#of course I’m going to draw the most domestic shit ever

[oobbbear]

Some silly drawings, characters from ghost in the machine by @venomous-qwille

If you can’t tell I like sunspot a lot heh ///••///

[bellswlw]

modern!ellie williams headcanons

i’ve literally been SITTING on these since april so… i might make a pt 2 who knows but i need to get something out. also cw for fem presenting reader, kindaaaa smut mentions but no full scenes. i think that’s all enjoy<33

ellie definitely talks in her sleep. most of the time is basically incoherent slurring, but sometimes if you get lucky enough to wake up to it, you can hear her having full blown conversations, hand gestures and all. “here. take it, here.” she says, her voice coated thickly with a rasp and her hand held out in front of her. she’s pretending to hold something in her hand, shaking it when whoever doesn’t take what she’s offering. you clasp a hand over your mouth to stop the laugher from bubbling over. but she catches you then, her hand immediately forming into a straight point and saying, “don’t laugh.” and your eyes widen in shock only for ellie to slouch against the mattress with a small huff. she’s fallen asleep again.

i like to imagine ellie cutting off her skinny jeans into shorts in the summer. like taking her knife and just fucking cutting them clean off while she’s still wearing them. and after she’s done she finally looks up at you asking, “they even?” and you have to laugh because… no. her right pant leg was significantly shorter than the left, resulting in her having to slowly, bit by bit trim off more fabric until she had accidentally went from wearing shorts that fell below her knee to ones that rode up the middle of her thigh. she scoffed, trying to tug at the phantom fabric “shit, they’re too short,” and she adjusted them on her, trying to get comfortable in her new clothes and waiting for a response. she looks up at you, and you can’t even draw your eyes away from her thighs. you’d never ever seen ellie i’m something like this, so it was a treat for you. eventually you speak, “i like ’em” and ellie smirks at you before taking a step closer, whispering under her breath, “course you do.”

ellie would do anything for you. including, going with you to your nail appointments and getting her nails done to match yours. although, she kept hers short, with a clear base and small black flames curling under the top coat. she sits patient and quietly for you to be done, watching you scrunch your nose at her and saying “can you itch, please?” and you’d tip your head toward her before a gentle finger swiped away the small tingle. driving home after lunch, she would grip the steering wheel lightly, her fingers still slightly spread apart not being used to the feeling of polish. “you sure it’s dry? it feels heavy.” and she looks over at you before you ask for her hand to check. “ellie, it’s been two hours. i think you’re good.” and you ran the pad of your finger over each finger, she was set. (let’s also not forget how her cheeks flush as she slips her thumb into your mouth and seeing the design disappear and send a flood of wetness straight through her when you release it with a moan)

ellie kissing your thighs before going down on you. that’s it. it’s canon i know it.

she also definitelyyy would have absolutely no self control seeing how good your ass looks in your best jeans, watching as you’re doing something super domestic like loading the dishwasher or switching the laundry… or even simply bending over to grab something you dropped before she slides a finger under the thin strap of your thong and snaps it against your skin. you’d straighten up immediately, letting a gasp fill your lungs before your mouth falls in a hard line. and of course she’d look away, pretending she didn’t do anything with a smirk glued to her face.

i totally headcanon ellie having a red iphone. and she definitely doesn't have a case on it but yet still gets upset every time she drops it and a new crack chips away at her screen somehow dodging her camera

oh and she is a fucking nerd when it comes to comic-con, like in the best way possible. you tag along with her as she walks from booth to booth, nearly dragging you behind her with a single hand. like she wears a lanyard (not around her neck, but strung through one of her jean loops beside her karabiner with her car keys) and everything, collecting new pins with nearly every stop. you stand silent beside her as she talks to someone on the other side of the booth, seeing her grinning from ear to ear when she finds out that one of her favorite characters has an entire spin off series. she turns to look at you for a moment like she couldn’t believe it, and you smile at her before she scrambles to look up the series title on her phone. and as much as it might not be your thing, you just cant deny you don’t get some enjoyment out of it when you see how happy she is when the two of you are finally back in the car. “that, was fucking awesome.” and she sighs in her seat before asking you what you want to eat.

if she’s sitting next to you and not really paying that much attention, your hand will squeeze lovingly on her thigh and it makes her jolt a little, her eyes finding yours to see your smirking at the sudden twitch of her leg. “jeez, be gentle yeah?” and then she’s focusing her attention back to what was before, trying not to think about how later on she’d be wanting to feel the back of yours against hers when she’s drilling her strap into you ass up.

she’s always going “oh yeah?” or “that so, huh?” always egging you on, trying to find your eyes when you look away and feel the heat flood your skin. such a casual dominance about it. wanting to challenge her and be put back in your place with a simple question… one you can’t even answer without lying.

ellie loves tv girl and deftones like… don’t tell me she doesn’t bc your a liar and a fraud— give me money. she loves them. end of story.

[sweetiecutie]

AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader

Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink

A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention

• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.

• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.

• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*

• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.

NSFW here~*•.

• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.

• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.

• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.

• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.

• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3

[thwackk]

Can you just talk about your mundane and crazy domestic basic Clark Kent ideas… I’m captivated by him

yes, this man saves coupons and doesn’t own a car but takes the subway or walks to work everyday despite being fucking superman. This guy loves baseball sooooo much he thinks baseball is the best sport in the world and he’ll infodump abt it if you let him. He’s the best cook in the league and makes the most delicious meals ever seemingly without any effort at all, he loves making food for everyone and everyone is always shocked at how good it all tastes.

