!

Content Warnings: - Depictions of strangulation - Murder - Descriptions of a corpse

The aftermath of Damien's death, where all Mark can do is cradle his body and drown in regret.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words Mark never thought he’d have to say again had begun to spill from between his lips like a waterfall, repeating over and over in soothing whispers until they’d completely lost their meaning.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Mark looked down at his friend’s limp body. Without the blood and bruises around his neck, and without the sickeningly pale tone of his skin, it would be easy to imagine that he was just resting against the Manor’s wall – sleeping soundly and peacefully. His dark, long hair was damp with sweat and rested lightly on his calm face. He remembered how Damien used to sweep away any loose strands of hair that found their way onto his face. He’d complain about how he despised the claustrophobic feeling of it, yet refused to even consider cutting it short. It was that kind of stubbornness and persistence that, if it had remained, might’ve saved him from ending up the way that he did. But who knows? Mark was stubborn and persistent, and look where that got him— alone, kneeling over his best friend’s corpse.

Mark’s trembling hands found their way to Damien’s cheek, which had begun to lose its signature warmth and rosy tint. He let his fingers trace over every little freckle under Damien’s closed eyes, over all the little scars he had from playing too rough when he was little, over his pursed and soft lips. His thumb stopped at the end of Damien’s mouth, gently trying to push the corners into forming a smile. It ended up looking almost uncanny – lacking everything about Damien’s familiar sweet smile except its vague shape.

Looking at his misshapen curled lips that were being held up by the thumbs of an equally misshapen man, Mark felt a twisted and painful version of the warmth that Damien’s smile once gave him, nothing but the aftertaste of the joy it once held. The very sight made Mark’s stomach turn even more than it already had. As the disgusting and unfamiliar feeling of what he can only assume to be guilt began to set in, Mark pulled his hands off Damien’s face, and back was the peaceful, distant looking frown that came with his sleep.

Guilt. What an odd feeling. The human mind can feel grief over its own poor decision making, feel regret and responsibility at actions it chose to take — sometimes knowing how they would inevitably end.

And Mark didn’t know guilt very well. Guilt was more a white noise in the back of his head, ringing endlessly so much so that he’d learned to tune it out. Guilt was a distant friend that he only spoke to when he needed something, or when it needed something from him. Never, not even while he had his hands around Damien’s throat, did he expect this moment to be the time his conscience caught up to him.

Despite the fact Mark was not well-acquainted with guilt, one thing set it apart from the plethora of negative emotions he could’ve pinpointed at that moment. One singular thought that consumed his mind, body, soul and voice.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

It was hitting like bullets, a shot through the heart every time those futile apologies left his mouth. Damien is dead. He is dead. He is dead, his soul is stuck in the horrible void Mark had learned to call home, and he is not coming back. Damien is dead. He is dead, and by Mark’s hands.

And now it was those same hands that Mark put on the corpse’s cold back, gently massaging the points he knew Damien was the most tense – as if clearing his stiffening muscles of their tension would bring him right back to life, as if his muscle ache was the only thing keeping him on the ground.

Mark’s slender fingers found their way to Damien’s neck, placing his fingertips on the deep purple bruises that he’d left just minutes ago. He stopped, reliving the memory.

Despite the dreadful consequences, Mark would’ve been lying if he said that strangling Damien wasn’t exciting. Mark knew what it was like to feel a rush of adrenaline at committing violence, but this was something deeper. Feeling the last breath slip out of Damien’s throat in his hands was borderline euphoric. He recalled the way Damien croaked out his last few breaths; the way his futile little gasps for air gave up on him little by little. He felt the tips of his fingers push into Damien’s neck in remembrance.

There was gasping, choking, then silence. Pure and utter silence, even from the horrible voices that plagued his mind. The hauntings and time itself paused after his friend’s last little choke, giving the dutiful Mayor his well-deserved moment of silence. But the silence was deafening. Disapproving. The voices being quiet felt more like a mother’s punishment than a moment of peace, as if the universe was crossing its arms and saying: Now look what you’ve done.

Silence. Between the two of them, not one breath was taken.

Moving a little bit closer, Mark wrapped his arms around Damien and cradled his body just like he used to when they were young and in love. He stared at Damien’s unmoving pout and began to speak in a low, hoarse whisper.

“Shhh… It’s going to be okay.” He spoke to nobody and began to rock the corpse back and forth, as if comforting a lost child. “I’m sorry this had to happen, I’m so sorry…”

Mark slowly shut his eyes, grasping as much as he could onto an escape he could never get. “...I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I…”

He forced a deep breath before slowly lowering his head and planting a soft kiss on Damien’s lips – a last-ditch effort to wake his sleeping beauty from his rest.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

#marmien #canon compliant missing scene #actor mark #damien the mayor #damien wkm #wkm #who killed markiplier headcanons #how do i tag this help help\

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sugarakis-p2 · 2 years

Text

Sickly Love

Life isn't easy in a foreign land. The moment your boat crashed into Japan your life was cursed and plagued with illness. You worry it will be worse when you caught the attention of Gyutaro. But to your surprise, he is gentle and calls you an exotic beauty. You can see yourself being with him until he starts crazy talk about his sister and him being demons.

Warning: Non/con, minor character death, demon transformation, sick y/n, flesh eating

The money is decent, and it keeps me away from the customers.

But not from Daki's creepy brother. You worked in the kitchen, cleaning and running other small errands. Not that you were ugly, you are considered very pretty, but this country is harsh to foreigners. Your boat crashed here, and the payment to return home is too much for you. Almost all your money goes to your treatment. Not that you there was anything to go back to. Ever since they pulled you and a few others from the shores of Japan, you have had a cough. Sometimes it's hard to breathe. You are too sick to be a prostitute. Thanks for small miracles.

Almost a year. A yearlong cough that keeps you from clients. A part of you is very grateful for that. The work isn't hard, but you head home exhausted every morning. You live with a few of the other survivors. You are scrubbing the kitchen when he appears behind you. Gyutaro shows up every night to check on his sister. He looked incredibly deformed and possibly diseased. He has a dower face as he stares at your ass. Moving back and forth as you scrub. You don't want to talk to him, but you also rather not have him standing there.

"Can I help you?" You ask in stilted Japanese, a cough following the question.

"What is wrong with you?" He asked surprisingly. He talks in a sing-song lilt with an annoying quiver near the end of every sentence. He makes it easy to hear the rage he carries with him. You shrug. That was incredibly rude of him.

"Who knows. I can't seem to get rid of this cough. What's wrong with you?" You snap back. Yellow eyes narrow. He did not like to be sassed, at least that is what you thought, until a horrid grin spread ear to ear. Flashing you a row of sharp teeth like a lurid shark. That doesn't surprise you in the least. You go back to work, trying to ignore him.

"You're like a drowned cat. I like that. I like how you didn't flinch. Women have been disappearing at night. Doesn't your shift end in two hours? Won't you have to walk home? Alone in the dark?" He chuckled.

The way he laughed made your skin crawl. But he was right. It will be you and Mary walking home alone. Mary is in her sixties, and you must help her most of the time. You two are easy targets for muggers and killers. You stopped and looked up at him. He's some kind of collector for the gambling house, you believe. Despite his consumption appearance, he has sinewy muscles. He shows off with an opened mustard kimono and very baggy brown pants. The bright golden silk sash wrapped around his neck. He must be a good fighter to be a collector. Dirty bare feet as always, you mentally sigh. You will have to scrub the floor there.

"What of it? I don't have any money to pay you to escort me home," you said dully, returning to your work.

"Not needed. I'll do it out of the kindness of my heart. I'm a good guy like that," he laughed as if that was the most hilarious joke he's told. You considered saying no, but he wasn't wrong. Women have been disappearing for the past eight months. He started to get annoyed, visibly annoyed, while you were thinking it over. Dropping his smile and mumbling to himself, "I bet if I was a pretty boy, you wouldn't refuse."

"You'll be the most handsome guy that has walked me home in years. Ok. Thank you," you said, stopping your scrubbing to peer up at him. Gyutaro seems ultra-pleased to be staring down at you struggling to clean. Wheezing as you move to empty the bucket. That creepy smile was back.

"Free advice. Avoid my sister. I'll be back later, kitten," he giggled.

"My name is not kitten!" You shouted at the creep's retreating form.

He was there at the back door waiting for you. Gyutaro said he would carry the old lady to the house first, then return for me. Oh great, you think. This will be forever. Except it wasn't. He ran with Mary like the wind. You have yet to determine how you will be able to keep up with him. You start walking. With no idea how long it will take, you begin the long trudge alone.

Fifteen minutes later, Gyutaro pops up next to you. Your heart nearly stops as you scream and jump from him. It puts you in a coughing fit. He watches you like a ghoul. It quickly dropped when you could breath.

"Why did you leave? Are you stupid?" He asked, annoyed. He's not breathing hard while you take gulps of air to catch your breath.

"I can't keep up with you. Walking me home is (wheeze) pointless," you gasp.

His vice-like grip snatches you up and throws you on his back like a ragdoll. You squeal and clutch to him as he hitches up your legs to carry you piggyback. Then he is off. You whimper again and clutch onto him. His flesh shudders under your chest.

"Hold me tighter," he commanded. Tightening your grip, you press more into his harsh boney body. You wonder how anyone can survive being this thin.

He is so solid and fast. His bones dig into your thighs. Suddenly he is panting, feeling his lungs expand and collapse between your legs. It had been so long since you felt the warmth of a body pressed against your sex. You burn in shame as you feel your middle heat. You bury your face in the crook of his neck. You thought he must smell bad from his greenish complexion and cool off your arousal. But he smelled clean, like oranges and musk. Your body betrays you further as you give a breathy moan against the pulse of his neck. He dropped you off at the front of your house, setting you down gently like fine porcelain.

"Gyutaro, you are so strong. That was amazing. For once, I feel like I can breathe and have a little energy. Thank you. You are truly wonderful," you gushed. He beamed at your praise. Your place is painted with racial slurs. The people standing around usually throw stones at you. They see Gyutaro and back down, and you sigh, "I'm also grateful for that. They usually don't draw blood, but every now and then, someone does. This county has been a curse to me. It was not good before, but there's no lily's here, my favorite flower."

He looked over and gave the locals a dirty look. They started quickly scuttle away. He turned back and grinned grotesquely at you.

"The first time is free. The others will cost you," he beamed.

"What?" You narrowed your eyes at him. Just when you thought he was less of a creep, "I told you I can't afford to pay you."

"I don't want your money. You have none, sad foolish girl. I want your time, and I always collect," he replied. You did not like being called foolish but couldn't help regarding him with appreciation. His kimono was open enough to see his rippling muscles. After all that strength had helped you, you felt more gratitude than annoyance as your cheeks heated up into a bright blush. You looked up at him and smiled.

"Oh. I think I will like that," you said genuinely. Giving him a bow and saying good night.

After weeks of this, you decide he seems less of a creep. He's a very devoted brother to his bitch of a sister. You crossed her once and kept your head down for an abusive lecture. You got off light. She kicked and slapped the other servants. She called you ugly and pathetic several times.

"No wonder he likes you, gross foreign turtle-faced brat!" Daki had screamed. His sister is such a whiny, needy mess for him, it flares jealousy in you. The other staff whispers about them. You personally don't care as long as you never cross their paths. Today it doesn't seem like you're that lucky. Typical.

She must like you a little. Daki didn't throw things directly at you or kick your face like she did to the other girls. Did Gyutaro, the sister pimp, really like you? He really is kind and gentle to you even though Gyutaro is harsh and cruel to others. Even his sister is trying to hold back her wrath. That was something you had never seen. You ponder this as you avoid Daki for the rest of your life, hopefully.

You look forward to her brother climbing on his back, holding him tight. Nuzzling his neck and hair. Your heart beats harder. The people in front of your house have disappeared since he has come into your life. Today you whispered your thank you next to his ear. Your breath gently caresses the cone of his ear. He shudders like a workhorse under you. His strength lends you strength. Diseased or not, you won't be alive for much longer in this foul place, regardless. He has been the best thing in your life. You are teasing with the idea of going further with him when he takes you to some new place. A little way for the beaten path he usually takes. The sudden change makes you more nervous.

"What are we doing here?" You asked him. A little worried about being alone with him like this. You might die soon but didn't want it to be today. It's clear by your neighbor's reaction to him that Gyutaro is dangerous. At least at your place, you'll be surrounded by people with a delusion of safety.

"Look. These are spider lilies. You told me you missed the lilies of your homeland. These are not the same. But hopefully, you will see we have lilies too. I have an eye for beauty. They are like you. Exotic beauty," he grinned, picking lilies for you.

"They are very pretty. How old are you? You still look young," You asked with a brilliant smile, accepting his boutique and trying to flirt. He stared at you momentarily to be sure you were not mocking him. Beaming with pride at the youthful compliment. He looked wistfully towards the park.

"I only remember the past ten years clearly. I could be 23 to 25," he said absently, scratching himself.

Do you want to go for a stroll over there?" You asked, pointing to a far-off park. It had several of those flowering willow trees. They looked pretty and smelled sweet.

"No," He said abruptly, grabbing your hand and walking you towards your place.

He's surprisingly gentle with his strength. You are shocked by this whenever he touches you. He could easily crush your hand. But he is always careful with you. You have a coughing fit, and he stops to help and rub your back. Kneeling to let you climb on his back. He is not a conventional beauty, his dower yellow eyes and asymmetrical features make that an understatement, but you admire his strength and gentle ways.

You weakly cling to him, tucked against him and wrapping your scarf around the both of you. Surprised when he slows to a walk, pulling your scarf off before you get to your door. Putting you down, clamping a hand over your mouth. But not before you see a wailing Mary being dragged off by Samurai. She was covered in blood, screaming how it wasn't her.

You attempt to shout out against Gyutaro's hand. Eyes watering, tears spilling as Gyutaro yanks you with him, hiding in a side alley.

"You poor dumb woman. To them, you are a foreigner. An unwanted invading parasite. Something that doesn't belong and never should have been here in the first place. Use your brain. I know it's hard for you. But think what they will do to you if you run over there?" Gyutaro growled.

You did stop to think about it. They are carting away a little old lady for the murder of fully grown people. The punishments in Japan's justice system are brutal. Gyutaro is right. You were not meant to be here. You can barely survive, and the land has been trying to kill you. You have a coughing fit just at the thought of it. Gyutaro clamps his hand tighter. Cutting off your air. You claw at his hand, panicking to get air into you.

"There, there, kitten. I know you are trying with what little you have. You don't have to think while I'm here. I'll do it for you. Poor weak creature. You never stood a chance here. Pathetic little drowned kitten," Gyutaro giggles as your struggles weaken. As my lungs give up trying to pull in air. Blackness crowds your sight.

You wake up thrashing and gulping for air, clawing blankets in darkness. Strong arms suddenly wrap around you. It's Gyutaro. It has to be. You've studied these arms over the past few weeks. You would know them anywhere. But something is off. He doesn't smell like Gyutaro. He has a rancid iron scent that lingers heavily in the air.

"Calm down," he says in a friendly tone. His rough hands are making their way under your kimono, and you squeal in utter shock.

"What are you doing?" You whimper as his digits grope your breast, pinching your nipple lightly.

"You can't go home. So, I brought you here. Where you will be safe. It's out of town, and I sleep here until I am with my sister. We think it will be soon, I can already control her from a distance, but in the meantime, it's here. Your suffering is exquisite. I've wanted to devour you for too long," He murmured in the dark, shifting to light a candle for a dim glow. The room is stuffy, windowless, and cold, with a ladder leading up. The floor is smooth compacted clay. The place is very barren, with a few essentials. Oh no, your mind screams as your panic rises, and you must voice it or explode.

"No! This is not fair. Why must I suffer like this? I have never done anything to deserve this other than to be born," You wailed as Gyutaro giggled at your despair.

Parting your layers enough to cup a breast to his mouth. You scream and pound at him with all your rage. You managed to claw him, only to have those wounds heal before your eyes like magic. You must be delirious with oxygen deprivation. He cackles in joy as he keeps sucking and licking your nipple. You instantly feel drained and breathless as you fall back into a coughing fit. His assault on your body becomes more vicious.

"How pathetic. So weak and helpless. The only thing you have going for you is you're slightly smarter than Daki. You try my sad, soggy kitten. I've waited a long time for you to ripen. I've watched that delicious ass wiggle as you scrap and toil. Now you are ready to be completely mine. You have no place to go. You will have to rely on your Gyutaro," he cackled against your chest.

Pulling the rest of your kimono open with a violent jerk. Exposing your sickly flesh to the cold air, making your burning lungs gasp in shock. Your skin breaks out in goose bumps as you shiver from the frigid draft and his warm tongue lapping your hardening peaks. Suckling and playing with them too roughly, you moaned in pain, not pleasure. Everything aches. The longer he exposes you to the cold, the worse it gets.

"These saved your life. If I had not felt these hard nipples on my back, I would have killed you for talking back to me. Ooooh, the heat of your cunt on my spine," He moaned as a shudder ran through him. He pinched and peaked your nipples, rubbing his thick cock roughly on you.

"It hurts," you whimpered. He threw his head back in a horrible cackle. He ground his sharp hips and his large hard presses against yours, crying out at the intense pain he was sending through your middle. Spreading you open for his pleasure.

"It will be excruciating. I asked around. Little virgin. You will suffer and cry because you are weak and mine. I will take excellent care of you. I won't eat you. You'll beg to be a demon like me. It was delicious. The old woman got blamed over my meal," he giggled. You are not a virgin, but you will never tell him that because he is completely insane. Claiming to be a literal demon is a sign of insanity. He seems to be getting harder the more he mocks you. It's already too big. It has been a long time since you did have sex. He was right. This would be painful if you didn't escape.

It was hard to breathe in the cold already. You shivered and groaned. He growled in satisfaction at your pain. Loosening his baggy pants. What spring out to smack your sex makes you whimper and jerk in fear. His cock is not normal looking. None of him had ever looked normal, but this was extreme. He reminded you of a praying mantis. His upper legs are bulky compared to the rest of his body. Pressing his boney hips between your legs until you open enough for him. His cock that he languidly strokes, drool spilling over the top of your belly from his overly thick tip. His sickly tint, three spots, and a splash of diseased black make you shudder in fear. A prominent bulge below the head of his cock. You already feel weak. But when you saw that thing between his legs, spitting venom on you, you felt cold, and the blood drained from you.

"Why are you trembling like a leaf? Is it because you're afraid of me? Because you're weak and helpless? Either way, I find it so pretty," He chuckled, roughly spreading you apart. He stares and inspects you with slack-jawed interest.

Closing one eye, he concentrates on rubbing himself against you. Using your wet folds as a lubricant. He lined himself up, and you squirmed and panted shallowly as he rubbed the head of his dick over your sensitive clit. Intense sensations run through your middle. Notching himself, he thrusts his hips forward. He slips, hitting your clit. You twist in pain and cry out. That throbbing thick beast he gripped was shiny with your slick, the tip dripping cum, pumping it three times, squeezing that dirty seed on your belly. He tries twice more, slipping on your slick, forcing you to hold still with one rough hand on your bare thigh.

"I know, Daki!" He hisses. That confused you more than anything. His sister is not here. Why is he thinking or talking about her now, in this intimate moment? Maybe those disgusting rumors are true.

"No! Stop this! It hurts. Please Gyutaro. If you had asked, I would have given this to you. But it would have been together. Not like this," you plead.

Gyutaro does not appear to be listening to you. He is panting, his eye looking through you, staring a thousand miles away. Mumbling about Daki while spreading your legs wider with a tight grip on your thigh. Gripping the head of his cock with the other and pressing at your entrance. He thrusted his hips forward hard, finally pushing past your resistive entrance. You squirmed while he groaned, his eyes opening in surprise.

"Such a little hole. Doesn't look big enough," he groaned. It's when you realize, Gyutaro is the virgin. Gripping your waist harshly. You screamed as his head pushed in, stretching your entrance painfully. Forcing past your squeezing walls. You tried to squirm away, but he followed you before pressing painfully hard on your thigh. Driving you completely open while pinning you like an insect as he anchored himself deep inside you until he bottomed out. His legs and arms trembled for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"You look completely miserable and pathetic," he chuckled. Eyes heavy with lust as he presses his boney against yours. You can't breathe. You squirm, pinned in the middle to the mat with his thick heavy cock, "Quit struggling. It's useless. Behave, and I will cover us in blankets."

You gasp for air and immediately stop fighting. Struggling only makes it harder to breathe anyway. Your body clenches around his twitching throbbing cock. It has not stopped seeping hot precum. That was a kind mercy. He made you slick when you couldn't produce anything but sad little pants. Tossing blankets over us both, he lightly pressed his body against yours again. Cradling you in his arms, his fingers loosening your hair, running through your locks, creating delicious tingles on your scalp. The light sniffling and nose nuzzling in your hair started to feel nice.

He's mean. He has always been mean and cruel to other people. But to you, he has always tempered it with gentle care. That soft touch is what broke you. You are dying one way or another. He may be diseased, a cruel monster, but you will accept his kindness because it was the most you have been given in a long time. Wrapping your arms weakly around his neck, you lift your head to press your lips to his. He was surprised again, with a wide jerk of surprise you both grunted at.

It hurts so deep in your center as shudders of pleasure creep and crawl through your body until you are dizzy with need. He began to thrust at a feverish pace of a rutting animal. You groan in gain as his grinding hips are sawing through yours. He is so thin and sharp. It's pure agony.

He stops, closing his eye and mumbling. "It's hurting her. Be of some use. You are stupid in everything else. Be good for something," He hisses this into the air, making you feel crazy. Who is he talking to? Maybe he is insane. Maybe you should dare to run? All this ran through your mind when he sheepishly asked you to "Lift your knees."

"Huh?" you asked before you thought it through. His hand's cup under your knees and pull them up violently when you don't respond immediately and press them down to either side of your head. Mewling, you try to hold back the tears.

"Lift your knees unless you want to suffer?" Seeing your suffering, he growled, a tinge of concern near the end. Are you insane, or does he care? You lift your legs with a cry. Your knees are in the crook of his elbows as he shifts with you. Not allowing you to get away. He's pushing deeper in you, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. Oh god! It was a surface pleasure that ended in deep acne near the end. At least he wasn't sawing into your flesh. An ache deep inside you as you groaned and writhed under him.