This guy grew up watching shitty old sitcoms so of course his sense of humor is very old and specific. Also because of where he grew up and who he grew up with, he had a pretty strong accent when he was little but living in metropolis made it go away almost, it’s still there but it’s way more subtle.

everyone agrees with this but i’m putting it in here anyways, kryptonians have fangs, clark has little fangs, it’s the way it is, it’s real.

his hair is naturally very curly and it shows no matter what he does to it, as clark kent he slicks it back and makes it look nice but the curl still very clearly shows. as SUPERMAN, he of course still has his iconic little curl in front, but the rest of it is NOT perfectly slicked back, that’s STUPID and i’m GETTING RID OF IT!!! He’s fucking superman, always flying around at high speeds fighting crime doing all this crazy shit getting beat up or beating some jacked up monster up, there is no way in HELL that his hair stays that perfect, it is ALWAYS crazy, curls everywhere, very windswept look. That’s how it is cause I say so, l’m that powerful.

this is practically canon but he just lets himself into the batcave whenever he needs something from bruce and bruce stopped caring years ago because deep down he loves this guy and is overjoyed to see him everytime but would never say that becayse he’s bruce and bruce is fucking stupid and emotionally constipated. The only reason he does this to Bruce only is because he thinks it’s funny, anything that bothers batman is a little bit funny to him. He has a tiny little streak of doing-things-just-for-the-sake-of haha-sillies deep within him and he mostly takes it out on bruce. Like when he found out Dick’s favorite superhero is actually him and not bruce, he found that significantly amusing and often teases bruce abt it but in the most subtle way. He is the KING of subtlety when it comes to this stuff.

speaking of Dick, he and dick have gotten together to prank bruce on more than one occasion. Dick is usually the one to instigate it but Clark never says no.

this is more of a personal complaint of mine but still a headcanon i guess, his SKIN TONE IS NOT THAT WHITE!! THIS MAN LITERALLY SOAKS UP SUN RAYS TO CHARGE HIMSELF!! he is in the sun CONSTANTLY, he grew up on a FARM, he has very tan skin!! all these comic artists color him sooooo white and pale and it’s so INCORRECT. anyways, that’s all i have to say abt that

kryptonian eyes glow in the dark and it makes for some scary ass situations for other people i mean. speedster eyes also glow in the dark, i was gonna draw something abt this one day. like one time bruce was on the watch tower late at night and most of the lights were off, he’s just finishing up some stuff and was unaware that clark had not left the tower yet and so he turns around and there’s just two glowing red eyes in this dark hallway, and bruce is a bit unsettled for a minute until it speaks LMAO

clark loves ducks, like a lot. He likes flying with them he likes watching them in the pond at the park, he likes giving them little crumbs from his lunch occasionally, he likes them, they’re his favorite animal. Also because the kents always had ducks on the farm when he was little and he liked to chase em around and catch one and then just hold it and pet it for a while. He named all the ducks everytime they got new or more ducks on the farm

This man still believes in Santa Claus, this is actually canon in the DCAU and I fully support it. Which also leads to my belief that he’s one of those people that just loves christmas SO much, he’s always so happy when christmas rolls around he decorates early, he starts listening to the music early, he has at least four different ugly sweaters, and buys all his gifts for everyone early. he also decorates the watchtower and the hall of justice, of course everyone else in the league helps out with that too

this man always gets coffee for Lois too, he knows just how she likes it and she’s always appreciative and he and Jimmy have a buddy handshake and alsooooo uhm he and lois have little competitions and play little games when they get super bored on slow days, like paper football, or throwing wads of crumpled paper into the trash like basketball or who can type faster, and Jimmy is always the score keeper. sometimes the rest of the office will get into it too if Perry’s not around, like the office olympics episode of “The Office”. It doesn’t happen often because usually there is alot of things to do but sometimes there are those days.

okay that’s all i can remember rn sorry i wrote so much omg

[everythingdenied]

Hello! Love ur blog! Lil blurb idea - cos I’m in a similar situation - Ross helping his gf prepare for her “normal” job doing a big pitch to get a client and she’s all nervous….

hihihi bff <3 i hope whatever's going on work wise goes super well for u!!! good luck bb and endlessly proud no matter what!!! anyway's ross would literally be the cutest in this situation he is so domestic bf this is perfect!!

"Shit, Ross. I don't think I can do this" I huffed as I tripped over my words once again, frustratedly throwing the stack of papers in my hand onto the coffee table. "I think I'm just gonna call in sick or something."

From his cosy spot on the sofa, Ross shook his head, watching me with a look of concern as I anxiously paced around the living room, checking the time on my phone once more.

"No, no, no. Don't be silly. You're doing great. C'mon, you've got like...ten minutes. Just start from the beginning again, yeah?"

Ever the optimist, Ross shot me an encouraging smile, gingerly picking the papers up from the table and holding them out to me. However, I didn't so much as move, nervously chewing my bottom lip as I stared at the thick wad of paper in his hand as if they were a threat to me. "I-" My vision became blurred as I felt the familiar sting of tears tears pricking my eyes, my arms falling to my side limply. "Fuck. I can't..."

A sob wracked my body as I stood dumbly in the middle of the room, feeling my heart thump against my chest at the very prospect of today's big pitch. Taking instant notice of my upset, Ross quickly discarded the paper, brows knitting together empathetically.

"Oh, love" He crooned sweetly, invitingly holding his arms out to me. "C'mere, you..."

Without wasting so much as a second, I crawled into his embrace, settling my self on his lap as I burrowed my head into his cable-knit jumper, the familiar scent of his detergent providing me some solace. He engulfed me in a tight hug, being extra careful not to crease the blouse I'd spent so long picking out earlier this morning as I sobbed into his chest, my tears dampening his sweater.

"S-sorry..." I whimpered apologetically, voice slightly muffled. "Know I'm being stupid. It's j-just a pitch but..."

"Hey, shh." Ross cut me off, pressing a saccharine kiss to my forehead as his hand rubbed my bag comfortingly, swaddling me in his big arms like a baby. "Don't say that. Course you're not being stupid. This is a really big day for your career. S'completely fine to be scared."

My lip wobbled as I gazed up at my boyfriend through bleary eyes, wondering exactly what good deed I'd done in a past life to deserve the man before me. He smiled softly, delicately trailing the pads of his fingers up and down my spine.

"Sayin' that though; it's not worth getting yourself all worked up for, lovey. S'pecially when I know for a fact you're gonna smash it." He continued.

"But what if I...what if I completely fuck it up?" I sniffled.

Ross shook his head, dismissing such a notion as I curled up on his lap, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve.

"Babe...I've seen how hard you work. Have to practically drag you away from that bloody laptop of yours most nights." He scolded playfully as he pressed his finger to the tip of my nose, drawing a half hearted chuckle from my lips. "You're not gonna fuck it up. I promise."

"A-are you sure?"

Ross nodded his head confidently, tilting my head upwards to tenderly kiss the salty tears beading my lips.

"I'm sure" He hummed. "You're gonna walk in there, looking all sexy and business-y in your suit, and you're gonna blow their fuckin' socks off. Pinky promise."