One that lasted until the next full thrust. Instead of sharp hips rubbing on soft hips, they are cupping on the back of plush ass and thighs. Gyutaro's hips stuttered painfully slow at first. Like a shy virgin, he was timid, pulling his cock out and stuffing you again with a thickness that stretched you wide. Thrusting until he is firmly planted to the base. Until each thrust gave him more pleasure and confidence. Hovering over your moaning and grunting, his hair tickling your cheeks.

His lips come crashing against yours. Too wet, as you swallow his saliva and whimper. His tongue stroking over yours sensually. He grinds his cock deeper. Making you squeal in his mouth at the sharp pain and pleasure. Kissing against your cervix sharply enough to make you squeak and tear up. He nips your lower lip and pulls away with a loud slurp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Panting so hard and hot you can see billowy clouds in the dark.

"You taste too good. If I'm not careful, I may end up devouring you differently. I have a ravenous appetite. That would be a shame. I rather like sad, pathetic things. I can relate. Poor little foreign toy," He chuckled.

Gyutaro's sad eyes brighten with each slow grinding thrust. His length stroking against your slick walls, that suck him back in with each long deep stroke. Each thrust warms your middle, picking up speed. It's quickly becoming a pyre in you.

"So tight and warm," he groaned, "You can't whimper like that. I don't like controlling my desire. You've already pushed me to the limit. I am ravenous. Tight flesh trying to keep me out."

Your hot, slick walls constrict while your nails dig into his flesh weakly. He gasps and grabs your hands, making you tear him open. He is completely insane! Your mind screams in utter fear. His blood sweeps, and then his wounds quickly heal. You scream in gut-dropping terror. The walls of your pussy constrict on his invading cock, making his thrusts slow. He groans and drools.

"Your living flesh is hot. It responds to my cock. So wet. Your fear makes me feral," he snarled in a sick joy. Ramming his hardening cock faster. Rolling his hips with a painfully delicious grind.

“No, no, no, no, no!” You are screaming and clawing at him for a different reason. Heat coils in you, burning the strength in your body with pure ecstasy. You are mentally numb, feeling fucked stupid, and diving into insanity yourself. This is not possible. Demons do not exist. Yet one is killing you with his cock. It did not make sense.

"Useless to argue and lie. Your cunt is sucking me back in. It does not want to let me go! Tight wet pussy. My pussy. It loves me. Your body is honest. Lewd woman. It is what saved you. Your body wants me!" He screamed manically, happy. Intense eyes boring into yours. Your lungs burn as the air is being crushed from you. The hot tension in your body tightens until it explodes in a blissful release.

His back arches push his cock in deeper. His mouth gaps into a primal scream. Hot jets of cum fill and overflow your cunt. Your vice grip quivering and milking him of every drop. Your bodies meld partially where you are connected. Bending your mind further into shock and pleasure. The sensations of desire are prolonged. Carnality racks through both your bodies sharing a pulse and rhythm. Your heart beats as one leaves you lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. A horrible burning that is seizing your thoughts and functions. You achieve nirvana as a floating sensation stops all the pain and leaves your physical body a trembling mess under Gyutaro.

"More." You force your physical self to gasp weakly. He shudders, panting, his lust-hooded eyes filled with love. A moment later, you can feel that love twitch mercilessly deep in your hot cum filled channel. You constrict on his cock like a python and gasp when you see you made him gasp. A little control in this chaotic moment made you so happy. You don't think you've ever felt this happy. Not when your life has been filled with bad luck and misery.

"You will be the death of me. I did not know I could do this with anyone other than, Daki. Even then, we were not able to meld like this. You enhanced my blood technique. You are mine. We are one. Do you feel that? That is the master's essence turning you into a demon. This is the most peaceful way than when I was initiated. Muzan didn't want to at first. But I convinced him by explaining the experiment for blood technique," he husked.

A roll of emotional switch in you. A wave of jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, which he feels. Smacking his lips, he was used to the flavor but surprised. You couldn't escape the meld even if you wanted to, which means he can't either. How dare he talk about his sister when he's fucking you. Not only did you not understand the stupid things he was saying, but it enraged you that even at this moment, he was saying gross things about his sister while he was buried in you . You! Not Daki! You.

"You need to shut up!" You wheeze, clamping your lips over his. Gyutaro lifted you in his strong arms, pressing you to flush, tongue massaging yours. Feeling his chest expand and collapse. You envy them. He separates enough to thrust up. Forcefully rubbing you along his body as he pumps you up and down on his length as you are a limp drooling mess in his arms. This time when you cum at his length, stars burst into your vision. The darkness clouds your eyesight.

When you wake again, all your pain is gone. The pain of your spite lingers, as it's a scar that is too deep to no longer feel, even if you don't entirely remember it, but your physical pain is no more. Gyutaro is shoving delicious meat in your mouth. Washing it down with blood, he feeds to you with his mouth like a mother hen. He truly loves you, and you feel your body growing stronger.

"The Master understands your pain. This is the way we are even in the world. We will make them pay. I always collect," he groaned. Feed you more. An overwhelming need to kill and collect with your love wells up.

"I want to kill all those that have thrown rocks and made my life more miserable," you plead. He giggled.

"Don't worry. I already collected. You are eating one of your neighbors as we speak. They will never catch us. Master Muzan wants you to infiltrate the churches. With your exotic looks, they will trust you. You will serve Daki and me. But I will take care of you both. You don't have to think too hard, my love," He cooed.

You nod in appreciation. Life has been so much easier since you've become a demon. You became Daki's servant as she went to a better house. She is still a brat but treats you with love. Sometimes kissing and lingering longer than you enjoy. They make it clear they are one, and you are their beloved. Your blood magic has been getting stronger to assist your loves. You emit smells that connect to a person's positive memory. It helps Daki manipulate people.

You admire how she can be charming. Filling with pride when they praise you for making her job more manageable. You manipulate records, and Daki is never caught for being ageless. You are happy until you are killed by a Hashira. At least it wasn't an apprentice demon slayer. You wait. You wait for them. Watching and lamenting as Gyaturo decides it will be better to hibernate within Daki. Even in death, you are second. You think, rolling your eyes in limbo. He only ever wanted the best for her that was not granted by birth. He loved you dearly, and now that you are gone, he rather be in Daki's shadow.

You hated the red boy but were grateful he stopped their fighting during their final moments. He was right. They feel that way about each other, but their heart of hearts do not mean it. You rejoiced when you saw them in the flames. Gladly following them. Gyutaro and Daki guiding you with them. They remember you and don't regret their love and faith in you. Gyutaro weakly tries to send you away. But like Daki, you can't. He lifts you with one arm, Daki wrapping your child limb around your neck to help stable you as you all cling together. Gyutaro is strong enough to carry and love you both.

That is true love.

#gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyutaro x you #gyutaro #demon slayer x y/n

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noxtivagus · 2 years

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I FEEL BETTER AGAIN HSJFJDJS

#some ppl reminded me again #ppl on tumblr literally have no obligation whatsoever to say anything so i rlly do try to take your words to heart aaaa #then ffxiv!! back on twintania bcs two more friends got married #saw some ppl again that i haven't seen in months ! our fc lead 🥺#i'm a bit lost n confused tho abt what my irls mean to me uh #bcs i've been feeling. distant lately?#w ppl in general i've been feeling distant but #it hits diff w ppl i'm closer w #like i still care for them but #i always just wonder what i mean to ppl. what they think of me #bcs the way our minds n thoughts n emotions work n differ is smth i want to know n understand properly #i hate ignorance. it makes me ask too much questions #n being alone makes it too easy to drown in that darkness #n then i just lose myself in that oblivion. abyss. ocean #but it's so difficult to deal with bcs #i have a lot of contradicting thoughts?#n then when it gets overwhelming i want to hide #but in the end i just want to be who i am in a certain moment. that broken beauty of realness #always remembering the back and moving onwards towards the present #sighh i really just want to understand :') others n the universe n myself #so i'll write. i won't keep all these words to myself. i'll share what i can #n i'll hide some of these words for as long as it takes. maybe someday someone would read them from my eyes and wish to make them reality #n i'll write to myself for myself. every story i've ever dreamed of. every word and musing that crosses my thoughts #my mind's another world on its own. so i'll live in it. i'll embrace and learn it #n maybe that one wish in the deepest depths of my heart #someday someday maybe i'll find someone just like me #n maybe together we can make our stories come true. make our own in our own little real ways #this world's lonely. but i'll rise above it like i always have /#or i'll swim through the rivers of tartarus. whichever way it may be i'll #make it through. :') but i can't help but feel like a part of me's been lost forever. not my loss though. it's not like /they/ care anyways

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letterstotheflre · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 & 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

summary: when you and chrissy save a pirate from drowning, you get him to show you what humans do for fun. [pirate!eddie x mermaid!reader x mermaid!chrissy]

cw: slight manipulation from u n chrissy, reader is mentioned to have long hair so she can cover her chest, smut || 18+ only [ft. threesome, oral sex (m receiver), handjob, cum play, monster fucking (technically?? u n chrissy are the monsters lol), beach sex, reader n chrissy are very innocent but somehow two whores?? who knew u could be both]

a/n: this was super fun to write ngl. please lmk what u think!!

“Isn’t he kinda… cute?” Chrissy asks you, eyes glued to the man laying on the shore between your bodies.

You look down at him, taking in his soft cheeks and his nicely shaped nose. You trace the bridge of it with a finger, leaving his skin dewy with droplets of sea water, and drift your gaze down to his plush lips. Under the slight bluish tint they have from being underwater for too long, you can still make out their natural pink colour.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if they’d feel as soft as Chrissy’s lips do on yours.

“Yeah," you hum, now tracing his cupid’s bow. “He’s pretty.”

She twirls one strand of his hair around her finger. “And his hair! It’s almost as long as Jane’s now that she’s back.”

The mention of Jane brings back the memory of the captain that kept her for years for his twisted experiments on your people and reminds you what exactly lays between you and Chrissy. You recoil your hand back and grab her wrist. “He’s a human, Chrissy. We shouldn’t have helped him.”

Her delicate features contort into a confused frown. “But he was drowning. He would’ve died if we hadn’t pulled him out!”

Maybe he should’ve, is what you’re about to say when the man starts coughing. The coughs wreck his body and water spills from his lips, his eyes slowly fluttering open but narrowing quickly from the glare of the sun. He tries to get up, using his elbows as leverage, but another cough throws him back down.

“Take it easy,” Chrissy tells him, shielding him from the sun with her body. His eyes widen at the sight of her, grow even wider when he realises she isn’t alone and sees you next to her. “You had a nasty fall.”

“Wha– What’s going on?” His voice is hoarse from the abuse his vocal chords suffered and the lack of proper air in his lungs. “Who are you?”

“I’m Chrissy, and this is–”

“Chrissy! Don’t tell him our names!” You scold.

She rolls her eyes at your overprotectiveness. “He’s not going to do anything. He can barely stand.”

You scowl at her. “You can be so careless. It’s a wonder you still have your tail on.”

“Tail?” The man's baffled voice breaks up your argument. He glances to the side and sees both of your tails wagging in the air– Chrissy’s baby blue scales and your purple ones shimmering under the golden light. “Woah! What the fuck?!”

“See? He hasn’t got a clue what we are. He’s not going to kidnap us or whatever dark fantasy you’ve created in your mind– anyway!” She changes the subject before you can tell her that you don’t have fantasies about a human male kidnapping you. She turns to him and smiles sweetly. “What’s your name?”

The long haired man looks between the two of you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Ed– Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie,” she tastes the name on her tongue. “That’s pretty. What happened to you? You’re pretty far from home.”

“I, uh, my ship got wrecked.” He gulps when you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. Your mother had warned you of human men and the lies they would tell you to get you to trust them and this one sounded very familiar. “There was a storm and– and a wave flipped us over. My friends– shit,” he wipes his face with his hands, clearly distressed. Your heart softens ever so slightly. “I have to find them.”

He tries to get up again but you place a hand on his chest and he freezes. He stares at you, brown eyes pulling you in like a current. “I’m sorry about your friends but you shouldn’t go anywhere yet. You’re still hurt,” you point to his arm where a deep gash seeps blood down to his forearm.

“Fuck,” he swears. He looks down at himself and rips a piece of the cloth he’s wearing over his torso with a low grunt that makes your scales tingle. He wraps it around the wound, hissing when it presses against the gash and baring his teeth. He struggles to tie a knot, yet you and Chrissy are mesmerized as you watch him work.

“What’s that?” You ask him once he’s done.

“What’s– Oh, this? It’s a dressing. To keep the wound from infecting.”

“No, I mean the… things you put on your body.” He points to his chest to make sure you’re asking what he thinks you’re asking. “Yeah, those. They don’t seem very comfortable.”

“You don’t know what these are?” He looks at your bodies and realises that neither you or Chrissy is wearing anything to cover your chests, only your long hair keeping some of your modesty. Blood rushes to his cheeks and you giggle at how pink he suddenly is.

He seems to be speaking to himself when he mumbles, “Oh, wow. No, no, of course you don’t know. You’re mermaids. Very pretty and n-naked mermaids.” He clears his throat and blinks awkwardly, looking away to pretend he wasn’t ogling at you. “They– They’re clothes. This is, um, a shirt. And these are pants,” he explains, pointing to his chest and legs.

“And that thing under your pants?” You point to his groin where a bulge strains against the thin black fabric. “Is that where you keep your shells?”

Eddie gets even redder. “That’s, um…” He seems at a loss of words, mouth opening and closing without making any sound.

“Oh, we love collecting shells! Can we see?” Chrissy eagerly leans forward and unties the knot that keeps his pants tied together, lowering them quickly without waiting for Eddie’s answer. Instead of the clatter of shells you were expecting, something long and thick hits Eddie’s stomach. “Oh, that’s… not a shell.”

“What even is it?” You tilt your head to the side and reach your hand towards it. You’re about to touch it when Eddie’s fingers wrap around your wrist tightly, stopping your movements.

He almost cowers from the deadly glare you’re giving him for touching you so roughly. “Sorry, sorry.” He takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “That’s, uh, that’s my cock.”

“Cock?” Eddie closes his eyes when he hears Chrissy’s sweet voice say such a filthy word. His cock twitches. “Oh my Poseidon, it moved,” she whispers to you in awe.

“What is it for?” You ask him.

“For fucking.” That one answer came out naturally for him but when he sees your confused stares he scrambles his brain for a word you would understand. “Uh… mating. For mating and… playing.”

“How do you play with it? It seems rather… stiff.”

Eddie plays with a strand of his hair, trying to cover some of his burning face with it. “You touch it. With your hand. Or you– you put it inside a woman. Or man.”

You stare at his cock– long and thick and as pink as his lips, with a tip that’s a slightly darker hue than the rest of it. There’s a thick tuft of curls at the base and two round sacks hanging heavy from it. You can’t help but want to squeeze them.

You lick your lips and look back at Chrissy who’s doing the same as you. Ogling. Her eyes are dark with need, the same look she gets when you two are left alone for more than a couple of minutes– especially on a full moon.

Before you can pay attention to the warning voice of your mother that echoes in your ears, you ask, “Can we play with it?”

Eddie swallows harshly. “I don’t think–”

“Please?” Chrissy asks, pouting her lips, her voice taking in the sultry tone the elder mermaids spend years teaching you. Her tail flicks yours and you copy her, rounding out your narrowed eyes and looking at him pleadingly. “We don’t know if we’ll ever see a human again. We just want to know what it feels like.”

Eddie seems to debate with himself for a few seconds, only the sounds of the crashing waves breaking the silence. Your voices and your eyes have him in a trance and, completely ignoring all the warnings he heard about mermaids, he nods, wet hair swinging with the sharp movements. “Yeah, okay. Knock yourselves out.”

You and Chrissy giggle happily and wrap a hand each around him, tails wiggling in excitement. You twist them around, getting a feel of the velvety skin and the ridges of the veins that lead towards the head, watching amazed as Eddie’s cock grows more stiff, becoming heavy in your palms.

“What’s happening? Why is it getting so hard?”

Eddie takes a deep breath to ground himself, nostrils flaring. “Cause I’m turned on.”

“Turned on?”

“You’re making me feel really good,” he rephrases through clenched teeth. Your hands are incredibly smooth as you hold him, probably from the slick film coating them to protect them from the abrasion of the salt in the water. He exhales a shaky gasp of pleasure when you slowly glide them up and down, his stomach flexing.

You bite your lip and look up at him. “And how do we make you feel more good?”

“He’s been looking at your tits a lot,” Chrissy pipes up before Eddie can answer. There’s mischief in her blue eyes as she pulls your hair away from your chest, revealing your breasts completely. Eddie’s mouth falls wide open. “Do they ‘turn you on’, Eddie? Go ahead, touch them,” she encourages him.

You sigh when his hand cups your breast and kneads the fat gently, thumb flicking your hard nipple. Eddie watches your expressions carefully. When you arch forward into his touch and tighten your hand around, making him groan, he twists your nipple, earning himself a sweet moan from you.

“Aren’t they soft? They also feel really good in my mouth, Eddie.” Chrissy smirks, moving her own strawberry blonde hair out of the way so Eddie can touch hers as well.

“Holy shit.” His mind conjures up a filthy image– the two of you under the water, hands slowly down your bodies and mouths kissing every inch of skin they could, eyes rolling back once you sucked on the others breasts. His hips buck up. “You two– you play together?”

“Mhm. All the time.”

“Oh my God.” His grip on your tits tightens. He keeps tilting his hips up, moaning softly as he fucks your hands. Something that has a pearly sheen starts to leak out of his slit and drip down his shaft, making your fingers sticky. “Yeah, lick it up, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groans when Chrissy asks if she can taste them.

She slides her tongue over your knuckles and catches the first drops that fell, eyes widening at the salty flavour. She hums appreciatively and leans down for more. “That’s nice. D’you want a taste?” She asks you.

You nod enthusiastically and her fingers gently grab your chin, tilting your head towards her so she can dribble the white substance into your mouth. “S’good,” you breathe out.

Eddie slams a hand on the sand, eyes hazy with lust as he watches the two of you share his precum and enjoy it. None of the women back home had ever done something like that, not even some of the whores his friends brought back to the ship on the odd nights they stayed in a popular town’s port.

You keep stroking his cock as you kiss, focusing more on the upper part of his shaft since your hand is on top of Chrissy’s. You gently squeeze the head and more precum oozes out. You flick your tongue over his slit and give it back to Chrissy, pecking her lips sweetly when she swallows it down.

Eddie groans when you do it again. “Like that. Just like that. You’re doing so good. G-Give it a little kiss– oh fuck.”

His eyes roll back when you kiss his tip, soft lips peppering little kisses all around it. Chrissy copies you, letting go of him so she has more flesh to kiss and slobber all over. Your eyes meet as you lick him, your happiness clear in your gazes.

She takes your hand and guides you down to the two soft sacks that caught your eye before, adding the smallest pressure to the back of your hand so you cup his balls and squeeze them with care.

Eddie moans loudly and throws his head back on the sand. “Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re– Jesus H Christ.” He gasps in surprise when Chrissy wraps her warm mouth around his dick and you kitten lick his fuzzy balls. “Oh, you’re gonna kill me.”

He lets go of your chest and the sand so he can add pressure to the back of both of your heads, keeping you stuck to his groin. Carefully, he thrusts his hips up, slowly fucking Chrissy’s untrained throat and making her gag.

The lewd sounds make you squirm in place, the musky scent of Eddie’s hairs that tickle your nose doing little to calm you down. You’re desperate for some relief but it’s not a full moon yet– you have no legs to spread for him. So you whine needily around his balls, eyebrows scrunching up in desperation.

Eddie shushes you, scratching your scalp with the tips of his fingers to help you calm down. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he coos. “J-Just a little more and you’ll make me cum so fucking hard. Gonna fill your girlfriend’s throat and make her share it with you, since you liked my cum so much. You want that?”

You look at Chrissy and see the tears springing in her lower waterline from the abuse her throat is suffering, some of them already falling down her rosy cheeks. With your thumb, you brush them away and offer her a reassuring smile, one that she struggles to reciprocate with Eddie stretching her lips wide but you’re able to tell she’s enjoying herself nevertheless.

You hum in agreement and lave your tongue over his balls, feeling them twitch in your mouth. His moans grow louder and louder, thighs trembling and hips thrusting wildly. “Shit, I’m gonna– Oh, fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming,” he grunts and pushes Chrissy down completely until her nose is flush with his base.

True to his word, he slowly peels you off him and, with a hold on the back of your necks, guides your mouths together. Chrissy is smiling as she merges your lips in a heady kiss, your tongue sliding around hers so you can scoop up any leftovers that she didn’t swallow for herself, spit dribbling down the corners of your mouths and to your chests.

When his grip on your necks slackens, Chrissy tiredly rests her head on your shoulder. You blink slowly and pet the top of her hair, kissing her temple.

“You’ll come back for us, right?” she asks Eddie with a hoarse voice.

Eddie licks his lips and looks down at the pair of you, memorising the image of two beautiful mermaids looking at him with needy and wanting eyes. What kind of pirate would he be if he didn’t collect his treasure?

He brushes your cheekbones with his thumb, your eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham smut #poly!eddissy #eddie x reader x chrissy #mermaid!reader #pirate!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #chrissy cunningham imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

The Boy in the Window 16 ~ Tommy Shelby X Reader (Series)

Chapter Summary: (Y/N) grappels with the aftermath of her decision and tries to get on with her daily life, which isn't made any easier by the rumours that have begun to circulate

Notes: Have we all recovered from last time? I'm not sure I have...but onward we go. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 4371

Part 16

[Previously]

(Y/N) had never expected it to be easy. She wasn’t naive, but not even in her worst nightmares had she thought it would be this awful.

She had thought that with enough discipline she’d get through it. After all, loss was no stranger to her. And she had always found the strength to somehow go on.

No matter what life had thrown at her, no matter what threatened to drag her down and rip her apart, she had somehow always found a way to bite down and get on with it. Mostly, she had just drowned herself in banality, focussing on nothing but the day to day.

But the trouble was, he had become her day to day, so even if she tried to block out any thought, to focus not nothing but the menial tasks of her daily life, she could not escape it.