He held his pinky finger out to me, which was comically larger than my own, and wrapped it around mine, unable to hide the smile creeping onto his face as I let out a soft giggle, sniffing back the last of my tears.

"There' we go. There's that gorgeous smile." Ross chuckled teasingly, giving me one last peck as he tapped my hip. "Now Let's get you all cleaned up and then I'll drive you to work, yeah? Even stop at starbucks on the way if you want. Sound like a plan?"

[championofravens]

Misogyny in a game from 7 years ago: Uncharted 4

Game critic and youtuber Dunkey made a new video talking about Uncharted 4, a game both me and my husband despised after replaying it a year or two ago. It was a very well done and positive review, drawing a lot more out of the game than I ever did and it made me start to question *why* I couldn’t made those connections.

Dunkey says at one point "You are ruining this dude's marriage to make him feel like Indiana Jones" and that was very validating lmao But Dunkey was also saying that things like the marriage conflict, how much we wonder why the fuck Nathan would abandon everything he's got with Elaine, or things like how much we dislike and distrust Drake's brother, it's all intentional... and maybe it is. These were all things that made me really bitter about the game super fast but Dunkey is able to tie it all really well into the grander story and themes that come up over the course of the world trotting adventure.

But it also made me think that I don't think anything could make me like the story of it. Elaine is the most shafted character in the whole franchise and after the horrible bullshit of the third game with her especially, it's really hard to gear myself up for "one last ride" with mister Nathan Drake and his shithead brother, y’know? It isn’t a new or unique storyline to tread that Elaine and Drake’s relationship is rocky and unstable because he’s a selfish brat and he does shit that hurts her. From the very get go with revealing that Drake even had a long lost brother, it felt clear to me we were just going to revisit the same tired trope of making Elaine’s pain the emotional core without ever letting it actually effect the narrative in any way. It felt to me like the game honestly could not figure out a way to close out things without using her as a punching bag again. I hate to say it but I think it's just misogyny! I think it's just me feeling completely overwhelmed with stories of men with comfortable rich fulfilling lives and partners wanting to ruin that for glory, riches, thrills, adventures, whatever. Dunkey said the finale made him overjoyed because it told him that Drake did eventually come to his senses and choose a life with Elaine and decided to pass down that legacy to his kid... but to me it was inevitable. It was inevitable because the only constant in this story (and the other stories) is that Elaine will always take back Drake and give him a normal comfortable domestic life when he wants it. There was no joy, no sense of relief. What, was he going to say NO to going home with his sexy charming ass kicking wife? It's funny how much Dunkey was able to fixate on things like all the places you go, all the game mechanics, all these unique and enriching things in the game because I felt distracted constantly by a story that was just leading to an incredibly predictable end and who's real conflict was that Elaine was home without knowing anything and "oh no when shes gonna find out and be mad". And that makes me mad!

It's almost sad in a way that this game has aged so poorly by virtue of millions of the same stories came out before, during, and after this game's release and whatever subversion Naughty Dog was going for became trite. But I don’t even know if it would have stuck a landing to me regardless. I'm genuinely jealous to hear Dunkey make these narrative connections to things and to appreciate this game on the level the studio probably intended for it to be played. I admit some of this most come from marathoning the games and the sting of the third game being so major, it made me tempted to suggest to my husband we replay 4... but writing up my feelings has made me realize that the best I could ask for is to just ignore all my feelings on a central story aspect and that doesn’t seem fun. Dunkey mentions “the fantasy” at a few points in his video review. He mentions how he think it's the best triple A action in any video game he's played, how the gun fights and intense action comes up later and really rewards you with the big violent set pieces like an indulgence. The game plays into the fantasy of the adventure, both for the player and for Drake. You are supposed to at once disagree with Drake’s decisions but also be too swept away by the intentional fanservice to judge him too strongly. And so I think both the core message and themes of the game, as well as the game itself, is just built around something so inherently masculine.

[frogtanii]

℗ me and my husband

atsumu x fem!reader (poker face ending)

series masterlist

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

wc. 3.2k (holy shit)

warnings. NOT PROOFREAD, v v soft domestic, marriage :00, smut!! (is marked off!!), soft dom!tsumu, hair pulling (giving), unprotected sex, slight praise kink, pretty vanilla ngl

an. can be read as a one shot but u might be confused lmfao also this took SO LONG OMFG also also heavily unedited, take things w a grain of salt lmfao anyways don’t forget to feed me ahaha m rlly proud of this so i hope y’all like it <33

it was moving day and atsumu was about to lose his mind.

today was the official day of the hyper house disbandment and while most of the members were still figuring out new living arrangements and thus remaining past the deadline, you were one of the few trying to get out as soon as possible.

makki and mattsun were so excited to have you move in, they showed up early that morning to help you pack. now, it was around 1p and it was almost time for you to go. you still had a few more boxes to go but things were speeding right along.

normally, atsumu would be right by your best friends helping you out but he was currently in the middle of a breakdown.

you were leaving. leaving. he had no idea when he’d see you again (even though you promised to meet up weekly to catch up), if he would ever see you again. for all he knew, makki and mattsun would just hide you away forever, never to be seen again.

okay, so he was panicking.

it was just... atsumu was in love with you. he’d known for a while (way longer than he’d like to admit) and he selfishly thought he’d have more time with you so that he could work up the courage to confess. but now? you were like three boxes away from a distance that he didn’t know if he or your relationship could recover from.

it wasn’t that he was bad at long distance but the tragic events that the house brought, brought the two of you closer together and he didn’t want to lose that.

atsumu let out a groan and dropped his head against the wall, his mind running with scenario after scenario, all ending in failure and utter embarrassment.

“hey, you okay?” you called out, a large box cradled delicately in your arms. as atsumu turned from the plaster in front of him, he allowed himself a moment to take you in.

you were wearing short athletic shorts, worn converses, and his t shirt. a thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, the lights above reflecting off of it, giving you a warm glow.

of course you looked hot moving boxes.

you called his name again in concern and he immediately felt his heart clench in guilt. you’d already been through so so much and here he was fantasizing about you instead of being there for you like a good friend would.

atsumu let out a sigh and shot you a wide, albeit empty, smile before walking over to you and taking the box out of your hands. the furrow in your brows told him you saw through his expression but he ignored it and made a show of lifting your box above his head and carrying it to mattsun’s car.

“see, what would ya do without these guns angel?” he joked, placing the cardboard into the trunk. you rolled your eyes and poked him in the side playfully. “die, probably.”

the butterflies in his stomach kicked up at the underlying sincerity in your voice but he tried his best to overlook it. it was much harder than it seemed, especially when you looked at him with such fondness in your gaze that made him want to kiss you senseless.

gulping hard, he quickly turned away from you, busying himself with fitting your things in the truck like a game of tetris.

“atsumu.” your voice was firm but pleading and he didn’t dare look at you for fear of spilling everything right then and there. “wow, ya sure got a lot of stuff, huh? wonder how much of this was bought with ushijima’s money,” he started to ramble but thankfully he was interrupted by makki whooping as he walked out of the house.

“last box bitches!” you shot atsumu one final worried look before running over to makki and mattsun, yelling the whole way there.

atsumu was grateful your back was to him because he couldn’t hide the affectionate look that overtook his face, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he watched you hip bump your friends while cackling wildly.

god, he was so in love with you.

what was he going to do when you moved out and away? what if you found someone, someone how loved you as much as he did (not possible)? he would wish for your happiness even at the expense of his own but... what if you both could be happy?

caught up in his thoughts, atsumu didn’t register you saying your goodbyes to the remaining members until you were finally in front of him.

“i’m gonna miss living with you tsum.” you unceremoniously launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. his heart leapt violently at the contact and he prayed to every deity above that you didn’t hear it underneath your head.

he barely managed to hug you back before you pulled away, your eyes slightly teary and red. “um, well, makki and mattsun are waiting for me so uh,” you trailed off looking back at the van and your friends who were so (im)patiently waiting for you to join them.

atsumu’s breath quickened as you scooted a bit away from him, truly getting ready to leave. no, no, it couldn’t end like this, awkward and distant. no, he wasn’t going to let it.

“atsumu?” you asked worriedly, reaching out a hand to touch him when he didn’t respond but he couldn’t hear you. he felt hot all over, like he was going to explode or magically combust if he didn’t get the words out into the air.

“tsum, are you oka-“ “i’m in love with ya.”

you paused, shock written clearly all over your face. the fear of rejection slammed into atsumu like a brick, the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach like a rock but he still didn’t stop.

“i’m in love with ya and i have been for forever. yn, yer beautiful but yer face and body aren’t even the best part of ya, even though they’re pretty damn great. yer just-“

“tsum-“

“-yer so kind, especially when ya don’t need ta be. yer badass but ya care fer others so deeply and ya make me wanna be a better person. ya make me a better person. i know ya-“

“tsumu please-“

“-ya probably don’t feel the same and that’s alright but i needed ta tell ya, before ya leave and fall in love with some other scrub, just in case we can be happy together and-“

all of a sudden, your hands were buried in his shirt and you were pulling him close to meet your lips with his, your mouths meshing together in a soft and passionate kiss.

bliss. atsumu was in sheer bliss. your lips were as soft as he thought they would be as they moved with his, his hands coming up to grip your waist and pull you even closer to him.

sooner than he would have liked, his lungs started burning for air so he pulled back but not very far, instead resting his forehead against yours.

“i was trying to tell you i liked you too, idiot,” you muttered, your eyes still closed as you spoke. he chuckled, a wide grin overtaking his entire face as he really took in what you were saying.

you liked him back. you liked him. holy shit.

but instead of saying any of that, he decided to tease you a bit. “just like? if i recall, i just confessed my undying love for ya.”

you pulled back with a faux scoff, hitting him in the arm with a huff. “shut up you ass. of course i love you too.” you couldn’t keep your real smile off your cheeks while you confessed, your soft expression bringing another wave of desire over atsumu’s body.

“can, can i take ya inside angel?” he allowed his true intentions to be heard in his words, your eyes widening when you figured out what he meant. you nodded vigorously before shooting a look to makki and mattsun. mattsun just waved you off and got into his truck while makki yelled, “get that dick!”

you heated up horribly, grabbing atsumu’s hand and pulling him towards the house and to his room. he allowed himself to be dragged along, sending winks to the other boys as he went until the two of you were standing right in front of his door.

“i love ya,” he whispered, lifting your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. you grinned. “love you too tsum.”

that must have been the final straw because the minute the words left your mouth, he was on you.

••• smut begin•••

pressing you up against the door, atsumu ravaged your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he walked you backwards into his room, laying you down on the bed so that he was hovering over you, his hips pressing hard against yours.

instinctively, you ground up into him, rewarding you with a loud groan and a gasp of your name. “fuck angel, yer killing me here,” he laughed breathlessly, rolling his hardness against your thigh. you let out a breathy moan and tangled your hands in his hair to bring him back down to your lips.

as you continued to kiss him, his hands scrambled at your waist, pushing his hands under it to grope at your chest. you giggled at the cold of his fingers but he didn’t pay it any mind, moving down from your mouth to your neck, sucking dark marks into the sensitive skin there.

“ah, shit tsumu,” you tilted your head to the side to give him more access, just as he reached under your bra to tease your nipples. a startled gasp left you, your back arching into his careful touch. “that feel good angel?” atsumu asked, voice low and gravelly as he pinched the delicate bud, drawing another noise from your throat.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. you bit your bottom lip while he pulled your shirt and bra off, tossing them somewhere in the room. as he scanned your half naked body, he noticed you quieting yourself and he lightly shook his head. his thumb found its way to your lip, carefully pulling it from between your teeth.

“wanna hear ya angel, let me hear yer pretty noises, yeah?” without letting you respond, atsumu dove back into your chest, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth while toying with the other, a sigh of his name sending a bolt of arousal straight to his loins.

he grinded against you absentmindedly, losing himself in you, eventually switching sides to give the same treatment to your neglected bud.

while atsumu seemed to be having the time of his life attached to your tit, you were getting impatient, your arousal completely soaking through your underwear. you needed more.

tangling your fingers in his blond locks, you attempted to tug him away from your chest but his reaction was unlike anything you could’ve expected. “aahh!” he let out a strangled whine, his hips bucking against your side.