In fact, it only ever made it worse.

He had become such a large part of her reality that her subconscious refused to accept the fact that he was no longer here.

She’d drag her tired body, exhausted from the night she’d spend staring at the ceiling, downstairs after only a few hours of restless sleep and in her fatigue, she'd make breakfast only to realise later that she had taken more than just two plates out of the cupboard, more than two cups, more than two spoons.

All these little items weighed more than a ton whenever she had to put them back unused.

When she had been folding clothes, she had stumbled about a stray sock and found herself staring at the stupid monogram - C.S.

It wouldn’t be missed, not by the man who had paid for them and not by the boy who had worn them.

He probably had a whole drawer of socks, besides, he had always groaned when she had reminded him to wear warm socks, preferring to run barefoot even on the coldest of days.

Unless they wanted to go ice skating.

There was no use in sending the sock back, and so she kept it folden in her bedside drawer.

A stupid, single sock with no use and no purpose, marked with the initials of the previous owner and stained with her own tears.

She’d tidy up the toys and feel the ones grow heavy in her hand which he had considered his favourite. They were old toys, not comparable to the shiny fashionable ones he would have in his playroom, but he had liked them, had played with them, had given them life.

And now they were just lying there looking as lost as she felt.

(Y/N) still hadn’t managed to adapt her cooking. Why, she could not tell.

She hadn’t been as foolish when it had been the other way around, when she had begun to cook for three or four, but now there were always left overs that would remain and mock her for her folly.

(Y/N) had never realised how few two really was until she sat with Emma alone at her kitchen table.

It had never been big, but it had never felt so empty before.

But the worst part was the moments in which she truly forgot.

When she was out with Emma, an icy fear would grab hold of her and she’d search the street for blond hair and soft hands, for the dark peaked cap, and the perfectly fitted coat.

She’d feel the kind of terror that threatened to rip her heart out of her chest only to realise that he was not there because he was not here anymore.

No Italians, no vendetta or dangers just…life had taken him from her.

And her weak, foolish heart couldn’t handle it.

Emma knew it too.

She hadn’t understood why Charlie had left, no matter how many times (Y/N) told her that he had gone home.

She still asked for him, every day, every night.

Once, Emma had flicked through her story book, only to stop at the page that showed the illustration of the Princess' loyal horse.

Charlie had hated that story, had wailed so loudly her ears almost fell off when she had read that the horse had been killed.

He had made her change the ending after that, but there was no changing the ending now and so Emma’s little fingers traced the fur of the white horse before pushing at the pages angrily as if she wanted to put as much distance between herself and the image.

(Y/N) couldn’t blame her, though. After all, she would lie awake at night wondering if he was alright, if he was healthy, if he was eating well.

One time there had been sudden rainfall and her only thought had been the desperate hope that the boy hadn’t been riding when the skies broke, else he could’ve gotten a terrible cold.

Of course, there was no way she’d ever know. She had no right to know.

So she would just spend her nights in her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to fight the memories and thoughts that made her throat close and her eyes burn while she shuddered.

(Y/N) never remembered to heat a brick for her bed now that it was cold once more.

And once she realised, she often no longer had the strength to get up and go down.

Besides, she deserved the cold, and the empty bed and the pain. It was punishment for her sins.

If only it didn’t hurt Emma so.

The fact that her daughter was unhappy, wasn’t lost on her.

She had grown quiet in his absence, and she was never quiet unless she had been ill.

In the months and weeks past she had gotten used to a playmate and had somehow forgotten how to play all on her own.

(Y/N) had deserved her own heartbreak, but Emma hadn’t.

And that was a kind of pain that she couldn't endure.

Her fingers stroked over Emma’s hair.

Instead of looking at her, her fingers kept pushing the small ball so that it only rolled a few inches, before rolling it back with the others.

“After church,”, she told her, trying to sound as light hearted as possible, “we can go to the church green, how does that sound?”

Emma only shrugged.

(Y/N) pressed a kiss to the top of her head and sighed as she got up.

They weren’t late to church, but the eyes followed them anyways.

It wasn’t a new sensation.

Whenever she went to Mrs Cook for new work or to Mr and Mrs Davies for her groceries, people would have watched but since it was over, she somehow felt more vulnerable under the eyes that followed her and the whispers she would leave in her wake.

By now she did not doubt that they knew.

A child that came with the Shelbys and happened to leave with them as well?

Even if she had somehow managed to deny that, she had forgotten that Ethel Laddler’s sister lived across from the Shelbys in Watery Lane.

(Y/N) wasn’t as naive as to think that she would have kept the sight of her and the children arriving with Tommy Shelby to herself.

No, she felt these gazes and she knew what they meant.

Luckily Emma was too small to notice.

During the prayer time, when all eyes were closed and all hands clasped she not only prayed for Emma, and for her own dead, but for Charlie and his father too.

How could she not?

But perhaps she shouldn’t have done, because (Y/N) felt a decade older when she opened her eyes again, and a lifetime more wery.

“Go,”, she told Emma after the service was done.

“Don’t you want to play with your friends?”

They were glad to see Emma, but her daughter who was usually fidgety during church in expectation of the time after only went with slow and dragged steps.

With a sigh, (Y/N) sat down on the bench and tried desperately not to think.

But of course, that never worked.

Her thoughts, if given even a little leeway went to them at once.

It had only been a few days, but to her it was a lifetime of misery.

Every minute of every day, awake or asleep, she felt the strain of their absence, the cold emptiness they left behind.

It would get better, one day, she knew that from experience, but right now that reality felt as far and as unreachable to her as the silvery light of the moon.

But it always did, at first.

She had been here before. She had endured it before.

Only this time she had no right to her grief, which somehow made it impossible to bear.

Her eyes began to burn once more and perhaps that was why she let her attention drift away from the children for only a moment.

It snapped back immediately when she heard shouting.

“No!”, Emma shrieked, stamping her foot angrily.

“No, no, no!”

Robert was in front of her, arguing with as much intensity and reaching out to grab something Emma was holding, turning his back to her.

She shoved him with all her might.

Surprised by her ambush, Robert fell, just barely catching himself with his hands.

Still on the ground, he turned and kicked at her.

“Alright, that’s enough!”, (Y/N) called.

She had abandoned her spot on the bench and had pushed past the crowd of children.

“Emma, Robert, stop, both of you!”, she ordered, pulling them apart.

Robert was startled by her sharp tone but Emma reached down and wretched something from his hands, rage burning in her eyes.

She had her hand on Emma’s back as she pulled her away.

“What was that about?”, she demanded to know as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Hm?”

“He’s stupid.”, Emma snarled, her hands clutching the little toy to her chest.

“He’s stupid and I don’t want to play with him!”

“You can’t call other people stupid, Emma.”, she said. "It's not nice."

“But he is, Mummy, he is!”, Emma insisted. “He doesn’t know any of the games and doesn’t follow the rules!”

“What games, darling?”

Emma fell silent, her lips forming a pout as she glanced at the toy in her hand.

“The games we used to play.”, she muttered. “Charlie and me.”

(Y/N) forced her eyes shut for a moment to gather the strength for a response.

“Emma,”, she began slowly, crouching down to be of an eye-level with her.“There are more games than the ones you played with Charlie, other games that are just as fun.”

Emma stamped her feet again, close to tears.

“But I don’t want other games, Mummy, I want our games!”, she argued.

“Then teach them to Robert and the others.”, she tried once more, only to see her daughter shaking her head before she leapt forward and into her arms.

With a sigh, she wrapped her in an embrace.

“Why can’t I have Charlie?”, she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Because he’s gone home, Emma.”, she told her for the millionth time. “He’s gone home and he’s not coming back.”

There were no tears, just Emma burying her face in the crook of her neck and her leaning her head against hers.

I know, she wanted to tell her, I know, my darling. I miss him too.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

It took a whole while before Emma decided to leave her arms again and only then with reluctance, and only to play a skipping game with the other girls.

“We all know where she picked up that sort of behaviour.”

The sneer made her skin crawl even before she could see the glee in the eyes of the woman that had spoken.

Ethel Laddler was standing right next to her, with Mabel Sloan and Gertrude Jackson, each trying desperately to suppress their delight - and failing.

“Do you now?”, (Y/N) asked.

She was too tired to be annoyed by them and that caused them more irritation than her anger would have done.

“Oh yes.”, Mrs. Jackson said. “Everyone knows.”

(Y/N) chose not to speak. Instead, she just looked at them, waiting.

Mrs Laddler clicked her tongue.

“Must’ve been a harsh disappointment to you,”, she said, “after all you tried.”

“What I tried?”, she asked, raising her eyebrow. “What exactly did I try?”

Mrs Sloan snorted and Mrs. Jackson clicked her tongue.

“Everyone knows,”, she said, “even the Quakers sing songs of the harlot that took Tommy Shelby to bed. But it seems he doesn’t seem to pay as much as he used to.”

With that, she looked her up and down with nothing but gleeful disgust in her eyes.

“Perhaps not worth the money this time.”, Mrs. Laddler added, unable to hide her smirk.

“Is there a problem here?”

She turned the other way to see Father Callitch standing there.

He was a kind man, far younger than the priests they had before and filled with ambition to make the best of his grim posting.

Hardly any of the good ones stayed long in this part, but he tried, working hard to build something with the community and she had always liked him.

“We were only saying goodbye to Mrs Hale, Father.”, Mrs Laddler chirped.

“Goodbye?”, Father Callitch asked, turning to her. “Are you leaving?”

“We expect so.”, Mrs. Sloan added gleefully. “The church circle, at least.”

He raised his eyebrow, looking from one to the other slowly.

His eyes only softened when they returned to her.

“I heard of no such thing, Mrs. Hale.”

“She must.”, Mrs. Jackson insisted, spitting the words. “With unchristian behaviour as hers.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, but it was the priest that answered.

“Unchristian behaviour?”, he asked, faining ignorance as he sat down on the bench beside her. “Forgive me, Mrs. Jackson, but I fail to see where in the scripture it is frowned upon to take in a child in need of aid. Or can you think of a passage?”

His words were polite, but there was a sharpness in his gaze neither (Y/N) nor the other women failed to notice.

“That is not what we mean.”, Mrs. Laddler argued, shifting on her feet.

She no longer sounded as confident as she had a moment before.

“No?”, Father Callitch asked. “What then do you know, Mrs. Laddler?”

His emphasis carried enough weight to make her purse her already thin lips.

“Hm…thought so. But thank you for reminding me, Ladies, to make the next sermon about the unchristian practise of spreading rumours and casting stones.”

(Y/N) didn’t fail to notice the faint hint of a smile on his lips as the three of them took their leave, calling their children away with them.

“How are you, Mrs. Hale?”, he asked after a while.

She glanced at her lap and sighed.

“Why did you do that?”, she asked sharply. “Why did you defend me?”

“Because it is what I believe to be right.”

She always hated how calm some people’s voices sounded, especially when her own mind was spinning out of control.

“Do you?”, she asked, turning to look at him.

He had the face of a scholar, with thinking lines and sharp eyes.

If he hadn’t been a priest, he could have been handsome.

“What if you were wrong?”, she asked. “What if all they said was true?”

She turned her eyes away because in spite of everything she could not look into the eyes of a man of the church and say what she had to.

“What I really was Tommy Shelby’s whore?”

The words had sharp edges that cut her up inside as she forced them out.

A murderer’s whore…a gangster’s harlot…a peaky blinder’s bitch.

She had heard them in whispers.

Callitch, however, didn’t seem to be shocked in the slightest at her choice of words.

“Well,”, he sighed, “It is not my place, or anyone’s place to judge.”

But everyone seems to be so very good at it anyways.

His hand found hers and gave it a squeeze. It’s warmth was surprisingly comforting.

“Besides,”, he said softly, lowering his voice so only she would hear.

“You were put in an unjust, impossible position, Mrs. Hale, one which is only to be pitied."

He gave her hand a little squeeze.

"Your strength to endure it, is to be commemorated. We all know that Mr. Shelby will not be denied.”

It took a while for (Y/N) to understand the meaning of his words, but when she did, she pulled her hand out from under him.

“You all think he’s nothing but a monster.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered with one.

“Don’t you?”

She had just dumped the dried laundry on the kitchen table to fold when she heard the knock on the door.

Not today, she thought, glancing at the clock.

It had been just as horrid as the day before, and the one before that and (Y/N) saw no reason to deal with anyone anymore.

Besides, it was almost half past eight and Emma was already in bed. Since she didn’t expect anyone, she saw no use in even looking who it was.

But when the key turned in the lock, all fatigue melted from her bones and she jumped back, all the terrors of the weeks past rushing back in full force.

A mad fear gripped her as she ran out into the corridor, without a plan, without a weapon, only to huff in realisation at who was there.

“How the hell did you get in here?”, she demanded to know.

“Took Tommy’s key.”, Lizzie said with a shrug, entirely unimpressed with her reaction.

Staring in wide-eyed disbelief, (Y/N) watched Lizzie take off her coat and place it on the hanger.

“Do I get tea or do I have to do that myself too?”

In the end it was (Y/N) who had made the tea, after hastily throwing all the laundry back into the basket half unmade to make room.

“So,”, Lizzie said, taking the ashtray from the windowsill and placing it in front of her as she lit her cigarette.

“You've looked better.”

(Y/N) didn’t even dignify her remark with a reply.

Lizzie of course, looked glorious, in a purple silk blouse and a black skirt, with amethyst stone earrings. (Y/N) must’ve looked like a crone next to her, like an ugly duckling next to a swan.

“How’s Emma?”, Lizzie wanted to know.

“What do you want, Lizzie?”, she asked, starring at the untouched cup of tea in front of her.

The other woman sighed as she tapped the top of her cigarette.

“Well, I’m here on business.”, she said, clearing her throat. From her purse, she pulled out a folder stamped with the Shelby logo.

“What do you want to get to first, the house or the foundation?”, she asked as if (Y/N) ought to know what that meant.

Her eyes were filled with expectation, while all she could offer her was confusion.

“What house?”, she asked.

“Your house.”, Lizzie said unimpressed. “Warburton House.” (Y/N) only blinked.

“This…is my house, Lizzie, you know that.”

She rolled her eyes impatiently and pulled forth a copy of some files.

It was a parish filing in the village of Arrow in Stratford-Upon-Avon district, confirming ownership of a property called Warburton House on her.

The name, the date of birth, everything was entirely in order.

“But this isn’t right.”, she argued. “I don’t…how would I…”

Lizzie scoffed.

“Do you never pay attention to the things you sign?”, she asked sharply.

Shame crept up (Y/N)’s cheeks.

“I don’t understand…”, she admitted.

“The papers Tommy asked you to sign, remember?”

How could she not?

She had been sick to her stomach with fear once she had known, and he had told her only at the last moment. Otherwise she never would have gone through with it.

He had wanted it and so she had signed them.

“Did you read them?”, Lizzie demanded to know.

“I…I thought they were about Charlie.”, she stammered, knotting her hands in her lap.

She muttered something under her breath in disbelief as she brought the cigarette back to her lips.

“Course they were about Charlie.”, she insisted, “making sure he’d be alright. That you’d be alright.”

A manicured and red painted finger tapped the paper right where the name of the property stood.

Warburton House.

There was no street name or number. Just Warburton House.

That wasn’t calming in the slightest.

“Well,”, (Y/N) said after a while. “That was before. He will have changed his mind.”

She hadn’t expected him to contact her again, but at the same time she had thought he might have tried at least. She had said all that had to be said, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any things left that she wanted to say and a part of her had hoped that perhaps he’d feel the same way, even if it was impossible.

“He hasn’t.”

“Has he told you?”, she asked, trying to stop her racing heart.

“Fuck no.”, Lizzie said, inhaling once more. “There’s just the list.”

“List?”, (Y/N) asked.

“Whenever he disappears he leaves a list.”, Lizzie said, leaning back in her chair. “A list of orders to be followed to the letter. This is why I’m here. The list.”

“What do you mean, disappears?”, she asked. “Where is he?”

Lizzie shrugged.

“No one fucking knows. He had the party, announced he was going on holiday and off he went.”

“Is Charlie with him?”, she demanded to know.

Lizzie shook her head, which somehow calmed her, but not much.

Tommy missing…

That couldn’t be good, especially at a time like this when he had a restless mind and a drained body. But at the same time, Lizzie didn’t seem all too surprised. Perhaps that was something.

“Anyway, this is on the list.”, she said, tapping the file once more.

“You’re to move out in a week. Mover’s been called, even though the house got full furniture so just tell them what you really want to take with you and get packing."

“What?”, (Y/N) gasped. “I’m not moving!”

“It’s on the list. Good luck telling them no.”

She shook her head in bottomless disbelief.

“Lizzie, this is ridiculous. I can’t just move to some place I’ve never been to. This is my home.”

Lizzie leaned forward and took her hand.

“I know the house.”, she told her softly. “It’s got gardens with flowerbeds and a vegetable patch and a few trees. It’s a good place to live and a good place to grow up in.”

(Y/N) bit the inside of her lip and shook her head once more, but before she could argue more, Lizzie pulled out another stack of papers.

“Now, about the foundation. Here are the files.”

She placed them in front of her, so that she could not escape the large letters that spelled out SHELBY FAMILY FOUNDATION.

“This has nothing to do with me.”, she insisted sharply.

“Yeah well,”, Lizzie said unimpressed, “25% increase of non-taxable donations to charities. Two new institutes for destitute children in the city. Expanded work with the local community and an annual budget for projects with the local churches for those in need in Small Heath. Ring a bell?”

That (Y/N) could not deny.

“Those are Tommy’s plans.”, she argued.

Lizzie’s eyes dug into her as she nodded.

“Yep. Well, here are the plans. Go on. Look at them.”

(Y/N) opened the file as if the paper could burn her.

The plans were rough, yes, but they made her heart beat faster.

Those that were already formed were good. An expansion on schooling, on healthcare, on support for war widows and war orphans. And generous money yet to be allocated somewhere in the community.

“Welcome on the board.”, Lizzie said as soon as she lifted her eyes again.

“Lizzie, no.”, she said, shaking her head.

In this, however, Lizzie didn’t seem to fight her.

“Well then, too bad for the community.”

With that she closed the file.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, she asked.

Lizzie leaned back and smirked slightly.

“Tommy’s thought you’d try to be difficult so he made it simple. All this either happens with you on the board or not at all.”

(Y/N) slumped back in the chair, rubbing her temples.

All this was too much information in too little time on her already tired brain and she had to take a moment to just gather herself in this whirlwind Lizzie had brought into her kitchen.

“Are you serious?”, she asked suspiciously.

Lizzie’s look told her all she needed to know.

“But I have no experience. I don’t know anything.”

“Either with you or not at all.”, Lizzie repeated. “It’s your choice.”

What kind of choice is that?, she thought bitterly.

(Y/N) shook her head.

“That's blackmail!”, she insisted.

“Look,”, Lizzie snapped, leaning forward and pointing at her, “Life’s not about what you deserve, it’s about what you take and you’ve just been given a chance.”

Her voice was uncommonly stern, like that of a school teacher, or her mother a lifetime ago.

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

It seemed too good to be true, but that was because it was.

She couldn’t accept this.

Tommy might talk big now but he truly wanted to help the people to and he would do it, with or without her presence.

She was sure of it.

“Seriously, (Y/N)!”, Lizzie hissed after over a minute of silence.

“Lizzie, I already told you-”

The other woman cut her off impatiently.

“At least give me your perfume or another scarf of yours, if you’re too stubborn for the rest.”

“My scarf?”, she asked with a frown.

Lizzie nodded, forcefully putting out her cigarette.

“You left one in the bag with Charlie’s things.”, she explained. “He’s been sleeping with it every night since he got back until one of the maids washed it. And now he's been screaming the bloody house down for two days straight because it no longer smells like you.”

End

Part 17

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

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#Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Thomas Shelby Imagine #The Boy in the Window #valentineswritings

566 notes · View notes

oracleofapollon · 2 years

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guitar lessons

eddie munson x gn!reader

summary: eddie wants to teach you how to play guitar. you know some basics, but you’re willing to pretend you don’t if he keeps touching you like that

warnings: shy reader, friends to lovers, sexual tension, cursing, reader has basic knowledge about playing guitar, reader has one dirty thought about eddie’s fingers ;), me writing eddie for the first time

wc: 2.2k

a/n: eddie fandom please go easy on me

You are a bit too early for your rendezvous with Eddie.

Okay, way too early. Like, an hour early. But are you to blame? You’ve never been in this part of town before, you were scared you’d get lost and be late, so you left your place earlier than you normally would.

Turns out it took you only fifteen minutes to get here.

You didn’t want Eddie to know you’re around — he didn’t have to be ready yet, he had a whole hour left. Maybe he wasn’t even home. So you decided to take a walk around the trailers. Still, you were noticed.

So now you’re standing awkwardly in the middle of Eddie’s room as he’s running around like a lost puppy, offering you every food or drink he can think of. You just smile shyly and keep apologizing for your lack of tact. He, on the other hand, reassures you everything is fine and practically begs you to take a seat as he gets ready.

You look around to find a chair or just anything that isn’t his bed.

“Shit, sorry for the mess,” he tells you, voice filled with embarrassment. You try to interrupt him, ease the uncomfortable atmosphere, say it’s your fault for even being here, but he doesn’t let you. “Here, you can sit on my bed,” he says as he pushes a pile of clothes and music sheet from the duvet and onto the floor.

“Oh, thank you,” you move the duvet away before sitting just on the edge. You nod at him with a polite smile and he smiles back.

He looks so pretty, you think. Big, brown, doe-like eyes giving you the gentlest gazes, pink lips curved up coyly, messy curls falling onto his lovely face. You get lost in thought as you dream of gathering his fringe out of his forehead and giving him a small kiss, just above his right eyebrow. That would surely make him blush and tempt you to also peck the apples of his cheeks, reveling in the warm skin under your smooth lips. That alone makes you grin.

To hide your expression from him you look around his room.

It’s messy. Papers scattered all over a dusty rug, empty glasses on the desk. But there are also some cool posters; you recognize Black Sabbath on your left and you make a mental note to ask Eddie about his favorite song of theirs later. Metal handcuffs hanging from the wall look almost dangerous, intimidating, and you find it funny how different Eddie’s sense of aesthetic is in contrast to his kind persona.