“please, tsumu, need more,” you breathed, his needy reaction not lost on you as pulled his hair a bit harder. you were not disappointed as his eyes rolled back and his mouth opened in a silent moan before dropping his head to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, okay angel, i got ya, i got ya.” atsumu swiftly disposed of both yours and his bottoms and underwear before lifting your leg and positioning himself at your entrance.

“tell me if i hurt ya, alright? i love ya,” he smiled down on you, your heart swelling two times at his carefulness. “i love you too,” you replied, watching as his pupils grew and a low groan broke free from his chest.

“oh angel, ‘m gonna ruin ya.” that was the last thing he said before he pushed into you, both of you letting out whimpers as he stretched you open, the blunt head of his cock just a few centimeters shy of your cervix.

your back arched in pleasure, both of your hands scrambling until they found purchase on his back, your nails digging in just when he started to thrust shallowly into you.

“f-fuck, how’re ya s-so fuckin’ tight?” atsumu growled through gritted teeth, every word punctuated with a roll of his hips. you couldn’t respond as you were too overwhelmed with pleasure, his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every slow movement.

speaking of slow, he was moving way too leisurely for your tastes. you needed him to move faster and you knew exactly how to do it.

sliding your hand up from his back, you grabbed a good chunk of hair from the back of his head and pulled. his reaction was immediate and oh-so gratifying.

an honest to god whimper poured from his lips and he instantly thrusted all the way into you, his length driving into your g-spot perfectly. you both let out twin moans as he started rocking into consistently, every movement bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

“i love ya, i love ya so fuckin’ much, angel—shit—yer so amazing, i love ya,” atsumu rambled while pounding into you, deep curses and whines of your name interspersed with his declarations of love. if you could speak, you would reciprocate but you were too busy holding on for dear life as he fucked you into oblivion.

desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, you grasped onto his locks again, gripping tightly as drawn-out cries of his name slipped from your open lips. you were close, so close and he knew it too.

“feel ya clenchin’ around me like a good girl, ya gonna cum fer me? gonna cum fer me angel?” atsumu’s hand snaked down between your bodies to rub fast circles on your clit, a shaky sob finding its way out into the open air.

“oh shit, yeah, ‘m g-gonna cum for you tsum, ‘s all for you,” you moaned, clamping down on him sporadically as you started to cum, your vision whiting out and your thighs trembling while you gushed around him.

your mind was floating off when you felt him cum with a shout, his warmth flooding you and spilling out as he collapsed onto your chest.

••• smut over •••

the two of you lied there for a while, attempting to regain your brain and feeling in your legs. you vaguely made note of the wet rag cleaning between your thighs and the following weight falling down beside you but it was only after a few more minutes that you really came back to yourself, rolling over to lay on atsumu’s bare chest.

“holy shit, tsumu,” you said in awe, your boyfriend (!!) laughing at your reaction. “i’m just that good angel, what can i say?”

you groaned and hit him in the chest but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face if you tried. “you are such a menace!”

“only fittin’ that i picked a gremlin ta be with then,” atsumu teased while playing with a piece of your hair. mock offense filled your chest as you sat up, fixing him with your ‘angriest’ glare.

“is that the kind of language you’ll be using in your vows, mister?” you were only joking but when atsumu’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his cheeks, you realized your mistake.

you opened your mouth to apologize or to make some kind of excuse but he beat you to the punch. “ya wanna marry me angel?” he asked, looking so vulnerable with hope shining in his brown irises. you couldn’t bear to lie.

“of course tsum, you’re it for me,” you reached out a hand to caress his cheek and he leaned into it, his own coming up to cup yours and hold it against his face.

“good.” and that was the end of that, that evening’s... extraneous activities having thoroughly tired to the point that you fell completely asleep with your face against one of his pecs.

if you had stayed awake a little longer, you would’ve seen atsumu pull out his phone and start a new note titled, “my angel.”

if i just said i loved you, it would be an understatement. it would be like saying the sun’s surface is just a bit warm or that the arctic is just a little chilly. it would be an injustice to you and to how i truly feel about you. love—

“-is a word that is much too soft and used far too often ta ever describe the fierce, infinite and blazing passion that i have in my heart for ya angel. ya acknowledge my strengths and ya accept my faults. ya make me wanna be a better person every day. so, today i vow ta laugh with ya and comfort ya during times of joy and times of sorrow. i promise ta always pursue ya, ta fight for ya, and love ya unconditionally and wholeheartedly for the rest of my life. ya are my best friend and i’m the luckiest person on earth ta call ya mine- wait are ya crying?"

the audience burst into laughter as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, punching atsumu softly on the arm. “of course i am, you ass.”

the officiant cleared his throat, grabbing both of your attentions. “it is the bride’s turn to give her vows. if you may?”

you nodded and atsumu already felt like crying. again. he’d cried that morning while getting dressed and then again when you walked down the aisle in the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. now, as he watched you pull a folded piece of paper out of your bra, he knew he’d made the right decision in confessing to you, all those years ago.

he also knew he was definitely going to cry again.

“atsumu, falling for you wasn’t falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing that you’re home. today, i want to make you promises that i will always keep. i promise to never stop holding your hand or accepting your kisses. i promise to not hit you too hard when you insult me or call me a gremlin. i promise to share my food with you, to never go to bed angry, and to try and understand your obsession with professional men’s volleyball. i promise to love, respect, protect and trust you, and give you the best of myself, for i know that together we will build a life far better than either of us could imagine alone. i choose you. i’ll choose you over and over and over, without pause, without doubt, i’ll keep choosing you.

i used to never truly enjoy moments because i was always waiting for what's next. the next thing horrible thing to happen. now that i have you, i enjoy the moment. every moment.

today seems like it's the start of a new journey, but i already belong to you. falling for you wasn't falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing you're home. i love you.”

and at least in this lifetime

we’re sticking together

me and my husband

we’re sticking together

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma �� @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[buckyownsmylife]

Follow you - Chris Evans smut

The one where Chris becomes your roomate and finds out he has a domesticity kink... and more

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, domesticity kink, friends to lovers, rommates au, pandemic mention, hair-pulling kink, daddy kink, cockwarming, kind of allusion to an age gap, but can be read as reader being into teasing chris

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Thanks to @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ for reading this over and helping me make it better! You’re the sweetest person ever!  this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them. Hope you guys like it!