Then you notice the most valuable thing in the whole room — an electric guitar hanging on the wall next to you. Dark red with black elements, sharp, absolutely badass looking. Eddie often jokes, calling it his Sweetheart and Love of his life. In your mind you already agreed to share this title with her, although you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

You’ve had a crush on Eddie for months now. You feel bad about it — you two are friends and you promised yourself you won’t jeopardize that. He’s dear to your heart and you can’t lose him.

You try to convince yourself that your feelings towards him are just silly intrusive thoughts. The kind of little ideas your brain creates to help you get through sadness, loneliness, bad times. A light fog clouding any rationality. Maybe it’s because of everything that happened, all the supernatural trauma living in your heart, something you can’t share with anyone who hasn’t experienced it first-hand. Something you’re left alone with, something you can only shush with loud music, sleeping pills, good company. Maybe you just feel the need to be close to someone who knows what you’ve been through, someone who understands, someone who gets you with just one look. That someone is Eddie.

Still, you drown your feelings. You refuse to call this a date. It’s a meeting. Hanging out. And it should stay that way.

You smile at the guitar and extend a hand to touch it gently.

“She’s pretty, huh?” he says, crossing his arms. When you look at him you notice him gazing at you with a lopsided smile. “You don’t play, right?”

Now, the thing is — you don’t. On the other hand, it’s not like you’ve never held a guitar in your hands ever before. You know a few chords. It’s been some time, but you’re pretty sure you could play something basic. Could be a bit hard if you had to play something fingerstyle, but chords would work.

“I don’t,” you admit. It’s not a lie, you think to yourself. You don’t actively play.

“Want me to teach you?”

Well, shit.

What are you gonna say? No? You surely can’t play as well as he can.

You blink at his excited face and nod once. His eyes roll up a bit, his head falls back, exposing his Adam's apple and a milky neck. He chuckles and hops on the bed next to you, mattress quaking and making you jump up a bit.

“Fuck, hoped you’d say that,” he sends you the cheekiest smirk and you almost swoon. Then he’s looking at you expectantly. “C’mon. Grab Sweetheart.”

You stand up slightly to pick the instrument up and then sit back down. Eddie gets closer, his knee bumping into yours, his hip meeting yours. He’s warm against you, hair tickling your ear as he leans in.

He maneuvers Sweetheart onto your lap, his knuckles grazing your leg in the process. Then a warm hand creeps up on your right forearm, showing you how to hold the guitar. He makes sure to put your arm in the right position so Sweetheart wouldn't slip from your grasp. Goosebumps arise on your skin as he slides his hand up your arm, telling you to put more pressure between your arm and your chest. All you can think about, though, are his warm palms and metal rings, calm voice, and disheveled hair teasing your soft skin.

“And your left hand– shit. Wait,” you snap out of some weird trance you were caught in and turn to him. He moves from next to you to behind you. You feel his presence on your back, pressing softly against you, hair now tickling the left side of your face. “Okay, now I can reach.”

You almost jump when his fingers cover your left hand. He manipulates your fingers with gentle pressure, making sure you’re holding the neck steadily.

“Okay, now look.” It takes you every ounce of self control not to shiver when his warm breath meets your clampy neck. He smells of cigarettes and some cheap cologne, and that is enough to make your senses go into a frenzy. Suddenly it’s hot, stuffy, suddenly you want to lay back to feel his chest on your back. You’re sure he would huff a laugh with a little Oh? in a quiet, teasing voice, he would get closer, his lips would send shivers down your spine as he–

“This,” he says embracing you, left hand tugging on your index, middle, and ring finger, his right hand around your right shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “Is C. C’mon, play it.”

After a second you realize he was showing you a chord and you blink a few times as you press your fingers firmer. When you tug the strings a familiar sound echoes in the room. You have played some basic chords before. Never while being distracted by a cute guy, though. So it’s not your fault the sound comes out a bit pinched, unpleasant buzzing making you wince.

“Hey, not bad for the first time!” his hands rub your shoulders and you feel his doe eyes on your face. Ducking your head you try to hide your flustered state.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you mutter and look down on the bridge of the guitar to try and calm your sped up breathing.

“You’re doin’ great, Sweetheart,” he extends his hand to jokingly pet the instrument in your lap, causing his embrace to deepen. Now you’re literally being hugged from behind. Caged between his arms, his nose almost pressed to your pulse point on your neck — is he doing this on purpose? “And so are you, babe,” he murmurs into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and you’re sure you’ve gone weak.

You’re pretty sure that’s what fainting feels like; your muscles relaxed, brain wonderfully empty, head uncontrollably falling on the boy’s shoulder. You hear his chuckle.

“Focus,” he chides playfully and the pleasurable warmth on your shoulder disappears.

You almost sigh in protest, but manage to collect yourself. There goes your convincing yourself you don’t have a crush on him. Your silly intrusive thoughts are making you sweat now.

You feel his nimble fingers on yours. This time he takes your index and middle finger and puts them on the strings. You stopped thinking rationally a long time ago, so you don’t even control it when you add your ring finger to the mix.

“No, no,” Eddie interrupts you. You turn to look at him as his hand leaves yours and appears between your face. He shows you his index and middle fingers pressed together, pointing upwards, the rest of the fingers bent.

The sight is somehow bringing such erotic visions to your mind you feel weak again. Against your will you feel heat creeping on your face as your mind starts rushing, trying to find some sort of excuse so you won’t get caught with your bashful thoughts.

Eddie just smirks and you know he knows. “What?” he asks amused, eyebrows raising.

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, turning back to the guitar, pressing the right fingers to the right fret this time. “Like that?”

Thankfully, seeing your embarrassed state, he doesn’t question further.

“Yeah.” You can still hear amusement in his quiet voice, which causes you to pray the earth swallows you whole. How are you going to be able to look him in the eye ever again? “That’s E.”

You nod, strumming the guitar once.

He comes up close again, his hands on your arms, his chest pressed into your back. The sudden proximity makes your heart beat like crazy. His chin rests on top of your head and the slight pressure is weirdly comforting.

“Up for a real challenge?” he says excitedly and your lips tug in a smile. You nod, still not trusting your voice, and he starts rubbing your arms up and down, fast, warming them even more. “Knew you would.”

He gently takes your fingers one more time and at this point his touch brings not only a rush of blood, but also a similar comfort and safety which makes you melt into him. He pecks the crown of your head in response and you feel a bunch of butterflies in your tummy.

Your index finger is now holding the whole first fret, while your middle, ring, and pinky ones are pressing strings on the second and third frets.

“This one is F. Try.”

You strum. The sound is a little strained — you didn’t put enough pressure with your pinky — but you do realize it’s not buzzing. Which means…

“What?!” Eddie shouts a bit, breaking the quiet and intimate atmosphere. You know you messed up. “No way. No way! That’s like, one of the hardest chords for beginners,” he says in a very accusatory tone and you know you have to admit the truth now.

“Eds…”

“Someone’s not telling me something,” he gets closer, looking at the left side of your face expectantly. You feel his breath on your cheek. You know if you turn you’re going to be almost touching your noses. “Knew you were doing too well!”

“I know, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t play — really! I just, I have played a few times, you know, a long time ago, but I do know some basics, so when you offered to teach me of course I agreed– What, like I would’ve said no? You’re so good at playing and you’re so nice and then you got so close and I was about to swoon and then your fucking fingers when you–”

“Hey,” he interrupts your pointless rambling. “Look at me?”

His voice is gentle. Not mad. Maybe he doesn’t want to cancel your night out because of your stupid little game.

You slowly turn to him. You were right — you’re very close. So close you can see the black of his pupils, the different shades of brown in his doe eyes. Little beauty marks and freckles across his nose and cheeks. The pink of his lips when he wets them quickly.

“You’re cute. Even when you lie just to get in my arms.”

You know his accusation is just a joke by the way he says it; light, playful, voice filled with wonder.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes gazing at you with such gentleness you can only nod.

Then his gentleness spreads on your lips, then your cheeks as he grabs them tenderly, then your waist as he grazes it teasingly. Then your hands as he takes Sweetheart from you and puts her on the bed behind him. He’ll take care of her later.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #eddie stranger things #stranger things eddie #x reader

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vquacki · 3 years

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It's My Fatherly Duties!

Short DAD Scenarios

Characters: BONTEN - Rindou Haitani, Ran Haitani, Sanzu Haruchiyo

~ Inui Seishu, Kokonoi Hajime, Izana Kurokawa,

~ Souya Kawata (Angry), Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

Warning ⚠︎︎ : Mature content, cussing, MINORS DNI

Note : requested, I added some characters. Hope ya don’t mind! These are pretty short, just little things I put together. Word barf kinda..? Anyways- I hope you enjoy :))

R I N D O U

His lashes fluttered open when he heard a loud crash coming from the hallway, along with a string of cuss words sounding like his daughter's voice.

“What the hell was that?” You groaned, not a single word was uttered from your husband when he sprung out of bed, bolting to the bedroom down the corridor.

“Tohru?!” Rindou yelled, flinging open the door. Revealing your teenage daughter fully dressed, half way through her second story window. A facade of pillows under her blanket seeminging meant to be her ‘sleeping body’.

“Oh dad, I-”

“What the hell are you doing” The man was fuming by the ears, pajamas ruffled when he jolted out of his slumber.

“Is Tohru okay?” You peeked from behind the broad shouldered man.

“I was just going to get fresh air!” Your daughter lied, making up a somewhat excuse to appease her angered father.

“Hey Tohru! Hurry up and get down here!” You heard a boy's voice call out, looking over at Rindou’s face to see the man's darkened expression.

“Who the fuck is down there? Is that a boy?!” He growled, stomping his feet over to the glass. Pushing past his daughter to take a look.

“Oh shit- her dads here. Let’s book it!” The kids whispered, but loud enough for Rindou to make out, hastily running down the dark street.

“You little shits! Don't you dare come back here!” Rindou growled, slamming the window shut in the process.

“What! Dad!” Tohru whined,

“You're so grounded young lady!” Rindou shouted, not caring for the sleeping neighbors beside his shared condo at three in the morning.

“Rin, she was just having some fun!” You defended, you were also like her when you were her age, trouble makers run in your blood. Actually Rindou couldn't even talk- he was running roppongi at her age.

“No! She's just too young to be hanging out with boys!” Rindou’s brows joined together as he withered in front of you.

“But we dated when we were her age-” You deadpanned at him,

“Grounded! My final answer!”

R A N

Ran was coming home from a late night bonten meeting, mouth agape when he saw his daughter’s feet dangling out from her window.

Fearing the worst he sprinted to the ground below his child, hands outstretched to catch her if she were to misstep.

“Mitsuri!” His voice boomed,

“Eh? Dad?!” His daughter stuttered, slowly slid out the window, climbing down like she had done this many times prior to this awkward occurrence.

Toes easily touching the grass with ease, not a scratch upon the females porcelain skin.

“Ran?” You yawned, cracking the door ajar. It was late, you waking up to your husband's screams outside your house.

“Mitsuri, what are you doing climbing out your window like a maniac?!” Ran scowled, hands running through his messed up hair. Sweat dripping down his temple from the not so pleasant adrenaline rush.

“I was just gonna hang out with some friends..” your daughter answered, fingers gripping the edge of her shirt, scarily waiting for her dad’s reaction.

“At this time of night? .. out your window?”

“Ye-”

“Phone privileges. Give me it.” Ran demanded, palm stretched out.

“But-” no question she was a tad bit spoiled by her father. You being the bad cop, while your husband played the good cop for his beloved daughter.

“If you want to go anywhere all you got to do is ask!” Ran plucked the phone from his daughter's hand, a wave of relief washing over him. Secretly thanking whatever being watching over him that it wasn't some sort of gang related subject.

“This is what you get for spoiling her!” You laughed from the sidelines, hand clutching your stomach.

“This is your fault too ya know!” Ran argued.

“I’m the one who tries to discipline her! But someone always lets it go!” You emphasized the special somebody.

“Whatever” Ran sighed, This was a lesson for the usual carefree man, a special lesson he wouldn't forget in the many years to come with his unborn future children.

S A N Z U

It was Sanzu’s best day of his life when his daughters were born, the two only being about one year apart. They were spoiled to the core, anything they wanted their money liberl father blessed them with. He thought they were the sweetest things ever, them both being a daddy's girl after all.

He never would have expected to see both of his daughters outside his humble abode, standing beside two boys, most likely a double date.

He stared in shock, hands pressed firmly against the glass, teeth gritting.

“Huh? I tucked them into bed an hour ago” You rubbed your eyes, riding yourself of the sleepiness threatening to drown you. The pink haired only tutted his teeth, swifty twisting the door knob to confront the four children outside.

“Oh you better run” your oldest daughter whispered, gesturing for the boys to make haste from her deadly father.

“You better not come back here, unless you want trouble you fuckers!” Sanzu yelled, red in the eyes from anger. Not bothering to chase after the two scoundrels.

“Dad, mom! What are you guys doing awake?” Your youngest asked, sheer panic in her eyes, watching her insane fathers unpleasant smile.

“I swear you two will be the death of me” Sanzu uttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. A irked gleen in his orbs as he stared them down.

“They were just friends dad, stop overreacting” the older daughter said,

“I- You little shi-” He bit his lip to suppress his anger fueled words, knowing well it would definitely hurt his precious children's feelings. Having regretted it later if he were to say those sinful words.

“Now now Sanzu, let's head to bed” You wrapped your arms around your lover, dragging him inside the house.

“You can sort out their punishment tomorrow, after a good night's sleep” , coating him with reassuring words. That day he learned how misjudged he was of his children, even so he still loved them with all his heart.

I Z A N A

Izana had his feet kicked up, relaxing in his office while he watched the moon. He had a clear view, the street lamps positioned next to the sidewalk, the side of his beautiful house facing his office window. He was enjoying his free time, mind taking over his body while he thought about his life choices. He was in ease until he saw his son's window light up, a long string of rope being tossed out the opening.

Sitting up from his chair, he rushed over to his clear casement. Throwing his window open, a boy and girl standing beneath his son's window. The two holding the rope still as your child tried to slid down.

“My my Yuki, where are you off to?” Izana laughed, nerves finally relaxing when he figured out what was going on. Calmly settling into the frame, head leaning on his chin. It wasn't like he had the right to be upset, he did much worse when he was his son's age. Robbing, fighting, killing. You name it, Izana’s done it.

Sneaking out was nothing compared to what he did, but he wasn't gonna just let his son go. He was more wise now, he knew for a fact he didn't want his son to end up anything like him. Sure, he wanted the boy to have fun, but in a normal kid way.

“Dad! Um- I”

“You better get your arse back up that window before I drag you around with that rope” Izana smiled, Totally different from the sentence he was portraying. Not forgetting his manners, giving a nonchalant wave to the other two kids.

“Zana? Who are you talking to?” You asked, placing a cup of tea you had prepared for Izana on his desk.

“Oh no one doll” Izana answered, closing the window before walking over to you.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He proposed, trailing his hands around your shoulders, guiding you to the door.

“But the tea I made”

“Im tired~”

Overall the male wouldn't want to talk further about the situation, nor would he discuss it with you. Trivial matters held no place between you both, as long as the child did not dare do it again.

I N U I

Inui wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead, the AC wasnt working at the motor shop. Him, draken and yourself were sweating bullets, the hot material around you not helping. You had decided to help the pair around the shop, cleaning what you could. Or helping with cashing every customer out, it would've been an easy task if it wasn't blazing hot.

Leaving your daughter home alone, obviously thinking she’d stay and do her teenage things. You couldn't be more mistaken, astounded as you watched her fiddle around with a boy across the street at the ice cream parlor.

“Y/N please don't tell me that Kagura..” Inui’s jaw dropped, the wrench that was once in his clasp dropping to the ground. Startling the concentrating Draken that was crouched over a motorbike.

“What's wrong Inui? Y/N” Draken twisted his body around, raising a brow when you two just started muttering to each other like two creeps.

“Is that... a boy” Inui held his chin between his fingers, squinting to get a better view of his kid.

“You trying to catch flies with your mouth Inui? Close your yap” You whispered,

“Y/N! She's too young, I feel like I just held her in my arms not too long ago. She can't get married just yet!” Inui argued, he would've been on the verge of tears if he didn't have a reputation to uphold.

“What? The fuck are you on Inui? She's probably just with a friend!” You patted his back, reassuring the man.

“Boys and girls can be friends ya’know” you added.

Cueing the two children across the road from you, feeding scoops of ice cream to each other.

“I don't think friends do that..” Inui looked over at you, eyes widening when you swung the motor shop’s door open. Hands coming around your mouth to amplify your words,

“Kagura, is that your boyfriend?”

“WHAT?” Inui almost fainted, the ledge behind him holding his wobbly frame up right.

“I didn't know you guys would be here!” Your daughter jogged across the street, leaving the boy sitting by himself.

“And no! Just a friend” She answered your embarrassing, blushing as she stared down at the ground.,

“I sense some lies” you wiggled playfully at the flustered girl.

“What! Anyways, Sorry I left the house without telling you” Kagura apologized,

“Just don't do it again, without my permission..” Inui stated,

“Especially not with a boy.”

K O K O N O I

Bribing people is his forte, and if they did not obliged? Threatening always did the trick.

And that's exactly what he did when he saw his descendant out with a male. All was dandy until the boy came running back, babbling about how his girl was the so called ‘love of his life’.

“Hey brat, you got a death wish?” Kokonoi asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Koko go easy on him, he’s just a kid” You nudged the man, a mischievous grin plastered on the males face.

“And I kinda think it's cute” You said, a small smile erupting from your daughter that was not so far behind her parents.

“I approve, kid! I like your romantic drive!” You clapped,

“Y/N!” Kokonoi pouted,

“You better not try to bribe him with money again” You threatened, waving a finger at the whiny man.

“Yeah! I like him too, dad!” Your daughter agreed.

“You're like twelve, go play chess or something” Kokonoi barked, crossing his arms in disapproval.

“Dad, I'm sixteen!”

“That's what I said”

S O U Y A

He almost had a panic attack at the sight, having to shield the man from the scene playing out. Your twin daughter saying their goodbyes to their dates, followed by a kiss. You removed your hand when the boys were no longer in view, riding off in their motorcycles.

“Shira, Nihra” You held Souya up by the shoulder, the light headed male limping towards the worried kids.

“What's wrong with dad?” Nihra questioned, eyeing her ghostly pale father.

“He's out of it” You giggled,

“I'm not crazy am i?” He stood tall, letting go of the arm you had draped around him.

“There was boys-” His voice cracked.

“You saw that dad?” Shira sweat dropped, watching as her fathers should leave his body.

“Next time ask before you go out” You smiled, you weren't too strict on the two. They were Souya’s children, earning most of their adorable traits from him. Even his fighting skills.

“This better not happen again, i'm trusting you” Souya grumbled.

“Sorry pops” The two girls remorsefully sollied the man, both hooking onto one of Souya’s arms as they helped his shell into the house.

N A H O Y A

Nahoya was beyond pissed, infamous smile widening. Taking fast steps towards your daughter and her significant other.

“Look boy, I don't know who you are. But my daughters not up for grabs” Nahoya grinned, cracking his fingers.

“O-okay sir” the boy was jittering, body trembling from the males intense arua.

“If I catch ya here again” he used his finger to slash his neck, motioning to the death that would happily greet the boy if they were to ever meet again.

“Yer dead meat kiddo” Nahoya laughed, watching as the boy ran for his life.

“Dad, that was really extra!” Your daughter sneered, a pout on her lips.

“Shut up!, you're grounded rat!” Nahoya shouted.

“Yeah Nahoya, there was no need to threaten the poor kid. He looked like he was gonna piss himself.”

“Exactly the effect i wanted”

End Note : as I said this was a word barf T-T, so it’s quite short.

Reblogs & Notes are always appreciated! Take care! ♡︎♡︎

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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jawllines · 3 years

Text

There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump.

Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with:

1. Break into the police department and look through classified records.

2. Ask Harry.

She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first.

Y/N’s questions are answered and Harry’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?

(TW: mentions of murder, suicide, abuse, alcohol/drug use)

part 1

part 2

part 3

iv.

For four years, Harry had been stuck in a meadow.

Not a beautiful one that flourished beneath a vivid blue sky, with colors aplenty and life in abundance. It was cold; clouds hung low and heavy with icy rains that pierced his skin with every drop. The world was grey, the flowers were dead, the life was dormant, and Harry was alone. Stagnant in old memories that he wished to forget, haunted by new ones as the days passed and grew shorter, the night came quick and stayed long, his insides hollowed and his skin froze. Each passing day felt empty, bunnies with chubby paws and gurgling, giggly faces brought small beads of happiness but bunnies had to sleep, and he has to work.

Numb -- he felt numb and bitter, starving for warmth in four years of winter. Even his tears had frozen, the hot sting no longer brought comfort but more pain. And he lay there among the dried yellowed grass, wondering when it might get better. He lay there the first year wondering if his marriage was a mistake, and the second year he questioned if it would’ve been better if they had not met. The third-year he ponders if he were ever meant to be loved-- he wonders if it was supposed to feel this rotten. Had love stories no truth to them? Had all the authors been lying? Within the bad, there was always some good, but Harry hadn’t felt much good for three years by then. The fourth-year he wondered if it was his fault, all of it, just as the wind whispered in his ear. Maybe had he done something different then nothing would have happened. Maybe if he had been different then everything would be fine. Maybe then the bunnies wouldn’t have eyes that didn’t match his own.

It had started with a speckle of sunlight. The kind that appears at the end of a sluggish storm that came in the afternoon, filled the streets and soaked the soil of ditches with rain. Clouds withdrew, revealing the sun had begun sinking past the horizon, only thirty minutes or so until night inked the sky, but even for those few minutes there’s comfort. Reddish hues cut through the gloom, half the sky is dense clouds that ease to another town and the other half are cooed promises of a stormless day come morning. That’s how it started. . .just a little bit of sun with a giggle that drowned out the thunder.

The next day, the rain stopped. He blinked up at the clouded sky questioning why it had stopped pelting his skin like glacial stones -- it had been so long of this he panicked for one moment, maybe two (maybe three), but he tried to make do with it. His hollow stomach growled for the first time in ages, the scent of almond jam tarts slithers through his nose and makes his mouth water. The sun peeks out through the clouds to giggle again, teasing him with a few minutes of warmth -- the bunnies came to bask in it too, from beneath the burrow he’d made for them. One he lay on top of to keep them from the rain. They nudged at his back, demanding to come out, and so he rolled over and let them and they enjoyed the heat as well.

Each passing day the sun shows itself more and more, first timidly -- meek and mild, a little unsure. It smiled at Harry though he rarely smiled back. . .his cheeks were frozen how could he? But slowly he thawed; he could move his head again, look side to side, visualize the grass was now lush, healthy green, and wildflowers in an assortment of colors had begun to bloom. When the sun first came, he’d been so guarded. . .so worried. . .so angry that he couldn’t welcome the feeling of it kissing his skin. As each day passed the sun grew warmer and brighter, and as each day passed, the grass grew greener and the flowers more lively, and as each day passed, Harry’s smile grew bigger.

Harry liked laying in this field much better, bathed in golden rays.

And Harry liked waking up with Y/N beside him.

She was a rather heavy sleeper, or so Harry found which confused him greatly. The few times he’d woken her with his nightmares, somewhere behind all the murky fog of him trying to gain his footing back in reality, he would wonder how she woke so easily. Was he really that loud or did she rise at the sound of a pin colliding with linoleum? It had been the second night she’d coaxed him back to sleep that he realized it had been the former as it was easy to quietly slide out from the cocoon of her arms and the blankets that she’d made to bring him comfort. Y/N slept like a log -- he’s sure she could sleep through a marching band storming up and down the halls of the hotel -- but she always woke for him. Woke for him and coddled him.

Harry hated needing it, but he loves it while it’s happening. In ways it felt like a guilty pleasure; something that he indulged in though he probably didn’t need to, akin to an extra scoop of ice cream on his waffle cone, or staying up an hour later to finish binging a show. As he came down from the horror that his subconscious had fed him, to melt in Y/N’s arms was very pleasant. She felt like sun but she smelled like spring rain, and she held him like she knew how much he needed it. Like she knew how good it felt for him to be in someone’s arms. . .how happy he was to not wake up alone.

He preferred this though -- to wake with Y/N beside him, no memory of a night terror tormenting his brain as he blinks his eyes open. Y/N was not curled as close to him as she had been when they’d fallen asleep and while this made him pout for a moment, he is glad to watch her from this angle. She was close enough to him that he felt her warmth diffuse from her body beneath the sheets, but far enough that he could make out all of her features without having to move his head. All he does is press the corner of the pillow from his face with his fingers so his view isn’t obstructed at all.

This wasn’t a creepy thing -- he knew if she woke it might look like a creepy thing, him just watching her, but Harry was simply looking. He enjoyed the calm that her face contained; soothed and undisturbed. He could tell from one look at her face when her mind was racing, whether it be the faint furrow in her brow or the way she starts playing with her lips with her fingertips or nipping at her nails absentmindedly. That spacey glow in her gaze when she stares out the windshield of the car lost in a daydream that Harry wished to join her in. What does she think about when she spaces out like that? Harry would love to know but he found himself too shy to ask most days.

Too shy? It was novel, the idea of him being shy. Had anyone in his life known that he got absurdly shy and flustered when it came to this girl, they’d find it laughable. He wasn’t like this normally. . .even after everything that had happened, he was able to put on a brave face and fake the character that he’d always presented himself as. To make people more comfortable, to force the pity out of their stares when he walked into a room, to make himself feel normal when he had every reason not to.

But when he was with Y/N, he felt all jumbled and rearranged, his thoughts knocked together like the beads inside Charlie’s little rattles. It made little sense to him but his feelings never made much sense to him, even the ones he thought he’d understood. As a young boy, he’s always felt his emotions so intensely, like they could encompass his being sometimes, both the good ones and the bad ones. Rarely did they ever make him act out, but his mind was constantly going, it felt, and his mum always told him he was governed by his heart. And when he grew and chose to be more analytical, he’d thought he’d pressed that all aside. At the point that Y/N had entered his life, he’d made the assumption he’d grown out of it.

He’d been wrong.

That was okay though, wasn’t it? It was alright to feel things but they were so big. That’s the only way he knew how to describe them -- incredibly big, ardent, impassioned. Did she feel these just as he was? When she saw him, did her heart race unreasonably fast? Did she feel bashful beneath his gaze? Was she happier when they were together? Why couldn’t Harry just ask?

Why couldn’t Harry just ask?

The ache in his knuckles reminds him of what he’d done the night prior, mixed in his emotions regarding it. His reaction to Emmett had been boorish, and how he took the guitar even more so. After the little anecdotes, Y/N had shared with him about the kind of man Emmett was, it filled him with such hatred. Such hatred and spite for a man that he had not once met, but had raised memories from Harry’s own brain that he could not leave ignored. He hated him. . .he hated him for what he’d done to Y/N -- hated him for the broken look in her eyes at the thought of him, at what life he’d taken from her.

And he hated him for his own personal reasons. . .selfish reasons.

How could there be so many of the same type of person in the world?

Y/N wriggles in her spot, her brow pinches as her arms emerge from the covers and reach toward the headboard, a soft groan stirs from her chest. Harry held his breath for a moment -- should he look away? If she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, would she be unsettled? Would they be okay like she said they would? He hoped so. . .he really, really hoped so.

Her eyelids flutter first, before she blinks, squinting against the sharp morning sun that filled the room. Only a moment passes before she turns to him, a small, sleepy smile pulls at her cheeks. Eyes puffy from sleep, Harry struggles not to coo aloud -- she’s terribly cute.

“G’morning.” Her voice sends sparkles through his body; glittering, dazzling, iridescent bubbles.

“Good morning,” he cleared his throat after his gravelly response, and watches as Y/N pushes herself up from the mattress, but her bottom lip pouts, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She nodded, “Mhm,” it’s gentle how it leaves her mouth, it makes him want to protect her from the world, “You made me all sticky last night.”

Harry’s brows raised -- he hadn’t thought she’d mention it. If anything, Harry half expected them both to pretend it hadn’t happened. It probably shouldn’t have but at the moment, Harry had not considered what it might mean afterward. All he’d known was in that moment, he needed to touch her, and taste her, and feel her in every way imaginable.

It would hurt, Harry thinks, if they had to pretend that things hadn’t changed. Harry’s body, his mind, his heart sang too loudly for him to drown the sound of it out and play pretend. He had felt her against him in every way imaginable the night prior and still it hadn’t felt like enough. It had been a part of the reason he’d tried his best to hold out for as long as he could. If that were to be his only time with her, he wanted to make it count, but even then. . .even with how much they did and how long they did it for -- he just wanted to be even closer.

And he almost can’t stand it. Almost can’t stand how much he wants her.

“I cleaned you up, Sweetheart. Did I not do a good job?”

Y/N tilted her body toward him, and very suddenly did she plop across his torso, words muffled from where her face was pushed into the covers, “You did alright I guess, but I need a shower.” He smiled, laying his hand flat across her back, rubbing circles over the cotton fabric of his shirt she wore and he felt her melt; her muscles ease and her bones jellied, “Don’ wanna get up yet.”

“Don’t have to,” he murmured, “Can sleep as long as you like.”

Y/N’s response is a low hum that vibrates from her chest to his belly. The familiarity in her actions brings relief to the tension he’d been stacking in large blocks throughout his body. He had filled with such dread that they might revert back to their old, sheepish tendencies in how they regarded one another. Part of the reason he’d watched her wake, he’d admit, was because he’d been so happy that she was still there and he had to make sure for the first few minutes that it wasn’t a lovely dream. That Y/N was right beside him resting, not sat in her room in deep contemplation about how to go about reorienting their situation to how it had been.

Of course, if Y/N told him that she was uncomfortable and that things were weird, he would respect whatever decision she’d make in response to it.

He is, however, more than delighted that that wasn’t the case.

Still, he voices his concern slightly, in case he was reading her actions wrong. He doesn’t stop rubbing on her back as he begins speaking, and she startles some as he’d just woken her back up, “We are okay, yes? We’re still good how we were?”

Y/N re-earths her face from the blankets, lying on her cheek so she could face him. Her face looked so soft -- Harry’s tempted to reach his fingers out to stroke against her cheek, but he stops himself, “Are you worried?” He does not waste a moment before giving a solemn nod, swallowing thickly when her fingers find the bare skin of his chest, stroking there gently, “Why?”

His brows furrow, trying to deviate his attention from her careful caresses, “I. . .we did a lot last night,” he murmured, “I’m worried that you might regret it a little.”

“I’m glad you said it, ‘cos I was g’na say I was worried you regretted it but I’d been too embarrassed to ask,” she moves her hand to cradle his cheek, and Harry’s face warms as he lets his eyes flutter closed, leaning against her soft palm, “I don’t regret a thing,” her words were sincere, “We’re silly.”

Harry nodded, a small smile painted his face as he allowed himself to get sucked into the moment. Free of his memories, free of his worries, free of anything. . .anything at all that doesn’t have to do with being in this bed. It feels good. Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good in a long time.

Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good ever.

“We’re silly.” He repeats.

. . .

Feeling things could be a lot sometimes.

Emotions could be cumbersome.

At least that’s how they had felt before, especially with Emmett. Y/N always felt like her emotions were trudging through sludge, grappling for the edge of a riverbank but being dragged back into the murky water. They were conflicting and confusing; they didn’t feel good at all. And they dwindled so thin that by the time she was packing her things in her car, the tears she cried were out of frustration that she was the one who had to pick up and move her life around, not because she was sad she lost him.

But these feelings for Harry have always felt so. . .light? That didn’t feel like the right word. Not light in the way that they weren’t intense for her, because they were earnest and enthusiastic -- but they didn’t feel heavy. It had felt like Emmett was always at her hips, yanking her down to the deep end of a pool she’d drown in. With Harry, he pulled her hands gently toward fields and hills of green, where they floated just above the soil, giggled and tumbled and skated their fingertips along the morning dew.

She felt calm with Harry. . .her feelings were big, and they were good.

For the rest of their time in the city, things had felt as if they changed but in the same breath, they hadn’t much at all. Harry is still as tender as he always is, and he still trips and fumbles over his words. As they had grown to know each other his stony exterior cracked progressively but it had felt that he’d dragged down a full wall for her. Maybe two even; she’d taken a chisel and sledgehammer to the mortar fixing the stone together and carefully broke it. A soft glowing center had been revealed but only sometimes, she found. Only sometimes would he hold onto her for a little longer than normal. Only sometimes would his gaze linger. Only sometimes would it look like he might kiss her, but he pulls his lips into his mouth instead.

Y/N doesn’t push him because she knew there were at least two more walls left fixed around him, and both of them are components of life before her. Whatever had happened, had left Harry a broken man, and no matter how desperately she wanted to know everything about it, she wouldn’t pry. She even tried to stop quietly theorizing about it all, though Anne does not make it very easy at all.

Last night they all went out for one last dinner together, and when Harry and his father excused themselves to go to the restroom it was only Y/N, Anne, and Charlie left at the table. Charlie had found his way into Harry’s lap at some point throughout the night, and Harry passed him off to Y/N’s lap when he’d left the table, but he pulled off one of his rings so that Charlie could keep playing with it. Y/N held the marching teddy ring between her thumb and forefinger as his chubby hands gripped around it and he marveled silently.

Anne smiled gently at her as she pierced a piece of steamed broccoli onto her fork, “I want to thank you, Y/N,” she had begun, before she twisted her body around to look at the direction of the bathrooms then turned back to face her, “I’ll be quick about it, the two of them never wee for long. I want to thank you because. . .well, I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he seems less. . .less miserable than he has been these past few years. I know part of it could just be the healing properties of time, but something tells me you bring a lot of light into both his and Charlie’s life.” Slowly she shook her head, “He’s misunderstood, a lot of the time. He always has been, even when he was a child. Just loves with his whole heart and some people take advantage of that. I don’t know the nature of your relationship but I just ask that you continue to treat him kindly, no matter if it is platonic or not. God knows he needs that after what she put him through,” she hovers the broccoli over her mouth, “Though I hate to speak ill of the --”

Y/N wanted more. She wanted to take Anne out for coffee after dinner, find themselves a secluded booth in the back, and ask her every question that she could possibly think about what she didn’t know. Deep in her marrow, she knew it would be wrong to find out from someone who wasn’t Harry, but it would be easier wouldn’t it? Y/N would know and Harry wouldn’t have to relive the traumatic events for her to know. It would be the easiest solution, she’d think.

But before Anne could even finish her sentence, Harry appeared. The worst of it was she couldn’t even be irritated with his sudden reappearance, because the smile he gave her was sweet enough to melt her heart as he placed his hand on her shoulder then squeezed past her to get back to his seat, “Through the windows, I saw a candy store. It’s the same chain that has those fudge-dipped Oreos you like. Would you like to stop there after dinner?”

There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone, Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump.

1. Break into the police department and look through classified records.

2. Ask Harry.

She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first.

How could she just ask? There was no way to, she was certain of it -- no appropriate way to, at least. Any way that she tried to phrase it in her head sounded too nosy, too forward, too abrasive. Not only had she come to the conclusion that she didn’t believe he could kill his wife, but she’d also come to the conclusion that it was simply impossible to string the right words together so she could question why everyone would think he did. What was their relationship like before? He’d said they’d gone on trips -- that she’d liked the sun, and her only solace moving somewhere as dreary as the vacation town they inhabited was the beach. And she knew that Anne didn’t like her, for some reason or another -- that she put Harry through a lot. But that’s it.

That’s it.

If she thought about it for too long, her head ached. And when her head ached, her brows knit and she’s staring off into space without thinking all too much about it. So she hadn’t realized that Harry had even appeared back beside her in her hotel room, until she felt the tenderest of caresses just along her jaw, something he typically only did at night. When she turned to face him, his fingertips met her face, smoothing out her brow with the pad of his thumb, “Your head is hurting,” he murmured knowingly, the icy mint scent of his gum flutters along her nose, “Do you want to rest? I could finish packing for you.”

“How did you know my head was hurting?” Harry continues to rub her brow until she’s relaxed the muscles in her forehead, and the tension begins to dissipate from her shoulders.

“I’m observant,” he murmured, letting his hand fall away from her face but he slips it down, letting it rest on the curve of her throat, “You slept very little last night. Could feel you tossing and turning.”

It was true; she’d fallen through the rabbit hole of her thoughts as she’d spent many nights doing, only now when she was doing it, chances are she was laying beside Harry. One of the things that had changed was their need to find an excuse to sleep in the same bed, which was a blessing. Now, how Harry asks, is by offering her a shirt to sleep in while he feeds Charlie his last bottle for the night, cradled in the crook of his arm. Y/N gives Charlie plenty of cuddles and kisses, they lay him down in his crib, and the both of them get ready for bed themselves.

All of it feels very domesticated, especially the bits where after they’ve washed their faces and brushed their teeth, they crawl into bed and Harry finds them a movie to watch that they inevitably speak through half of, then get invested in the last quarter. Y/N thinks Harry finds it easier to touch and cuddle at night; this is when things feel most different than what they had been. He indulges in soft caresses, gentle squeezing, pulling her flush to his body, and skimming his fingers all along her skin, giggling when she shivered like he found joy in rousing goosebumps in his wake. The way Harry holds her spoke for how touch starved he’d been, and Y/N melted beneath the attention. Especially since this was when he was most open and willing to give it.

The night prior, he’d fallen asleep after one movie and the half of a second one (typically he tries to wait for her to fall asleep first, but she had taken to combing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and when she peeked up at him as his eyes began to flutter shut, he scrunched his nose at her, “Thank you, Darling”), and she’d stayed up. Her mind chattered at her, tweeted thoughts like a rose-ringed parakeet. What had Harry gone through? That would make him have horrible nightmares? That would make people think he was capable of murdering his wife? That his mum would thank her for bringing light into his life? The whole dark mess of it was so lost on her. It just made her want to hold him, kiss his rosy cheeks, protect him from the world and only share him with the sun and the moon.

After she had gotten up to have a wee, checked on Charlie, and crawled back in bed, she didn’t want to disturb him by weaseling her way beneath his arms again so she stayed on her side. So she tossed and she turned, wondering and searching for answers she couldn’t pull from thin air. Maybe she could just call his mum -- she’d given her, her number -- she could call her, ask her, sit on the phone for hours because she loved to talk (Y/N would guess that’s the outcome of a relatively silent husband) and she’d divulge every nitty-gritty secret Y/N knows she’s been nearly frothing at the mouth to tell.

But she couldn’t. . .she just couldn’t.

It was after she’d sighed to herself, quiet enough that there was no possible way she woke him up, but she felt a hand meet her side. His forearm slid along her hip, tucked around her body, and dragged her from her spot to meet him back in the middle. Y/N gave a questioning hum as she rolled around to look at him, but his eyes were closed, and he still appeared to be asleep. That is until his lips parted, a small, tiny smile at the corner of his mouth, “Sleep now. I’m giving you half of my sleepiness to help you.”

She rested her head on his chest, packaged all her inquiries in a tightly bound bundle, and tossed them outside for the night.

His notice reminded her of this, and her shoulder slumped as she tipped her forehead against his chest, “Aish, I forgot I woke you up last night. I’m the worst bed buddy.”

Harry rests his chin on her head, “Don’t say that,” he murmured, “You take away my nightmares and you smell like how I think the moon might, so you’re the best bed buddy.”

So gentle. Soft. How could he ever even hurt a fly?

Did he have something dark in him? Y/N wonders what it might have looked like to see him with Emmett, as she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him to her body. This rare display of daytime affection made whatever relationship they were developing feel real. More than just a drunken romp after emotions had run high; something tender and warm. Something that Y/N could get lost in.

“I reckon you take the title of best bed buddy. You gave me half of your sleepiness, remember?”

Harry hums, “Mhm,” he pulls back, letting his lips touch to her temple, “And I’ve just given you a quarter more. Lie down Sweet thing, I’ll pack the rest.”

Just as Y/N’s flipping back and forth between lying down for the nap or sucking it up and packing the rest of her things after taking paracetamol or two, there was the telling babble that told them both someone was awake. They unwind from each other, turning around to see that Charlie had woken up from where he’d been napping in his car seat. Y/N peeks around Harry, brows rising at the big, bright eyes that stare at them tiredly, “Well look at that! The absolute sleepyhead just woke up.” She made her way to Charlie, clicked the buckle that secured him to the seat, and fit her hands beneath his armpits, “C’mere, you little sloth. Say good afternoon, Daddy! I slept so long so that I could have an extra good time on the way back home, hm?”

Charlie lies his head down on her shoulder, holding out his chubby fingers toward Harry who made his way over easily. He took Charlie’s hand and kissed each of his fingers, before pretending to eat them, and smiling triumphantly when a bubble of giggles is the result. The scene makes her heart warm, but not nearly warm enough for her to not remember their check-out time was briskly approaching.

“Here,” she murmured, handing him over to Harry, “Cuddle, and I’ll finish packing, yeah? I’ll save my quarter of sleepiness for later.”

“Could I --” Harry began, just as she was about to move toward the bathroom. When she pauses and looks back toward him, he has that shy look on his face again. . .the one that appears just before he starts to fumble over his words a bit when he asks her something. Whether it be for a cuddle, or if she’d like to visit someplace with him, or if he wants his hair played with, “--could I kiss you?”

She tries not to smile too hard as she pushes up to kiss him.

And she presses an exaggerated kiss to Charlie’s cheek too.

. . .

Being back at home is. . .different.

They got home around dusk; the sun sank low in the sky, disappeared behind the tree-line, and with it the end of their trip together. Coming home from a vacation always felt a bit off, after pretending another place was your home for a little while. Rooms were stiff, the air was stale and un-lived in, and it took about two hours of lighting candles, pushing open windows, turning on fans, and turning on every light and telly so that it wasn’t so quiet. Silent, and weird, and lonely without the people she’d been with.

Even though Y/N had technically had her own hotel room, by the end of their trip they had been spending every night together. She was with Harry, Charlie, and Marzipan which was much preferred than the stillness of a flat post-vacation. If she were honest, she struggled not to tear up as Harry was helping her take her suitcase from the trunk, and to hide her emotions in an effort not to appear clingy, she hugged him and hid her face in his throat. Harry curled his arms around her tightly. He knew though -- in the weird Harry way, he knew how she felt, even though she was making good on not letting it show on her face, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Sweetheart,” he dipped his face into her hair, pushing a chaste kiss to her head, “I don’t start at the university again until next week, and I’ve only got a bit of work to do at home, so you’ll be bothered with me all day.”

Harry kissed her cheeks and sent her to her flat with Marzipan. She aired the place out, desperate to make it feel less uninhabited, and had even shoved her linens in the wash before she showered (which made for a very cold shower -- after so long of being gone, she’d forgotten that warm water for her sheets meant frigid water for her body). Marzipan reacquainted herself with her surroundings and though it all smelled of her, she even appeared to be discontent with the change.

Around 10 PM her phone buzzes on her bedside table, just as she had moved her linens into the dryer while simultaneously regretting washing them at all (she just wanted to lay down at that point). Brows pinched, she reaches for it and sees Harry’s contact on the screen -- had she forgotten something? Why would he be calling her?

“Hello?” She held the phone close to her ear, “Harry? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Harry responded, and he paused for a moment, just silent on the other end until he cleared his throat, “I -- well, I believe this was much less embarrassing in my head. I don’t mean to sound as if I’m fixed at your hip, but I missed your voice.” A dish clatters on the other end of the line, and he mutters a small ‘shit’ before continuing, “It’s -- um. . .it’s very quiet without you here. Not that I think you’re loud or anything I just. . .yeah. I just miss you.”

Y/N is incredibly fond; her heart swarms with warmth that stretches it three sizes too big for her chest, and she feels soppy and softened. Her lips curl in a tiny smile though he can’t see it, she wonders if he’ll be able to hear it in her voice through the receiver, “I miss you too,” she responded, brushing her hand against her cheek, “It just feels weird.”

“I’m not keen on it. Which is why I -- well, I wondered if you would like to stay on the phone with each other? Would just tell you to drive over now but it’s so late, I don’t want you on the roads.” He explained to her, “I had thought about just coming to get you myself, but then I’d have to strap Charlie back in his seat and for some reason, I feel he would not appreciate being woken up.”