Chris’ P.O.V.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” I’d been trying to convince her to close her laptop for the last two hours, unfortunately without any luck. She just glanced at me before returning to her document, and I groaned as I left the living room in search of what I knew we needed.

“Close the laptop and I’ll give you a sip.” This time when she looked up, she found me holding a bottle of my most expensive whiskey, the one she’d been dying to try ever since she first got invited to my place.

It was a tense moment of evaluation while she took in my offer and her workload, her head turning from her computer to me and then back to the device again, and I found himself growing anxious because of how desperately I wanted her company that night.

“Please?” I tried to convince her, even going so far as to pout - which at least earned me a giggle. I considered it a win, especially with the way it made my chest warm up. “C’mon, we deserve it! After the week we had?”

She frowned when she thought back on the stresses we had confided in each other for the last couple of days, and I watched with glee when she slowly closed her laptop, prompting me to wave my arms around in victory. “We?” She teased, getting up to stand before me with her arms crossed in front of her body, making me laugh.

“Alright, so maybe just you.” I couldn’t really deny that my work “problems” paled in comparison to hers. “Listen, I’m only trying to help.” She narrowed her eyes at me, reaching out for the bottle and unscrewing it before taking the sip I’d promised.

“Shit, this really is good.” A smug smile took over my face as I wrapped my arms around her, walking us back to the couch before making us fall over it.

“Only the best for you, babe.” I watched her roll her eyes at the pet name, snickering at how it affected her. I knew it made her giddy and she hated it, it’s why I insisted on doing it - or so I told myself.

Something deep inside of me whispered differently, though. I tried to ignore it. She was my best friend and we were going to be living together for the foreseeable future. No one knew when this pandemic would let up.

And lord knows that nothing positive had ever come out of my investments in romantic relationships. So every rational thought in my mind was begging me not to overcomplicate this. I couldn’t stand to lose her friendship, anyway. That’s why I had invited her to spend lockdown with me - my need to know she was okay, and be able to have her around whenever I needed to vent.

She was the only one outside my family who got my anxiety well enough to help me work through it when I was feeling bad, and she had even been able to prevent me from having panic attacks more than once.

I just couldn’t imagine going through this with anyone other than her. I simply hadn’t anticipated how fucking horny this period of forced sexual privation would make me, and I never expected her to become a willing victim to my needs.

But boy, once the liquor hit and she ended up over my lap, shivering as she rode my thigh without a care in the world, was I glad that she did.

“Is this what you like?” I asked, looking up at her with my mouth hanging open, unbelieving of how fucking sexy she looked as she used my body for her pleasure. I didn’t even care that my cock was straining against my jeans, begging me to move her on top of it. As long as I could keep enjoying the show, being a part of it, I was satisfied.

“I wanna learn it,” I pressed, moving my hands to hold her ass, squeezing it the way I’d always wanted to do but never allowed myself to dream about. “I wanna learn how to please you.” She made me feel something I hadn’t felt before, in any of my past relationships. There was attraction, of course, but there was also this deep, familiar feeling that made me feel at home. It made me feel safe, and with the help of alcohol, I was desperate to explore it.

“Ugh,” she groaned, letting her head fall back, drawing my attention to her breasts, the way they bounced in front of my eyes, unfortunately still covered. My mouth watered at the sight of it, wanting nothing much than to strip her bare and wrap my lips around one of her nipples.

“Don’t say stuff like that, Evans.” The comment threw me off, making me frown as I took a hold of the hair on the back of her head and yanked her to me, devouring her lips. They were soft - so much softer than I’d ever allowed myself to imagine.

“Why not?” I panted against her mouth once I was forced to separate from her taste of whiskey to search for some oxygen. She kept moving, her eyes hazy and glossed over, and it sent a pang of lust straight down my body when I realized it wasn’t completely due to the drinks we shared. There was also desire in there.

“You want to learn?” She asked, hands bunching up my shirt as she used her hold to grind against me faster. “Then fuck me, Chris.” She molded her body to mine, engulfing my lips once more as I laid her down on the couch, excited to have her underneath me - excited to see her naked body, explore it, get to know every little thing that made her tick.

I knew it would be a moment I’d forever remember, regardless of the amount of bourbon in my blood. I just never expected it to become something I was so eager to relive over and over and over again.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. When I woke up in the morning, I was ready to go back to being roommates. We were good at that. She was a morning person, by the time I woke up every morning, she already had breakfast ready for me, and then we’d go out to the backyard to let Dodger out together.

We’d sit and talk and then I’d go for a run - she’d have done her yoga already, while I was still asleep - I’d answer some e-mails, she’d work on her laptop by my side and the silence was just as comfortable as all of our late night conversations.

She’d sneak out to the kitchen and come back with a few sandwiches for our lunch, and then the rest of the day would go by with us doing whatever mundane task we had in mind, together even if we were doing separate things, and I didn’t feel suffocated.

I didn’t even run out of things to say. By the time dinner rolled around and I followed her back to the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes while she fixed us dinner - I wasn’t allowed to cook in my own stove, mostly because she was terrified of my food but hid it under the excuse of that one time when I started a fire - then we’d eat together, watch a movie together, talk until we fell asleep - always together.

I was shocked. It’d never been this way in any of my previous relationships. In fact, I was certain it was the reason why they had never worked. I’d given up on any realistic expectation of settling down precisely because of this: I just never expected to find anyone with whom a day-to-day life wouldn’t eventually grow boring.

It’d been three months and I still loved to wake up to her coffee. We still fell asleep every night side by side, too tired to move into different beds because we had laughed our asses off after skyping Scott.

And now that sex came into play in our relationship? I just knew there was no way I’d ever go back to being nothing but friends - or living in a place where she wasn’t the first person I saw when I woke up.

It sucked that it took a pandemic and a night of alcohol to make me realize that, but damn, was I grateful that I decided to open a bottle of whiskey that evening.

I kept waiting for the catch, the moment it would all go to shit, but it never came. Our lives resumed to how they used to be, only now I had this ongoing inner battle to not just bend her over the nearest piece of furniture when we were busy, and the ability to do exactly that whenever there was nothing else to do.

And for a while it was bliss. There wasn’t a nagging voice inside my head questioning this arrangement because it was theoretically perfect. I had a best friend, a roommate and a fuck buddy, all wrapped into one single person that I adored.

Life couldn’t possibly get better - until I realized that I wanted more. Talks of lockdown being over started and she had plans of going back to her place, of course, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her.

I wanted to see my family too, but I wanted to take her with me. Introduce her to my mom, see her get along with my sisters. Witness how she’d be with my nephews and nieces - I knew how much she loved kids. And that’s when it hit me.

I’d given my heart to her. Somewhere between the morning coffees and afternoon runs, the nights where I’d rant about all of my silly problems and she actually listened to them - really listened, never making me feel bad about what could only be described as rich people problems.

All the innocent little gestures, and the not so innocent ones - when I discovered she was exactly the nasty slut I’d always dreamed of, the way she would randomly drop to her knees and suck me off, even while I was on the phone. Most times she didn’t even let me repay the favor. She just genuinely liked to blow me.

She also liked to play with me randomly, like when we were watching a movie and she mindlessly reached for my crotch, rubbing me until I got hard. It almost always ended in sex, and I just loved it.

I loved it, and I loved her, and the idea of her ever sharing this idyllic lifestyle with anyone else made me irrationally jealous.

And that’s how I knew it. I didn’t want to mess it up. But how could I not fuck this up?

Xxx

“Chris…” Her sweet voice called out to me, reaching my ears while I was hiding in my office, trying to get my thoughts in order so I wouldn’t just randomly blurt out what I was feeling for my best friend to my best friend.

To her credit, she didn’t try to force me to keep her company - but that only made me fall even deeper for her, leaving me a complete and utter mess while she went about her day as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“Yes?” I looked up to see her by the threshold, clearly reticent about invading my privacy. It made me smile, thinking back on all of the times my exes hadn’t been as understanding, even after I let them clearly know what I was needing.

“I made cupcakes, do you want me to bring you one?” The thought of her in the kitchen, baking a sweet treat just for me had my cock twitching in my pants. Biting my lips, I pushed away from my desk to finally get up and stretch my legs, taking advantage of the monitor to hide my hard-on.

“No, I’ll come eat them downstairs with you.” She smiled before leaving, and I soon trailed after her, walking into the kitchen to find the most delicious-looking little treats, just waiting to be devoured.

Much like her, I supposed.

I was reaching for one of them, already licking my lips in anticipation when something caught my eye, prompting me to raise my gaze and look at her again, but really look at her this time.

She was wearing an apron.

There was nothing inherently sexual about the damn thing, but the way she looked with it, going about her business in my kitchen like she owned the place… It just felt right, seeing her there.

And suddenly I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Y/N…” I started, leaving the cupcake back on the counter and brushing off the crumbs as I circled the kitchen island to go stand in front of her. She hummed before turning to meet me, smiling slightly to signal that she was listening to what I had to say.

But I didn’t know how to say it. So we just stood there, staring at each other until eventually her smile became a frown. “Chris, what’s going on?” I still couldn’t speak. Much to my absolute surprise though, she just sighed, wiping her hands on the apron while shaking her head, a knowing smile on her face.

“You’re stressed, aren’t you? You’ve been working so much, that’s why I thought the cupcakes would be a good idea,” she explained nodding towards the tray where her sweet treats laid. “They’re a reward and a break all wrapped in one delicious cake.”

The comment was like a punch to the stomach - or a scalding wave of desire rushing through my body, straight to my groin. The idea of her thinking about my needs and catering (quite literally) to them just did something to me, and I didn’t know how to explain it - I don’t think I understood it myself.

“But since they didn’t work…” she continued, blissfully unaware of the conundrum she had put me into. “I know something else that will definitely work.” And just like that, the woman dropped to her knees in front of me, reaching for my sweatpants before I could find a way to close the mouth that was hanging open.

“I guess I’ll grab a sweet treat for myself.” She looked so devious, small hand encircling my already pathetically engorged member, that all I could do was whisper an, “Oh, shit,” when she immediately wrapped her lips around it,  starting to suck me off without any preamble.

My fingers were white as I held onto the counter behind me to keep myself up. She looked so good, staring up at me with her lips wrapped around my dick, I felt like I was about to blow already.

Why did she have to be such a fucking tease?

“Oh, God,” I moaned when she managed to engulf the entirety of my member inside her throat, the choking noises getting to my head. My hand instinctively laced with her hair, first to hold her lips close to my navel, then to pry her completely off of my member.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned once she was able to speak, surprise written all over her features while I was still staring down at her slightly teary face and trying to find my voice.

“I-I have a problem.” There. I said it. I had finally made some progress in my goal to let her know what was going through my head. Only instead of curiosity, what I got was a confused expression from the woman still holding my dick, her eyes darting from my own to the member throbbing between her fingers.

“No, you don’t!” It would have been funny if I wasn’t so fucking frustrated. Yanking her by the hair, I complained, “Not that kind of problem!” pulling her to the living room so I could throw her on the couch, trying to ignore her moans of pleasure in the process.

I’d figured out pretty early on that she had a pretty serious hair-pulling kink, and if my plans of sitting down and having a level-headed conversation were ever in motion, they surely went out of the window the second she pulled my body down to cover hers and adjusted my cock so it would easily fill her.

“Son of a…” I groaned, letting my head fall down against her chest as the little vixen gleefully giggled underneath me, legs wrapped around my torso as she tried to thrust up and tempt me to move.

“Just wait a second,” I managed to reason, but she just shook her head.

“Fuck away your problem, Chris. Use me. I want you to.” Motherfucker. I really couldn’t catch a break with her. Just as she started to make me move again, my hand instinctively wrapped around her neck, lightly squeezing it just enough to get her to shut up.

“I wanna start a family with you,” I finally spilled, looking deep into her eyes as I tried to ignore that I was still balls deep inside of her. Her eyes widened, and now her mouth was the one hanging open.

I couldn’t really relish in it because she looked absolutely delicious and she felt stupidly heavenly to my throbbing dick.

A few seconds went by without as much of a reaction from her and I was about to pull out - despite still being achingly hard - but her legs held me tighter, stopping my plans of leaving her tight haven.

“You know…” She started to speak, a little out of breath, catching my attention as I finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye again. “When I first met you, I thought you were the epitome of a fuckboy.”

The unexpected sentence had me snorting, and then I just couldn’t stop laughing. Finally pulling away from her, she fixed her hair when she sat up and I did the same, shaking my head slightly as I rubbed my eyes.