Soft -- she would say it again, and again, and again. Harry made her feel so unbelievably soft, she’d reckon if someone tried to hug her right now she’d mold into the shape of their body. It’d been so long since someone had evoked such strong emotions from her and she just isn’t used to it anymore. All the heart racing, the stomach flutters, the sweaty palms, the goosebumps. . .everything.

“Yes, I’d like that,” she sat down on her bare mattress, tracing the diamond-shaped dips and curves of the upholstery, “If you’re falling asleep and I’m talking too much, you’ve got to tell me though. I’ve just put my bedding in the dryer so it’ll take me a minute before I’m actually lying down.”

Harry hummed, “I should’ve thrown mine in the wash, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

“No you shouldn’t have, ‘cos I’m miserable now,” she lamented, “Would give anything to just pop my head on the pillow and pass out.”

“Poor thing,” he murmured, “You don’t have extra bedding?”

She flopped down, tucking the phone between her ear and the uncovered pillow, “Harry, I’m lucky to even have the ones I do now. Hate spending money on bedding, it’s too much! Especially if it’s anything worth sleeping in.”

“I get what you mean,” the sound of running water cuts on, and she hears the sound of ceramic plates clinking together again, “Plus, it’s few and far between you find something aesthetically pleasing, innit? And then it’s got to match your room. White is the easiest to match but I reckon if you’re an on-the-bed-eater then that could be a bit problematic.”

“No kidding,” she agreed, “I guess for like -- I dunno, cum stains -- white works out though.”

”Christ,” she could picture it, Harry shaking his head in the way he does when Y/N says something he wasn’t expecting that may have been on the side of vulgar -- he did it several times when she would briskly and casually mention the fact that he’d morphed into something short of a male Aphrodite. He’s shy -- he’s always been shy, but he just manages to get shyer in the bits that he should be confident in. “I guess -- I guess, yeah for cum stains, that’d work out wouldn’t it?”

“Mhm,” she let her eyes close for a moment, “What’ve you got to do tomorrow? Tell me all about your engineering and I’ll try to keep up.”

He does. Harry explained the project that they were currently working on and Y/N attempted to understand the large words and abbreviations he was using, but eventually she did have to tell him to bring it down to a freshman at college level so that she could at least kind of follow. It made sense that he was a professor, and a good one at that, because he knew so much but was able to break it into smaller bits and pieces so that she could digest it. When she had questions, he had full-fledged answers that swiped away the dark areas. By the end of it, she was halfway certain she could take a crack at computer engineering (like running their coffee orders and half understanding what they were discussing around meeting tables, but still a better understanding than she had in the first place).

Around 12 AM, Y/N’s made her bed up and sat star-fished staring at her fan blades whipping above her, listening to Harry’s syrupy voice tell her about his trip to Scotland he took with his parents when he was around 15. Explained to her that he met a man there who taught him how to play guitar in the two weeks they were there, and connected him to a woman who would further his learning in London. Harry had mused about how he had used to hope to be a musician of some kind, but he never thought he’d been good enough. Y/N told him that he’s silly because she thinks he’d be lovely.

“You’ll have to play for me,” she told him, rubbing the corner of her pillowcase between her thumb and forefinger, “On the telecaster. Y’know that’s yours now, don’t you?” Knuckling tiredly at her eyes, she suppresses a yawn so she could continue speaking, “Not to re-gift something from my ex or anything, but it’ll only collect dust in my closet.”

Harry, who had long since finished his nighttime routine (he’d politely excused himself to brush his teeth and wash his face), sounded like he was shuffling in his bed, “Wouldn’t you want to sell it? You could make a pretty penny off that, Sweetheart, especially the one you bought. It would feel wrong to have it wasted on me.”

“Wasted on you?” Y/N scoffed, “How could it be wasted on you? I don’t care about the money, I just want it to have a loving home. Now if you don’t want it because it’ll just be a hassle I’m sure I could pawn it off on someone, but nothing could ever be wasted on you. You’re the whole reason I even have it back!” Lulling her tongue over her mouth, she wiggles her toes at Marzipan who eyeballs her from the floor, where she had been sat for the past twenty minutes falling asleep, “Which -- could I ask you about that?”

He’s silent for a moment -- a pause long enough to make her regret asking, to disrupt how smooth the conversation had been going before her question -- but he does respond eventually, “You can ask me anything you want. Anything at all.”

“How did you get it back?” She swallows, “Like, I’d assume from your knuckles he hadn’t just handed it over.”

Harry, again, pauses for a moment but this time it seemed like he was only gathering his thoughts, “When you had gone to the bathroom, I went to the green room they had to get it back for you. I know you hadn’t asked but. . .well, it didn’t seem right for him to have it. Not after what he had put you through, you know?” Y/N hummed, encouraging him to continue, rolling out the muscles in her shoulders that had gone stiff in her idle sitting, “So I went in and I asked for it back, and he was. . .difficult about it. He offered to pay for it and then told me I was trying too hard and that you weren’t “worth it”. . .so I punched him and said a few choice words. I’m --” he sighed to himself, “I’m not a violent man, I just couldn’t -- I can’t stand when someone acts like that. . .like he deserved that guitar. I apologize for resorting to violence though. I shouldn’t have done it without speaking to you first, and now that I recount the details I feel a bit silly. Barbaric or summat -- like -- I’m sorry for talking in circles, I feel like I’m talking in circles. ” He does another deep sigh, Y/N can almost feel it against his cheek, like the content ones he lets out after they’re finally cuddled in bed but with a slightly annoyed lilt, a warm and gentle puff, “It frustrated me and I acted out, but I don’t regret it. It’s your guitar.”

Y/N dipped her face back into the pillows, tingles zip down through her body like sparks of electricity as he recounted the story and began to fumble around his feelings. He doesn’t realize how much she appreciates it though -- how refreshing it is to hear him speak. It always sounds so open and raw, like he’s saying the words as soon as they pop in his brain. Brisk pauses, talking in circles, expressing how something had made him feel and how he feels now because of his actions.

“Harry?” She shuts her eyes, pretending that he’s laying across from her.

His voice is small but clear, “Yes?”

“I think you’re amazing,” she began, “And I think, you don’t have to apologize for anything because if you would have first cleared it with me I would’ve suggested more barbaric antics, like kicking him in the chest and something with fire.” A breathless giggle comes from the other end, she smiles a dumb, big smile that makes her cheeks hurt, “Thank you for standing up for me. If anyone ever says something to you, I’ll kick their ass, how about that?”

Another chuckle leaves him, Y/N feels as if she’s swallowed it, feeling it warm her bell, she keeps her eyes closed and melts into the mattress while Marzipan jumps up and claims the space behind her back.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

. . .

It was rare that they went into town together.

Well, not so much rare as it was relatively nonexistent. The only time they’d been here with each other, they had made a beeline to a private beach where they couldn’t be disturbed. It was simply them, the fine grain sand in tiny hills and mountains and the gentle plodding of waves against the shoreline. They hadn’t even stopped for food or sweets, and Y/N couldn’t blame him -- if it were her in his situation, she would avoid the town at all costs.

So, it was safe to say she had been surprised when he suggested it.

They’d been back from their trip for four days, which they had spent re-acclimating to life at his house again. Y/N got back into the pattern of her regular nanny duties while Harry got back into his work, though he does take a few more breaks than he had been prior to their trip. These breaks last a bit longer than the old ones did as well, and are typically ended with a kiss to her temple and a raspberry blown into Charlie’s neck. If he takes a break while she’s sat in Charlie’s room during his naps, he scouts her out with a snack of some kind and will sit in there with her for a little while as they share it.

One night, Harry had asked if she would like to stay over and of course, she had agreed to it. Their day went as normal, Y/N put Charlie to bed while Harry finished up the course plan he’d been working on for several hours. After she showered and got ready for bed, she slunk down to the kitchen and brewed lavender vanilla tea, before pouring the both of them a cup and finding her way to his office. Despite the door being cracked open, she knocked first and waited until he called for her to enter before she did so.

“I made us tea!” She began as she entered, smiling gently when his eyes met hers, “It’ll help get you ready for bed too, since your brain has been so busy all day, reckon it should calm you down.”

Harry looks surprised -- the kind of shock that might light someone’s eyes if they weren’t expecting something. She thought he’d have heard her bumping around in the kitchen, but she wonders if he’d assumed she was only making some for herself. If he had even paid mind to the disturbance in the quiet at all. The apathetic look he’d been giving his computer prior to her arrival is replaced by one of gentle delight; his lips pluck up at the corners, “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured as she set the mug down on a coaster, “Thank you -- I appreciate this a lot.”

“Of course,” she smiled before fixing her handle on the mug, about to pivot on her heel to make her way out of his office but his fingers loop around her forearm suddenly, “Oh! --”

“Why are you leaving?” He inquired as Y/N steadied herself, and he plucked her wobbling mug from her hands to set it down on the desk.

She nodded toward his computer, “I figured you were still working,” she explained, then motioned to herself, “And I didn’t necessarily want to annoy you today.”

The skin between his brows crinkles as he shook his head, “You could never be a bother to me,” he responded, no teasing lilt in his voice that would have matched her own -- he seemed almost offended that she would even suggest such a thing, “Stay with me. We can drink it together.”

“Yeah?” Harry nodded earnestly, “Well, alright. I guess I’ve always kind of wanted to try sitting on that couch --” she turned again, her mind set on going toward it, but Harry’s grip only tightens around her wrist, stilling her.

“Wait --” he began, but when their gazes locked, his cheeks pinkened quickly; she thought it was cute, how easy it was from him to blush, and she thinks if she reached out they would be warm to the touch, “ -- I. . .well, this feels silly now,” he shook his head at himself, and sighed heavily, “With you, I always act and speak before I think things through, it’s very -- it’s troublesome, for me. I get flustered too easily.”

“That’s okay,” she told him, “Just means every word out of your mouth is authentic. Plus,” she succumbed to her desire, reached her fingers out, and touched the warmth of his cheeks, “I think it’s a bit cute.” As always, he leaned into her touch like he was starved for it -- just wanted her near. . .as close as possible, and then even closer than that. “What were you going to say?”

Harry’s hands found the hem of her shirt and he ran the pad of his finger along the seam but he was never one to avoid looking into her eyes. No, instead he stared at her, pupils fixed on her face, “I wanted to know if you’d like to sit in my lap? Not in a filthy way!” He rushed to say, “I just wanted to hold you for a little while, if that would be okay?”

“Of course!” She used her knee to push his chair out further, plopped down on his thighs, and wiggled until she could settle. Y/N would have been a little coyer about it had the situation been with any other person, she thinks, but Harry responded much better to this. He asks for things like she’ll judge him for them -- like he’s worried her reaction to his inquiries will be poor, that she will be disgruntled or angered by them. And Y/N’s goal was to make sure he knew there was not a doubt in her mind when she agreed to do something that he suggested. He had good ideas, she wanted him to know that.

Albeit startled, he acclimated to her position on his lap easily. He slung his arm around her waist, and held her still and close, scooting them both nearer to the desk. He reached for her mug and placed it into her hands before picking up his own. After a sip, he hummed low and dipped his forehead against her shoulder, “You’re always so warm,” he murmured, “And soft.” Once he set his mug down, his fingers floated up toward her neck, stroking against the delicate chain of the necklace he’d gotten for her, “I’m glad you like this.”

“How couldn’t I?” She responded, raising her hand to his knuckles, “It’s a very thoughtful gift. How did you know I liked rubies, hm?”

“I didn’t,” he spoke into her shoulder, “Really, it was one hell of a guess. The jewel was just so beautiful it reminded me of you.”

Y/N felt her face heat up, “Aish, here you go -- always buttering me up,” she turned some, craning her neck to look at him, “Flattery will get you nowhere, y’know? If you want me to do something for you, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”

Harry nuzzles back and forth, his face brushing and crumbling the back of her shirt. She’s not sure if he’d been doing it to shake his head or if it was a sign of his affections, but either way, Y/N hummed and poked his thigh, pushing for a response. “I’m not buttering you,” he murmured, “You deserve to hear these things. They’re the truth after all.”

“So there are no ulterior motives to all these sweet words?” Harry shook his head once more, “Then what’s poking my bum?” She had noticed it after she had shifted on his lap the first time in an attempt to get comfortable and had been toying with the idea of mentioning it. They hadn’t done anything sexual since New Years', just cuddles and caresses, but the opportunity really hadn’t arisen. And Harry, well, she couldn’t imagine him initiating anything, with how much he second-guesses himself.

His response had been to squeeze her tighter, and tuck his face deeper into her shoulder, and she hummed once more “Hm?”

“Sorry,” his words muffled, his tone bashful, “I -- I get them sometimes, when. . .it doesn’t have to necessarily be because I’m turned on, y’know?”

Y/N leaned back into him, “Ohhhhh,” she tutted her tongue, “Like an affection stiffy then, yeah? You big softie.” She slid her palms against his forearms to carefully unwind him from around her waist despite his protesting whines, as she sunk to the ground, the thud of her knees muted by the rug, “Get your kit off, I know a good remedy for affection stiffies.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” he murmured as she fit herself between his legs, her hands firm on his knees when she split them apart, “I could do you instead.”

Her brows pinched and her mouth pouted as she looked up at him, “Hm? But I want to do you,” she told him, then tilted her cheek against his knee, keeping her gaze fixed on his, “Do you not like blowies?”

Harry’s cheeks are such a rosy pink -- he’s so damn shy, she couldn’t stand it (in the best way). Such a domineering, strong-willed man all flustered and red-faced from just her speaking about having her mouth on him. It made her head spin in circles.

“No, I -- I really like them, but --” he shuffled his hips, his hand found her head and he stroked her temple, and if not for how mesmerized by him she was, she might have let her eyes flutter shut, “-- I just don’t feel like I deserve one if I haven’t made you cum yet.”

For fuck sake.

Y/N slid her hands up his sweatpants and pulled at the drawstring of his sweatpants until the knots are undone. She tucked her fingers into the waistband and started to tug, before he finally raised his hips to help her get them down, “Technically we’re at an uneven orgasm ratio. You got me off four times, I’ve only gotten you off once.” Y/N found quickly that Harry hadn’t bothered with underwear at all, and she swallowed thickly as she looked at him. It felt like the first time all over again; the delight and the nerves, the way her mouth waters. The head is swollen, ruddy, and wet -- he was so big that she knew once she got her lips around him, only a quarter of the way down would feel like an absolute mouthful. She could already feel the ache in her jaw.

“Well, you’ve -- oh,” he paused when her fingers looped around the base, “I mean if we’re being. . .if we’re being technical, you’ve made me cum plenty. The thought of you at least.”

She didn’t know what to do with the information. The knowledge that Harry got off to the thought of her -- the imagery that invades her brain is enough to make each of her cells feel electric; sizzling and sparking as she pictured it. Harry is in his bed, surrounded by his crumpled bedding, face heated and body flushed as he works over himself. She imagined what it must have been like. Had he been trying to fall asleep but his mind danced toward her? Had it started out as an affection stiffy or was it pure arousal? What did he imagine when his fingers were wrapped around his cock? Was she riding him while he sat on the couch? Did he fuck her roughly over his desk, or was it soft sweet, and tender in his fresh cotton sheets? Maybe he’d even imagined sticking his prick deep in her mouth and fucking her face? Did he look as shy as he did right then?

It was difficult to bite back the lewd noise that crawled up her throat, so she plugged her mouth with the head of his cock and stifled it against him. Harry’s head tossed back as her lips stretched over the tip, lulling her tongue against the slit where precum deliciously oozed. Y/N mustered all the spit in her mouth to drool over him -- she wanted it to be wet, sloppy, and messy for him -- wanted it to feel as if he’d dipped his cock into a warm pool. He deserved it, or at least she thought he did.

Plus, she thought, if he kept looking down at her so shyly, with his knuckle tucked between his teeth as he watched her, she would just have to clip off a part of the moon and hand it to him.

Despite her desire to keep watching him, Y/N had to tilt her head down so she could take more of him into her mouth. Her tongue stroked against the underbelly, slicked across the throb as she forced herself downward. Though her gag reflex was dodgy, she hummed to suppress it, sending vibrations down his shaft. His thighs squeezed around her body, her eyes watered once she got him to the back of her throat. She was only able to keep him there for a few seconds before she had to slide off, popping him out of her mouth before she gasped wetly. Strands of spit and his precum attach them to each other, but they bow and snap once she starts to twist her hand up and down quickly. Her lungs burned as she sucked in a breath to make up for the fact she hadn’t really been breathing well through her nose.

She cradled his prick to sponge wet kisses down the side of it, down to his balls where she suckles and drools as she peeked up at him and felt a shiver run down her spine. Harry already appeared so fucked out, his chest heaved, his knuckle still tucked into his mouth to keep quiet. “Hey,” she panted, swallowing the spit that had collected in her mouth, “I want to hear you.” The hand that wasn’t preoccupied with his cock, she used to grab his wrist and pull down, “Let me hear you.”

“Sorry,” he let her take his hand, but he maneuvered them so that he could slot their fingers together, and he held her hand tightly before he rested them on his thigh, “Haven’t had this done to me in a while, and with it being you I -- well, I’m just a bit of a mess.”

“I like messes,” Y/N murmured against his head before she flicked her tongue along the frenulum, “Do you wanna hold my head? Or you could stand up and fuck my throat -- I’m good with either.” The moan that left his lips was well worth taking a moment to breathe, and she shivered at his whimpers when she circled the pad of her thumb at the underside of the head, “I just want you to feel good.”

Harry squeezed her hand again, “I don’t know, Sweet girl, I just -- oh! Oh, fuck, baby,” Y/N had sunk back onto his prick by then, without a thought other than sucking him down and sucking him dry. He deserved it -- she thinks that if she could for him, she would stay on her knees for days on end and leave her mouth open for him to use as he pleased, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that.”

Again she hummed and sank as low as she could go, her throat spasming around the head while she used the other hand to cup his balls and his thighs tighten around her again in a little hug. It restricted the movement of her hand a bit, but he mewled, goosebumps pebbled over her skin as she felt him throb against her tongue once more. She drags off of him again for another breath, only this time she doesn’t tug at him while she does so.

Y/N wondered what she looked like to him from this position. She’d only ever let one boy take a polaroid of her before when she’d been on her knees for him, and when she’d witnessed it after the fact she cringed. It was blurred, but the angle was awful and his thumb was halfway in front of the lens, so after he fell asleep she took it, cut it up into little slivers, and saved it to burn in the next bonfire she attended so that she would never have to look at it again. It had put her off blowies for a while, actually, but she had thrown all caution to the wind when it came to the man sitting above her. She hadn’t concerned if she looked pretty or not, she just wanted him to feel good, but now as her chin is wet and her lips no doubt reddened and swollen, she wondered if he thought she was still pretty.

Maybe with anyone else, she would be far too self-conscious to ask, but with Harry, she doesn’t worry about it. Isn’t even the least bit nervous when she swallows and asks, “Do you think I’m pretty?” She murmured, blinking up at him.

Harry didn’t waste a second to respond, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Even like this?” Her hand began to move over him slowly, and she watched with delight as his eyelids fluttered, “Even all messy?”

Another whine slithers from his throat, long and drawn, low and pitiful, “I --” he sucked in a deep breath, she watched as the air filled his lungs through a heave of his chest, “I always think you’re beautiful,” he admitted, “I think you’re an angel.”

Satisfied with his answer, Y/N tucks the head of his prick in between her lips again but stays put. Only lets him sit against her tongue, trying hard not to smile when he makes a little desperate noise, “Baby,” he wiggled, “Please!”

“Hm?” She hummed against him, and he bucked his hips a little in response.

His hips stuttered away from her, “Sorry -- sorry, I --” she squeezed the hand she still held of his, encouraging him to do it again. It took him a minute to understand what she meant by it, but when she stayed in her place and squeezed his hand a second time, he rocked his hips up into her mouth again, “You want me to --”

“Mhm,” she hummed again, and Harry does it again, and again, and again, stroking against her tongue and fucking shallowly into her mouth. She feels him throb again, and she knew it was going to happen soon; her insides bristled at the thought of him filling her mouth.

“So good,” he murmured, his head tilted back, “So, so, so good, fucking hell,” he panted, “Your mouth -- I’m g’na cum,” his hips jutted forward, “I’m g’na cum, I’m g’na cum.”

The ache in her jaw burned only slightly, but she began to bob her head and started moving her hand. She wanted him to cum, and the quicker the better, honestly, because she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. Y/N thinks she would have pushed herself just to make sure that he came, no matter how long it would have taken, but this was much better, she’d say, at least for her mouth.

His other hand did eventually find her head, and he doesn’t slide his fingers through her hair but he does lie his hand on the back of it. The pulse drums in her mouth, she tilted the head against the inside of her cheek and all his muscles go taut as a bow while he squeezed her hand tightly. His groaning is loud, he didn’t bother to muffle it at her request as he began to spurt into her mouth. It’s warm, so much of it filled her mouth and if she could smile at the joy of it then she would have but she had to keep all of it. She worked him through it, twisting her palm against his shaft until he squeezed her hand again, this time for a different reason as she kept on him until he was twitching and sensitive.

Y/N pushed herself from her spot on the ground, and took hold of Harry’s chin, and used her thumb to pull his lips open. It took him only a moment to understand what she wanted, and he opened up for her easily, as she fixed their lips together and pushed his cum into his silky mouth. Harry moaned against her as he tasted himself, and once she parted with another little peck, she pulled back and swallowed the rest. He swallowed as well, staring at her with spit-slicked, fuchsia-colored lips as he panted.

With the back of her hand, Y/N dragged it across her mouth to dry it, “You cum a lot,” she was careful in how she handled his softening prick, tucking it back into his sweatpants that she helped him tug up, “It tasted good though, so I guess that’s alright.”

“Thank you,” he wrapped his arms back around her waist when she sat back down on his lap, where she had been before, “You’re wonderful. I’ll make you cum next, yeah?”

“Mm,” she hummed, “I’m good for t’night, just wanted to do you.” The lavender tea was still warm, she could feel it from the ceramic that heated her fingertips, as she passed it off to his hand, “Since I have the most wonderful-est mouth in the world though, you could make me cookies or something.”

Harry took a drink, she wondered if it sank warm and comforting in his belly, “I don’t have anything for making cookies, Pet, I’m sorry,” he continued before she could pout, “But -- well, I thought maybe we could go into town tomorrow. A picnic on the beach might be fun if you’d like that -- it’s supposed to be a bit nicer out than it has been. We could even stop by that bakery you like so much and get sweets, yeah?”

“I love picnics, but --” she stopped herself, the words dance on her tongue but she shot their feet and watched them crumble because she couldn’t say but you hate going into town, don’t you? Since they think you killed your wife? -- no, that wouldn’t do. Her stupid brain had been just seconds from ruining a nice moment, and no matter how badly she wanted to know the truth, she didn’t necessarily want to find out after his prick was in her mouth. It felt like a heavier conversation than just post-orgasm cuddles on his chair, “-- but I didn’t bring my basket.” She settled for instead and she watched as the concern that had been building on his face dissipated, “I’ve got a wicked picnic basket but I think I either lost it in the move or it’s still at my old place.”

“That’s alright,” he began to rub her back with his free hand, “I’ve got one. It may not be as spectacular but it will do.”

She pushed a kiss to her cheek, “Okay, good,” she told him, “Now finish your tea, I’m exhausted.”

. . .

They cuddled that night; Harry liked to be a big spoon so he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

There is a nightmare -- a small one, nowhere near the extent of the other’s that she’s woken him from -- so she doesn’t have to wake him up as abruptly nor aggressively. She merely spun in his arms and petted at his face, murmuring for him to wake up only two times before his eyes blinked open. Before she could say anything, he reached up and held her hand closer to his cheek.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice gravelly, “I’m awake?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “You’re awake.”

Harry nodded, “I’m awake,” he agreed quietly, his eyes fluttered shut again, “I love you.”

Y/N’s brain doesn’t really catch it -- how could her brain catch anything, really? She was so sleepy, and Harry was so warm, and soft, and she wormed her body closer around his.

“Love you too.” She murmured but her mouth is filled with marbles and her brain doesn’t catch that either.

. . .

“Baker bezzy!” Adam cheered when the bell on the store door’s knob clinked against the glass at their arrival, a grin stretched wide on his mouth as he stuck his arms out high in the air, “Oh, how I’ve missed you -- but the cash registers have missed you more, m’sure of it.” His brows shot straight to the sky once his gaze shifted over to Harry, “Mr. Styles, always a pleasure! And Mr. Charlie, looking dashing.”

Y/N loved a warm welcome and Adam was always keen on giving them. Charlie was strapped to her chest in his best picnic gear, dungarees beneath his purple coat and buckled shoes that Y/N knew she was going to pop off at some point so he could stuff his toes in the sand. He held her finger in one of his hands, flashing gummy smiles with a singular tooth that had begun to sprout, and Adam waved at him with three fingers. She was appreciative of his treatment toward Harry most of all though; despite his clear surprise that he was seeing him for the first time in what may be more than a year, he covered it well.

“Hello,” Y/N smiled brightly, “My wallet surely hasn’t missed you though if I’m honest.”

He holds his hand over his chest, “You wound me, but I’ll let it go. Lucky for you, I’ve just pulled your favorite out of the oven.”

“Cinnamon rolls?” She gasped, and Adam used both of his hands, waving them toward himself.

“Yes, yes, you can say it -- Adam, you’re the best, you’re so cool, oh my god what would we do without you -- wouldn’t be the first time I heard it, and you know what?” He plucked off the glove on his right hand, typing something into the register quickly, “They’re on the house, ‘cos I missed you lot so much. Take me on your trip next time.”

Y/N thanked him about a dozen times before picking out what else she would like, and looping one of her fingers in Harry’s belt loops to tug him closer to the display, “D’ya want a chocolate puff? I dunno’ what that is but it sounds yummy.”

She effectively racked up a little too much, but it’d been so long since she’d been here so she deemed it only appropriate. Plus, she got free cinnamon rolls which made it a little better. Y/N tried not to spend so much time speaking with Adam as she usually does, especially when she’d realized quickly that Harry was not adding much to the conversation. He probably felt awkward -- Y/N might if she hadn’t been down walking about town for a while, unknowing of how he might be received. Adam had been kind outwardly, but were his thoughts filled with malice? Was he looking at Harry up and down, debating on whether or not he was a cruel being?

Adam had been the one to bring it up to her, but he was also the first to disagree with the population consensus. Harry didn’t know that though -- all Harry knew was that Adam was working smack in the middle of a town that thought he’d killed his wife. Y/N couldn’t say that she would be up for much conversation at that point either, but she still tried to incorporate him into the conversation though he was more so responding with polite smiles and nods. There was little tension behind it but she could still sense his discomfort and ended the conversation with a wad of cash as her gratitude; he told them to come back soon and sent a wink in their direction.

She thought nothing of it -- he always winked, whether it be to her, or the older women that come in, she reckoned he was just being a flirt. It had been so insignificant, actually, that after they made their way to the private beach, laid his lavender-colored “bleach blanket” out to sit on, and unloaded the basket (that was filled with sandwiches, chips, fruit and veggie slices, the cinnamon rolls they’d just gotten for dessert, and some mashed peas and sweet potatoes for Charlie to eat), when Harry said, “He likes you,” Y/N is more than confused.

“Who, Charlie?” She had pulled him from where he was strapped on her stomach, flipping him around so he was sitting in her lap, leaning against her torso and staring out at the ocean, “I’d sure hope so, he has to see this ol’ mug often enough.” Y/N popped open the container of mashed peas, while she let him hold onto his spoon, his fingers wrapped tightly around it while he marveled at the ladybug figure on the handle.

Harry shook his head pensively, “No, not Charlie,” he responded, and in turn, Y/N’s brows furrowed, as she took the spoon from Charlie and dipped it in the peas, “Your baker bezzy. . .Adam.”

A scoffed laugh left her mouth as she gaped at him, “Adam?” Her movements pause, the spoon stopping just short of Charlie’s mouth, and a frustrated whine peels from the back of his throat, “He absolutely does not like me!”

“I think he does,” he twists his ring at the bottom of his pinky finger, but instead of bashfully looking to the side his eyes bore into her own, “How he looks at you and talks to you -- he winked at you and gave you free cinnamon rolls. . .” he trailed off, before repeating firmly, “I think he does.”

“I think that he’s just a bit of a friendly flirter and I leave good tips,” she shook her head again, “But like me? Not like that, I’m certain of it.”

Harry straightened out his back, “How do you know?”

It hadn’t been what she was expecting, and she’s flustered as she fumbles over, “Because I just know! I figure I could piece together if someone had feelings for me or not.”

“You didn’t know I had feelings for you,” he pointed out, reaching forward to wipe away some of the food that had dribbled onto Charlie’s chin before wiping it away with a napkin, “I’d been -- I’d been enamored by you since the first week we’d met, and you had no clue, did you?”

Her eyes bulged wide, as she exclaimed, “No you weren’t!” Because she wasn’t that blind, was she? The first few weeks they knew each other Harry had been so cold and closed off; she would shuffle back and forth anxiously behind him while he methodically made his morning coffee hoping he wasn’t moments from telling her she was fired. As time went on, they’d certainly gotten closer, but she would have had to say that bridge was crossed further than just a week of meeting, “Harry, I thought you hated me that first week.”

“I was incredibly fond of you. More so than I should have been and more so than I particularly cared to admit at the time. You smelled like fresh linen and sweets all the time, and your smile always reached your eyes; I never imagined you would feel even remotely the same for me, so I tried to be as distant as possible with you working in my house but it was difficult -- you made it very difficult.” Again, Y/N wishes that even for a moment he would break away his gaze, because she’s captivated by his words and mesmerized by the way the sunlight brought sparkles to the green of his irises, “When you held me for the first time, it felt like my insides had melted and it was all I could think about for weeks after.”

Her heart was hammering, thundering in her ears, “Harry --”

“And I was so cold toward you because I hated myself for feeling that way, but it felt good to be warmed in the light that you emit. All of that is beside the point,” he huffed out a breath, pointing his finger toward himself, “If I could hide that right under your nose, then he could definitely hide liking you behind free cinnamon rolls and cheeky winks.”

It took Y/N a while to find what to say, her mind racing a hundred thoughts a second, but she felt as if no response she conjured up would be good enough. Her heart filled with butterflies, that fluttered down to her stomach and made her giddy all over. She felt like a kid again, as she flushed warm, so it was only reasonable that in true teenage fashion her response was to nudge him with her foot, trying not to grin as hard as she wanted to.

“Harry,” she began, “You’re jealous.”

A disgruntled look took his face, and for a moment Y/N almost regrets saying it, but then he responds.

“I am,” he admitted, shoulders slumped and for the first time he shifts his gaze from her to the ring he’s twisting around his finger, “Like a petulant child,” he sounded upset with himself, giving a strong sigh, “I am jealous that you may have feelings for him because I think you two would do well with each other. And I -- I fear that I’m not very fun.”

His honesty is a lot, but it’s refreshing. Like breathing the air of a meadow far from the city smog that sat heavy in the lungs, where the grass is green and dewy, the flowers have all blossomed, it feels like living in a painting and it smells like renewal and it’s clear as looking through crystals. He speaks from his heart; his words are sincere, and it makes her feel like she’s floating. She wishes he didn’t look so grumpy about it though -- and she wishes he didn’t think that he wasn’t fun.

So Y/N plopped the spoon back into the peas and set it off to the side for a moment, placing her hand on Charlie’s tummy and keeping him pressed to her body as she began to shuffle from where she’d been positioned. She carefully avoided the food they had set up, but she urgently pats at his thighs until he gets the hint to spread them open. Y/N spun around so she faced out toward the water again, only this time she pressed her back up against his torso and lied against him, settling Charlie back in the cradle of her crossed legs, taking the peas in hand.

“If I had feelings for Adam that surpassed friendly, then I would be in the bakery kneading bread or summat. And if I didn’t have fun with you Harry, then I would avoid every chance of seeing you outside of your house for more than a few minutes at the time,” she tilted her head back, craning her neck so that she could look up at him some, and she finds that he’s looking at her, “If I wanted to be anywhere else right now, then I would be, but I’m not because I want to be with you.” She knocks his foot against hers, “Aish, you’re silly.”

Harry smiled, his hand cradled the side of her face and petted at her jawline tenderly, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the waves crash against the shore in a particularly loud burst but he’s so close she can still hear him clearly, “I know I worry too much. I’ve never had this amount of reassurance before.”

She grinned, “Well if it’s reassurance you need, then I’ve got a load of it!” Y/N dipped the spoon in the peas and fed Charlie again, “I love a bit of reassurance myself, so I try to dish it out as much as possible, y’know?”

He dips his forehead against the back of her head, and breathes in deep, wrapping his arms around both her and Charlie.

Harry says nothing but he doesn’t have to.

Their lunch is pleasant, the sun is warm, and Charlie fell asleep soon after they had finished, resting with his cheek on her chest and his arms slung around her body. Y/N was moments from sleep herself, with her belly full and her mind swimming in drowsy clouds. It hadn’t helped that Harry was petting so gently at her arm, accompanied with murmured stories of his childhood by her request. Harry had always told her that he’d grown up with money, and from the time spent with his parents that much was clear, but she was curious by the extent of it. Growing up her family hadn’t been in the worst shape, but definitely not the best, so the polarity of their younger years was interesting to her.

He’d told her about the birthdays that he had, one of which included him and his four closest friends taking a trip to Disney World. His parents covered the entirety of the visit, along with bringing Harry’s nanny along so that she could watch over all five of the nine-year-olds (which clued her in that paying for nannies on their trips was a standard practice Harry had carried over). Nothing had been off-limits, he’d told her, that whatever he had set his eyes on he got and Y/N mused over the possibilities of all the things his nine-year-old self had determined he needed. Shirts, stuffies, figurines -- he told her his mum had kept them all, and each year on his birthday she sends one of the stuffed animals with his actual gift (which she’d been doing for eight years now, meaning that he had gotten at least eight stuffed animals and with the price of those things? Christ!).

And then he told her about his first kiss, back when he was 11 under an apple tree at his Nan’s farm, with the daughter of a family friend. He told her it was horrible, and he’d been so nervous that he’d cried leading up to it, but he regarded the memory fondly. Harry kept in touch with her for years after and had even been the first person she’d come out to when they were teenagers -- he came with her on her first date and spied from a distance because she had watched one too many crime shows and had been positive she was going to be kidnapped, but it went well. When the date had gone to the restroom, Harry slid over to the table and slipped her money to pay the tab and get ice cream afterward.

Y/N had inquired about his schooling, and he told her all the ins-and-outs of the private school that he’d attended. He said it had been pleasantly boring, but went on to tell her an extensive four-part story about a student-teacher relationship that somehow managed to last three of their four years there. It had pulled her from the dreamy state she had slipped into, finding that she’d slipped down so her head was in his lap as she opened her eyes and gaped up at him, “That’s like -- like, incredibly illegal.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry had agreed, “I always knew something was up with the bloke — he ate raisin bread every lunch period.”

A horrified gasp left her mouth, “No, the monster! Why every lunch period?”

“Couldn’t tell you. It was very unsettling.”

After that, Harry started describing a trip that he’d taken to Japan during cherry blossom season, and went into extreme detail about how the air smelled, and how the wind felt against his skin. He told her that words and pictures would never be able to translate how beautiful it was, but he tried his best to as he traced looping patterns with the tips of his fingers onto her cheeks. That’s when her eyes had fluttered closed, and that’s when she started falling into a pleasant slumber. Harry still spoke though she knew he could see that she was falling asleep, but he doesn’t mention it other than caressing her jaw and murmuring, “Sleepy thing.”

Y/N is unsure how long they are there, but she is very sure that she’s never been more comfortable in her life. And as he coaxes her awake, she opened her eyes, squinting at the sun that still sat high over them while she tried to refocus on his face, “Hm?” She hummed and Harry giggled brightly.

“I said let’s get you two home, Angel,” he helped guide her from his lap, but he doesn’t rush her -- just a gentle hand on her back as she cradles a still-sleeping Charlie to her body as she sat up, “When I checked the weather they called for rain in an hour or two. Reckon it wouldn’t be very fun to get caught up in the storm.”

They clean up after themselves thoroughly, and Y/N carefully places Charlie in his holder that was fixed on Harry’s chest this time. As they walk toward the car, Y/N can tell that Harry is deep in thought but she doesn’t question him on it -- she didn’t like to pry or push him to say things if he wasn’t ready to, which made it all the more gratifying when he did open up to her, even about little things. Though this thing, apparently, had felt very big to Harry -- at least the furrow in his brow was telling her that.

“I --” he began, and Y/N paused, her hand wrapped around the handle of the door, humming to let him know she was listening, “I need to go to the store.”

She controlled her features well enough, she’d say, because her brows don’t skyrocket at the suggestion of going in an even more public area than the bakery, “Oh? What d’ya need?”

With a clear of his throat, he explained, “We ran out of creamer and paracetamol,” his fingers are clutched tight around the keys but he finally digs the pad of his thumb on the button to unlock the car, “It’ll only be a moment.”

Y/N popped the door open, “Well that’s easy enough! I can pop in for you if you want. Or we could go in together too!” It rolled off her tongue -- she tried to act as natural as she could about it; she couldn’t let him go into that store alone. The thought of it gave her hives all over, “I might as well pick up a few things myself.”

Harry gave a ruminative smile, one that barely reached his eyes and only twitched the corner of her mouth by the smallest of quirks. It was very reminiscent of the sort of smiles she’d been privy to when they’d first met, and she’d not realized how much she hadn’t missed it at all. She liked the smiles that she received now, big and bright, rosy cheeks but a beautiful light behind his gaze. No, this one was cold and contemplative -- this one spoke of loneliness and pain.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to go in by yourself.” Harry questioned and she didn’t waste a moment, nodding quickly.

“Of course,” she popped the door open, “Yeah, we’ll both go in then. In and out, right?”

He was nervous. Even if Y/N had not an inkling of a clue about his past (and his present, she guesses) with this town, she could feel the tension thick and heavy in her chest. It makes her shuffle uncomfortably, silence filling the car apart from the tick of his blinker as they made their way to the market. Her heart hammered as he parked the car, and it continued to hammer as they got out of the car, Harry placed Charlie into his holder against his body and they walked toward the store. Y/N tried to lighten the mood even just a little, and again she got that tiny little smile, that made her shoulders sink just slightly.

She thinks the tension eases when they walk through the doors and are not immediately stoned. Y/N isn’t a hundred percent sure what the both of them expected, but she guesses something to that extent was what had built up in their heads. A deep breath in and she tried one more time, and squeezed his shoulder once as a silent reminder that she was right there beside him, “They have those red bean buns here, right? I’ll get us some of those.”

Harry scrunched his nose at her, “I think your body functions solely off sweets now, doesn’t it? If not for me you would not eat any real food.”

It felt as if both of them had been holding air in their lungs but finally sighed out, and each passing minute without a scene breaking out among the others in the grocery, the more they both relaxed. While she could still feel Harry’s worry, he had even begun joking some with her, not letting his guard down but making an effort not to let on how uncomfortable he was to her.

Y/N had really thought they’d made it through the whole store without any trouble, as she slipped the red bean buns into their basket. Harry had been right in the middle of asking her if she’d like anything else while they were still here, just as they passed a woman in a purple knitted sweater. If Y/N hadn’t been staring at one of the stitches at the back of the neck that was just a bit loose, she may not have caught it, and maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t. Maybe it would have been better if her ears hadn’t perked up to hear the uttered, “Disgusting,” that left the woman’s mouth as her gaze caught Y/N’s.

Her brows dip as she paused, her upper half had already been turned and her bottom half followed so she faced the woman fully, “Excuse me?” Y/N said it without thinking, and Harry hums as if he thought she was speaking to him, “Ma’am, what did you say?”

The woman had little shame as she turned to face Y/N, face pinched as if she were revolted, and Y/N’s heart began to sink as she realized what was happening, and with Harry right beside her no less, “I said disgusting,” she put emphasis on the word, “For him to show his face here. We all thought he’d moved.”

Y/N scoffed, “Listen, you need to --”

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice cut through her sentence, his hand resting idly on her shoulder, drawing her attention from the woman, “It isn’t worth it. We should go home.”

The pain in his eyes makes her heart sink lower; she felt as it eroded in her stomach’s acid, and the fight in her had been snuffed out like a small flame beneath a shoe. Y/N looked from the both of them, perturbed by the situation, conflicted only slightly as she swallowed and began to turn away from her. She would have left to -- for Harry’s sake, she would have left and pretended that it hadn’t happened at all until he felt comfortable enough to bring it up -- she would have, really.

“Yeah, why don’t you go home? Wife killer.”

She really would have.

“Actually, I think you’re the disgusting one,” Y/N had begun as she turned back around, “To say something so cruel. He lost his wife and you’ve decided that it’s his fault? You’re the worst kind of cruel -- downright evil,” her nails pinch into her palms, “You’re awful!”

“Y/N --” Harry tried again, but the woman cut her off quickly.

“He’s the awful one!” She seemed shocked Y/N could have even suggested otherwise, “You’re new here, Honey, so I’ll let you in on what your boyfriend did. He killed his wife after treating her awfully -- cheating on her!” Her words were vile, and to say all of this in front of Harry. The rage that lit through her vessels was enough to make her feel like she was burning up, “And he got away with it ‘cos he can afford fancy lawyers to cover up the truth. So before you go around calling people you don’t know evil, look at the man beside you. And learn some respect.”

Y/N took a small breath, just a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Fuck off.”

“Excuse me?” The woman’s brows raise.

“Respectfully, Fuck. Off.” Y/N’s glare was undeviating, but she could feel eyes on them -- other people watching them closely, though they wouldn’t show it outright, “Were you there when it happened?” She stepped forward, “Or are you God? Some deity?” The woman appeared confounded, like her argument should have been able to sway Y/N, “I don’t think you are -- I think. . .I think you’re a foul creature that thinks you have the right to judge a situation you had no part of. And I think you should think about someone’s feelings before you start saying something with no real basis other than word of mouth from other people just as rotten as you. You really need to do some soul searching if you think that this is the proper way to confront anyone about your feelings. I hope you think about this before you go to bed at night.” She stepped back, closer toward Harry before taking another small breath, “You’re lucky you didn’t wake the baby, or you would have really upset me. Goodbye.”

With this, she turned back on her heel, and carefully guided Harry by his shoulder to follow her as he let the basket sit on the ground where they’d been. Her eyes burned with tears of frustration and anger, as the look on his face when the woman had first stopped them replayed over and over again in her head. Maybe if she had fought him on it -- maybe if she had just fought him a little harder, he would have stayed in the car and she could have spared him from having to hear that woman. She gave in too easily, and when he tried to get them to leave, she stayed to fight which. . .well, she doesn’t regret saying anything that she did, but she does regret making Harry look bad if she had.

All she had done was bring more attention to them -- she blew it out wide open and brought everyone into his business. She wouldn’t be shocked if he were upset with her. . .no matter her defending him.

“Y/N,” he says her name, but she doesn’t respond at first, swallowed in her thoughts she barely registered that he’d said anything, “Y/N.”

“Yes?” She responded, her hand sliding from his shoulder and back down toward her side.

He paused for a moment, “You knew?”

For a moment, everything freezes.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart hiccuped over a beat; Y/N’s fingers twitched where they sat at her sides, her lips hung open waiting for her brain to muster a response -- anything. Could she figure out something to say? Anything at all?

“Y --” she sighed, her blood roaring in her ears, “Yes,” she answered, shoulders slumping in defeat, “I knew. But not -- I didn’t know at the start at all.”

“How long?” Charlie began to blink his eyes open, slow as a pleased cat, “You knew for how long?”

Was he angry with her? Y/N couldn’t tell -- she couldn’t read him at all and it made her palms sweat. She hadn’t been technically lying but she still felt immense guilt suffocating her at the realization that she hadn’t been entirely truthful either. Not that she ever had the opportunity to just. . .bring it up, but still -- fuck, she didn’t know what to do.

“Since the third week.”

. . .

The ride to his house is silent.

Not the comfortable one that they sometimes fell into; like when she’s so focused staring out the window that no words come to her mouth, where the engine’s lulled purr and Charlie’s small giggles and babbles fizzled through the quiet. The kind where Harry had much recently started placing his hand on her thigh, resting it there with no real purpose other than to touch her. One where she feels content and calm, and if she let her eyes flutter shut she could drift off to sleep, the sun disappearing and reappearing as they drive past trees creating pink flickers behind her lids.

No, this wasn’t like that at all.

There was no noise. It felt like even the car had sensed the tension and held its breath waiting for one of them to slice words through the quiet. Her gaze was trained out the window but her fingers shook and her heart raced -- she could hear it thumping in her ears. She should have kept her mouth shut, she’s decided that if she hadn’t said anything at all then everything would be okay. If she had ignored the woman’s tasteless murmur, then she and Harry could have been laughing right now. Maybe they would have sat at one of the park benches, or pushed Charlie on the swing. Maybe Harry would share one of her sweets with her while the sun began to sink. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so downtrodden and gloomy.

Clouds thick with rain pulled in from the North and had Harry not mentioned them earlier, she would have thought the weather had changed with the mood. It was befitting, at the very least, the heavy drops spatter the glass as the gates open for them, and the loud iron hinges that usually make her cringe is a welcomed piercing into the silence. If it were a normal day, Y/N would joke that they should ditch the gate and invest in a moat instead -- she thinks Harry might have chuckled.

Y/N half expects him to tell her to go home, but he doesn’t. The first words he spoke after about 20 minutes of nothing was a gentle request to take Charlie in, and warning her that Niall would be stopping by for something. She vaguely remembered him mentioning Niall earlier before all this, so she doesn’t panic that he was lifting her of her duties and going back to how things had been before her, but the thought had still arisen, no matter how fleeting.

“Do you need help grabbing everything?” She inquired, but he only shook his head.

“I’ll be okay.”

It was rotten -- this feeling that had begun to overcome her was as rotten as the wood in a forgotten cabin and as dense as sludge from the bottom of a polluted river. This was her fault. . .god, if she had just kept her stupid mouth shut!

But how could she? The lady had been so spiteful and so cruel, and to witness it happening rather than just theorizing about it, made it much too real. At that moment, the weight of what Harry had been going through here had finally settled deep in her chest and it made her sick. She didn’t know what happened but she knew he had vivid nightmares -- she knew the lost, faraway look that would take over his face at the mention of his wife, and she knew the pain that crossed his features every moment he’d uttered how he doesn’t really go to town.

They all so viciously passed judgment on them for something they knew absolutely nothing about and Y/N defended him for something she knew nothing about. It felt as if it had happened either seconds ago or hours ago like she was caught in a figure-eight of time that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be -- seconds, minutes, hours. Tears still burned behind her eyes but she refused to shed them, as she hid away for a little while with Charlie in his playroom. The only time she comes out is just a little over two hours of them being home when it was time for Charlie’s supper. Just as she’d stepped onto the hardwood from the last step, the doorbell rang and Y/N was quick to answer it.

Niall is revealed once she pulls the door open, and the warmth of his grin combats the chill of evening air that rushed in the foyer, “Hey, Y/N!”

“Hi,” she smiled, stepping out of the way so that he could step in, “How was your winter break?”

Niall loosened his scarf from around his throat, “If Mr. Styles asks, it was dull, boring and I couldn’t wait to get back to work, but between you, me, and Charlie, I wish we had about four more weeks of it.”

She led them in and went to the kitchen while Niall made his way to Harry’s office. Y/N fuddled about making Charlie’s dinner, but could only stomach a glass of water for herself as she fed him. Normally she would dance between giving Charlie some, then eating a bite of her food, and making idle chatter with him as she did so. She still tried to chatter at him so he didn’t notice the difference, but she knew he could feel something was off. Babies were smart little things, and they could read energy better than anyone in a room like they had built-in radars that either dampen or strengthen with time.

Instead of feeding off it in a bad way and getting fussy, he’s just extra cuddly though. Held one of her fingers while she slid mashed carrots into his mouth and cooed at his puckered lips while he tasted it. No matter what happened today, this little guy knew no different -- just another day for him. . .she longed to switch places.

Just as she had wiped his face clean of his food and filled the dishwasher with what she used, the door to Harry’s office opens, followed by a call of, “See you, Mr. Styles!” So she turned her body toward the opening to the kitchen so she could bid him a farewell too, and soon enough he pops into the frame, “Hey, I’m heading out. Mr. Styles said after you lay Charlie down to come speak with him,” Y/N’s breathing hitched, Niall raised his fingers that he had crossed with a grin, “Hope it’s for a raise. See you later!”

“See you later,” she called after him but it was weak, and her heart (that had just finally begun to settle) began to hammer again. It continued to do so as she pulled Charlie from his seat, and all throughout his nighttime routine. She still tries for him, smiling at him, humming, and talking as she washed him clean of the day, blew raspberries into his tummy after she lotioned his skin, and dressed him in something warm and cozy. Charlie would fall asleep if she set him in his crib, she knew that, but to soothe herself and prolong what may be an intense conversation, she sat him in her lap and read him a story. Even after he’d fallen asleep in her arms, she pressed her nose to his soft hair and tried to calm herself down.

Eventually, it couldn’t be helped any longer. Her nerves got the better of her and she lowered him into his crib, turned off the light, clicked his sound machine on low, and crept out of the room quietly. She knew Harry would still be in his office because she hadn’t heard him go to his bedroom, so she walked down the steps and tried to soothe the worry from her bones as she grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen. No matter what, it was still Harry -- still the man who was always so gentle and kind with her. Today had thrown him off -- it would throw anyone off, so she understood why he was so quiet and distant. She would be too if the circumstances were flipped.

Still, she hated how this felt, as her knuckles knocked against the wood and she held her breath, waiting for him to speak.

“Come in.”

One more deep breath and she pushes the door open, and instead of making her way to his side like she had been doing, she stood at the door awkwardly, waiting for him to speak first. If she had been the one to initiate this then she would have prepared something to say, but she stays quiet -- he invited her down, so he had something to say, and she was keen on hearing it. Harry stood in front of his desk, his bum resting against the lip of it with his legs outstretched, and he held himself up with his hands on either side of him. He doesn’t avoid her gaze, locking it with her own, and she watched as he took a deep breath of his own, blowing a small stream of air through pursed lips.

“First, I want to apologize,” he finally started, and Y/N swallowed thickly, “I shouldn’t have -- I shouldn’t have subjected you to an environment I knew could have been hostile. We should have gone home and I should have just ordered it.” Her brows knit immediately, and she opened her mouth to refute that, that could have been his fault in any way but he held up his hand, “Please, Sweetheart, I -- I need to -- I need to get through this.”

She nodded, the twist in her belly partially satiated by the term of endearment -- he wasn’t mad at her, at the very least -- that helped a great deal.

“I should have, but I hadn’t because -- because things just feel so normal with you, and I wanted that. . .I wanted to go to the grocery store with you how we could in the city, and to be normal here. I thought that maybe we could, but for my own selfish reasons, I didn’t think it through nearly enough.” He shook his head at himself, “And I apologize for shutting down the way that I did on the ride home. It was naive of me to believe you could work for me this long and not know what is thought of me here. I think a part of me thought you might know but you had always -- you had always treated me so kindly, and you never asked questions so I had suspicions that you may have heard a passing word of it but not in great detail.” One of his hands, he combs through his hair, sighing before he started again, his voice shook only slightly with the first syllable before he got a hold of it, “I told myself several times that if you. . .if you had ever asked what had happened to my wife, I would tell you everything. I would open my heart to you in every way imaginable before you could -- before they could say anything to you. So I was frustrated finding out that you had already heard that side of it, and that I wasn’t able to speak with you before you could think that I was a murderer --”

“I don’t,” she cut him off firmly, “I don’t think that at all.”

His lips twitched again, in a small smile that just barely reached his eyes that tilted down to the floor, “I want to tell you,” he took in a shaky breath, “I need to tell you, but I’m scared. I haven’t. . .I haven’t really told anyone the whole thing, but --” he looked back up to her, “Do you want to know? Are you -- are you willing to listen to me?”

“Yes, Harry,” she answered with assured conviction, without even a moment passing by, “I want you to tell me everything. If you want me to know then I want to know.”

He nodded, “Okay,” he murmured, “Can we sit?”

They positioned themselves on the couch, and Y/N took the decorative pillow that would be pressed against her back and sat it in her lap. She curled her arms around it, her fingers idly playing with the tassel at the bottom left corner just to give herself something to do. Harry was preparing himself to speak, and despite how relieved she was to finally get the story, she felt her heart clench in pity for him. Re-living it would be difficult, but he wanted to tell her -- he said he needed to tell her -- so she would listen.

“Ebba and I had met when we were 18 but had only been officially together for 2 years before we started to have problems,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on his side of the couch, his fingers fixed around the ring he’d been playing with earlier today, “It was little stuff at first -- little fights and grievances, but we both had decided that it was normal, that kind of thing. Couples bicker and argue because they love each other enough to, that’s what my mum had always said and it had always sounded about right. So we would have tiffs and make-up and it would be well again, but. . .well, the arguments started getting a little worse, especially around our anniversary. She kept accusing me of cheating on her, again and again, and again, but I hadn’t even so much as thought about another woman since I asked her on our first date.” He stared at a spot on the floor -- he looked far away, “And it’s a shit feeling being accused of something like that, so I would fight her back.”

“You’d think we would have taken a break or something to cool off from each other, but we were 23 so instead we moved in together. Thought maybe if we were around each other more then questions of infidelity could be shattered because we would be around each other more. This is around the time I started really gaining my footing in the industry, you know? And Ebba -- well, she’d already had a well-established place at her mother’s company so she was doing just fine. We played happy home for a little while in the new place in the city but it went. . .it went bad again, a few months in. She became very. . .aggressive when we fought, like -- like smashing things and breaking things, but I always figured that was kind of my fault. Could never admit when I was in the wrong about something so I’d just keep pushing her, y’know? Or it had felt that way at least, like no matter what I said I would just push her and push her and push her. But we --” he dipped his head down, staring into his lap, “We loved each other so much, we didn’t want to end things. Had plenty of conversations about ending it, and she’d even packed her bags a few times but we’d never go through with it. If she left, she’d show back up at our flat the next day.”

He took a small breath, pausing for a moment like he was collecting his thoughts again and Y/N offered him the water that sat at their feet. Harry nodded and took two drinks before he continued.

“My mum suggested couple’s counseling, ‘cos she and my father had once when they were younger, so we did. The woman they had gone to see was still in practice so we went and did about 12 sessions. It worked for a little while, or well enough that I thought proposing was the next best step -- we had re-entered that honeymoon stage again and it felt like we were on top of the world. So I proposed and we got married, and it was good for a few months but then I got a promotion,” he twisted the cap back on the bottle, setting it back where it had been on the ground beside her leg, “So I was traveling less with her, and I had less time off but that was a decision I made for myself, the company hadn’t made it. I wanted to -- for selfish reasons. . .it was all for selfish reasons. I wanted more money and I wanted to climb up the company and to learn from the best, but I couldn’t do that if I was spending summer weeks in Cabo. But I never -- I was never clear behind my motives for doing it, so she thought I was just trying to avoid her. Avoid her and “fuck some old computer prick’s wife” is what she would say. And the more we would fight, the longer I would stay at work, the less we would see each other.”

Y/N’s mind was spinning; it felt like Harry was dropping pieces of information that she followed closely behind to collect, fixing them into a timeline that he’d created. Her heart was still beating quickly.

“The first time I caught her cheating, she cried to me after I walked in on them -- it was some bloke from her job, I think, but she had thought I was gone at a business conference for a week. We’d had a massive fight before I left about me leaving, so I had changed my flight a day early to surprise her. The flat was trashed and she was there on the bed with him in our room. I wanted to leave -- to stay at a hotel for the night but she was sobbing, and she was drunk, and I couldn’t leave her alone. So I stayed, and the next few days were rough but then we talked it out, and we cried, and it was good again.” He gave a small self-deprecating smile, “That happened only one more time in that flat, but it technically “didn’t count” because we were on something of a break. I didn’t really see it as that kind of break, but I hadn’t been clear, I suppose.”

It was hard to hear him reflect on it, still finding fault in things that he shouldn’t at all find fault in. Her chest ached for him.

“I went back to school for my Master’s in an accelerated program when I was about 25. I told her I wanted to teach because I wanted to share my knowledge and help students put their best foot forward how some of my good professors allowed me to. Which was true, for the most part, but most of me just wanted to be away from her. I couldn’t handle it anymore -- the fighting, and the breaking, the yelling and the. ..and the hitting. It just felt good to not be home, but instead of being honest with her, I just found more reasons to not be alone with her for more than a dinner or two. I regret that. . .I regret not being honest.” He took in a shaky breath, “2ish before she died, we moved out here, and that was the real end for us. It started out kind of good, like always but then she started disappearing for days at a time. She had started drinking a lot and partying, and the worse our fights got. I tried to get her help -- I could see she was unhappy and this was never the life she wanted to live. It was too close to her father, and she hated it, and so I tried but she didn’t want it. She would say that she wasn’t addicted to anything, she was just having fun because life with me was miserable. I told her I wanted a divorce.”

His eyes had started to become glossy, she noticed how dewy they looked from the glow of his lamp, so she placed her hand on his knee and stroked it carefully with her thumb.

“At first she didn’t fight me on it, only packed her bags and said she would be with her mother for a while. A week later she came and told me that Charlie was in her belly and he was mine -- it was bittersweet. For once I understood why people tried to make marriages work for a child’s sake, and for nine months we were. . .fine. We weren’t awful but we weren’t good either -- we were just fine. But when Charlie was born I. . .” he paused, “When he was born I just had a feeling. A sick, disgusting feeling but it was there nagging at the back of my head and I couldn’t quiet it. So one day when she had gone out with her friends, I took Charlie and we got a paternity test.”

Y/N forces her face to stay neutral.

Her breathing pauses entirely.

“5 days later I found out that Charlie wasn’t mine,” his brows furrowed, and he shook his head, “I confronted her about it. I didn’t -- I didn’t care that he wasn’t mine, I had already fallen in love with him but I needed her to know that I knew. I wanted to know who his real father was. I wanted to know why, if there was any doubt that he could have been mine, did she not tell me. She got upset, she took Charlie and went to stay with her mother again. I didn’t see either of them for 4 months, until -- until one day someone knocked on my door but they were gone before I’d gotten there, and in their place was Charlie. It was too cold for him to be out there so I brought him inside first and I made sure he was warm and taken care of before I called her. I called her again, and again, and again, and again. Niall was there for that, which -- well, he really shouldn’t have been here even while he’s a TA but he was struggling with the material for an exam in one of his other courses and asked me to help him. I hadn’t been on campus so he drove out and we’d been studying in my office.” He explained, wiping a tear from his cheek, “I wonder. . .I always wonder what must have been going on in his head to see his professor like that. Couldn’t bring myself to look at his face but he was playing with Charlie for me, while I was pacing.”

“I checked her location and saw she was in the city, and I -- I apologized and begged Niall to sit with Charlie while I went to see if everything was okay. I just had this horrible feeling, because it hadn’t felt like the other times where she would just disappear and not answer my calls. If she was in the city already then it couldn’t have been her to drop Charlie off, someone else had. Halfway there I got a call from her mum and -- she was sobbing, and asking if Ebba was with me. If I knew where she was, and I told her I was on my way there. She told me that Ebba had written her a letter and left it on the counter for her, for when she got home. She said she was going to -- she said she was done with it all. With everything -- with life.”

It’s getting harder for him to continue, tears fall freely from his eyes now but he still won’t allow himself to truly break and Y/N’s hold on his knee tightens.

“She was at this bridge -- it used to be really popular a decade ago but they started construction on it that never finished, so it was basically deserted. By the time I had gotten there, the police were already there and they were -- her body was covered at the river below the bridge. I cried into the dirt, and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed until an officer’s hands touched my back and he sat me up. Her mom showed up around then too. It was awful. . .it was so, so, so fucking horrible.” He wiped at his face again, “When they actually looked over her, she was -- she had a lot of different drugs in her system.”

“And everyone. . .everyone in this fucking town had thought I killed her and after. . .and after all this time, it started to feel like it. I would have -- I hadn’t seen her for months at that point, there was nothing I could have done, but they look at me like I’m a fucking monster. Like I pushed her off the bridge myself. There stupid fucking theories -- they didn’t think I could hear them but I could. How I didn’t act like Charlie was my son because I resented him and his mother. I love him with my whole heart but those first few months after her death and even sometimes now I’m just so. . .I’m so scared that his biological father will come for him. I didn’t want to -- it sounds stupid now, but I didn’t want to get too close so it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he was taken from me, but even that didn’t work. I’m stiff and stuffy but I love him, and even though the whole relationship was nothing but tattered ribbon by the end, I would have never hurt her. I had. . .I didn’t love her anymore. I hadn’t felt any true love for her for years at that point, but I didn’t want her dead, and with a child in this world no less! But no -- no they made me out to be a killer.“

Y/N is overwhelmed by all of it -- every single word had been more and more difficult to process, and there was no hope of her being able to formulate a response that would do him any good just moments after he’d finished telling her. Sympathy and sorrow weigh in her muscles as she moves forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Harry’s body and dragging him into her own. As if had taken a sledgehammer to the last stonewall he had up around him, he sobs. He holds her close, even tighter than he has after a nightmare, and he lets every emotion that he’d been bottling up out all at once. It’s heartbreaking; her own tears wet her cheeks.

She isn’t sure how long he cried, but it wanes slowly, reduced to hiccups and sniffles. Y/N would have held him to her chest as long as he wanted -- all night and into the morning if that’s what he needed -- but when he’s finally settled, he begins to withdraw. His cheeks are red and wet, his eyes are puffy, his lips are bitten swollen and fuchsia red -- he looks absolutely fucking exhausted. Y/N cradles his face in her hands and guides him to look at her, stroking the damp skin of his face with her thumbs as she spoke.

“Thank you for telling me. I know it must have been very hard,” he nodded, “I don’t think I could ever have the right words to say, to absolve you of any guilt you’re feeling, or to make any of your pain go away, but I do -- I do want to tell you,” his lips quiver, “That Charlie is your son, even though you don’t share blood. You’ve raised him, and you care for him, and when he sees you you can just tell that he is yours, and no matter what happens nothing can change that fact. And I wanted to tell you, that you were not at fault for her death. There was nothing you could have done, so you cannot blame yourself for that, because she was sick Harry. And you can’t solely take the blame for what you’d been through in your relationship either -- it was abusive. You’ve been through so, so much and nobody should ever have to go through anything like that,” she leaned forward, and pushed a kiss to his forehead, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish I could take it all away.”

Harry took in a shaky breath, “Thank you for listening to me,” he murmured, “And for. . .and for not believing them and what they said about me. And for telling Mrs. Stuart off in the grocery. And for. . .for everything,” he dipped down, touching their foreheads together, and he giggled a small bit, “I want -- I want to get better. To process all the trauma of it so I can be the best version of myself for you and Charlie. Reckon I should probably look into therapy.”

Y/N breathed out a laugh, “I think that may be beneficial, yeah. Think everyone could use a bit of therapy -- nothing shameful about it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “I think I’ll do that.”

. . .

Y/N had not foreseen how light the air around them would be. Even lighter than before; if a week ago it felt like floating on clouds with him, then now they move when the wind blows even a gentle gust. It’s good and it’s freeing, and if it feels as if there’s a weight off her chest then she knows Harry must feel a weight off his.

It was a lot — all of it was so much, and she doesn’t think she could truly comprehend the pain that Harry had suffered through but though it hurts to know, she’s glad to understand him more. To understand all his stony bits and all his worn, weathered bits. To push a piece that had been missing in the puzzle and see the full picture — and while it was agonizing to retell, she noticed how even now Harry has softened more, and she had already thought he was as soft as he could’ve been.

As if he were porcelain, Y/N treats him delicately. She knows how he must feel right now, exhausted and raw; his inner thoughts and the source of his nightmares cracked open and spread out before the both of them. He deserved to be touched kindly, and gently. With warmth and love and care. Y/N knew it wasn’t her responsibility to pick up the broken pieces and tape them back together -- that would be too much work for any one person to do for another -- but she vowed right then to help him. In her mind, she promised to hand him bits of tape when he was sticking parts together or helping him reach his back. She’d support him in any way she could because she. . .she felt so deeply for him. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt this way for anyone before -- she knows she hasn’t, actually.

She drew him a bath and sat with him while he soaked in the tub, the both of them just wanting to be close. Needing to be close. He had offered for her to climb into the tub but she politely declined, “Let me take care of you for tonight,” she murmured, “I’ll take you up on that tomorrow though if the offer still stands.”

“The offer will always stand.”

Y/N shampoos his hair for him, massaging his scalp and soaping up the strands for no other reason than she knew it would feel good. They understand it without words, which is why Y/N simply sheds her clothes and digs through his drawers for a shirt to sleep in as he dries off. And it’s why she crawled into his bed beside him, immediately adhering to his side, their legs tangling and their arms wrapping around each other like if they even for a second thought about letting go, the other would float away.

Y/N pushes kisses all over his face, loving on him in every way that she could because she could and he accepted it happily. His smiles were soft and sweet and made her melt. She just wanted him to remember that he was with her, right now, in the present -- away from that. Away from the pain and the hurt. The look in his eyes when she paused and just stared at him for a little while said everything that she needed to know without words, but when he said it aloud, it felt even sweeter.

“You mean the world to me,” he hummed, the pads of his fingers smoothing over her temple, stroking down to caress her jaw, “I love you.”

Her heart swells full, and she bites down a grin that threatens to split her cheeks.

“I love you too.” She responded, lowering down so her face was pressed to his chest. He’s warm -- she lets her eyes flutter closed as she immerses herself in him. His essence and his being; she breathes him in greedily.

Harry is quiet for a moment, long enough that she thinks they may be going to bed for the night, but he chuckled suddenly.

“Weird,” he murmured, “Feels like we’ve said that before.”

#WOOOOOOOOOOO #YAHTZEE #SHE'S FINISHED :D #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE HER #WRITING #HARRY SMUT #LOVE THESE GUYS #LOVE YOU GUYS #WOOOOOO

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