Our own relative nakedness - well… mine, she was wearing her usual dress with no underwear under the damn apron - didn’t affect anything when I pondered over her words, until I decided to break the silence.

“I mean… I think I was?” She chewed on her bottom lip as she took in my response, analyzing it, weighing its validity in that gorgeous head of hers. I was nervous, but she hadn’t blew me off yet. And quite honestly? I’d do anything for that little hope that was growing inside of me.

“What changed?” Was her question, so unexpected I couldn’t help but question, “Huh?”

“What made you change?” It wasn’t an unwelcome inquiry, especially when the response became clear to me, lighting up my brain and warming my chest, spreading all over my body until I had no choice but to voice it.

“I realized I could have a future with you.” My smile was vulnerable but honest, and in her eyes, I could see that she knew that. When she threw one leg over my lap, straddling my hips, I allowed myself to breathe deeply again, leaning on the soft cushion while taking a hold of her ass.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” She non-nonchalantly asked, slowly rubbing herself against my still half-hard member. I groaned when I realized the implication of her words, knowing that the meaning paired with the feeling of her wet lips dragging along my cock would get it back up in no time at all. “You wanna do me right now?”

The brashness of the question made my eyes light up, as weird as it may sound. In that moment, it became clear just how perfect for me she really was, giving me what I needed exactly in the way I didn’t know how to ask for it.

“See? This is why I’m in love with you.” She rolled her eyes at that, making me laugh. I’d anticipated the gesture, I knew it’d take her longer to say it, but it was alright. The fact that she was willing me to give me a child was more than enough proof of her feelings for me, if her entire behavior ever since she moved in wasn’t already.

“Shut up and fuck me, Evans.” Throwing her back against the couch, she yelped in surprise when I took off my shirt and slapped the inside of her thigh, assuming my usual position of hovering over her smaller frame.

“Spread your fucking legs, darling. I’m gonna fuck you real good.” The way she bit her lip as I slowly penetrated her again showed me just how excited the prospect got her, and as I started to make good on my promise, her moans told me just as much.

“Holy fuck,” she commented as I pounded her ruthlessly, weeks of frustration and the rush of anticipation getting the best of me, and I was glad for the feeling of her nails biting into my skin because otherwise, I’d probably run over the edge of not even caring about her own pleasure as I chased mine.

“You gonna cum inside of me, honey? Make me a mom? Finally fulfill your dream of becoming a daddy?” Her words detracted me from my task of sucking bruises on the skin that was now mine to bruise, mine. I threw my head back, yelling a, “fuck yes,” as my hips sped up, desperate to fill her up, but I was determined to get her to cum before me.

“Say it,” she ordered, small hand circling my throat as best as she could, a throwback to what I’d done only moments prior. It wasn’t enough to choke me, but it did catch my attention. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Tears escaped the corners of my eyes as I blinked, the intensity of the moment overwhelming in the best of ways. “God, you are such a fucking tease…” She chuckled underneath me, giving my throat a squeeze before she raised up on her elbows to kiss my jaw.

“Better get used to it… daddy.” And just like that, I realized that I had yet another kink I hadn’t known about before her. Or maybe it was just her, and I was obsessed with the damn woman, painfully turned on by every little thing that she did.

“I’m gonna cum deep inside your little pussy, sweetheart,” I finally gathered myself enough to do as she asked me to. “You’re gonna belong to me forever now. Give me kids, make me happy. How do you like that?”

The mischievous grin she gave me told me everything. “I love it.” I knew this was her way of saying what she couldn’t yet voice, and I’d take it. I’d take anything she gave me, any chance I got to love this wonderful woman.

We came together, both riding our highs in deep ecstasy. I moaned when I felt myself empty all of my seed inside of her, incredibly excited about the prospect of starting our future together right then.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I cradled her face in my hands as I struggled to catch my breath, but she turned it to the side and pressed a kiss to my palm and I was breathless all over again. It was such a simple action, why did it get to me so much?

“You’re not too bad yourself, Chris.” I didn’t want to part with her warmth, so I just adjusted us on the sofa in a way that kept me inside of her, sighing contently as I realized I’d never have to sleep away from her again.

“I’m gonna stay right here all night.” I adjusted myself so I was resting my face on her boobs, perfectly happy to do just so, but by the tone of her voice, I knew she had a teasing smile when she called me an, “Old man.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be able to go again.” Warmth filled my chest at the realization of just how badly she wanted me - just as much as I wanted her too. I was so damn ecstatic. Not even her pokes at my age would be able to affect me.

“Oh, darling… better get ready,” I warned as I adjusted myself to hover over her again, taking notice of the excited glint in her eyes, the way she bit her lip as she stared back at me. “I’m never gonna get enough of you.”

The next morning, I added a new kink to the list of random bits of information that were driving me slowly insane as I felt the overwhelming need to bend the woman that I now got to call ‘mine’ over the nearest piece of furniture and rail her until I had cummed deep inside her pussy: seeing her in my shirt while cooking breakfast.

Yeah, I was going to live a happy life by her side.

[ncitygirls]

yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

[earnestly-endlessly]

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

[bestruction]

How it’d be to watch animes with them

A/N: While i’m working on my Mikasa x reader royal au, this little idea came to my mind. I tried to put the links when i mentioned a specific scene and speak a little about the anime in case you don’t know it.  So here it’s: 

Warnings: Me exposing my otaku self, mentions of 18+ animes (Not hentais) 

Eren -  Kaguya-sama wa Kokurasetai: Tensai-tachi no Renai Zunousen (13+)

A / N: The main characters like each other, but none wants to confess because being the person who takes the first step would also represent being the defeated person. The anime develops in a series of plans that both elaborate to make the other confess their love.

Warnings: None

It was his idea to watch an anime together since the two of you liked it a lot. You saw no harm and agreed to go to sleep with your boyfriend on Friday night. So, you would have the dawn and the weekend to see everything.

“We could watch One piece! Everybody likes"

“In three days ?! We will not finish even if we do not take breaks ”

"Naruto then?"

“Haven't you seen it all five times or more?

"But it is a classic!"

"It is also too long!"

He would sulk when he saw you reject each of his suggestions for being too big animes. The truth was, he was trying to convince you to stay longer. After much searching in the catalog, you choose to watch a short comedy of 12 episodes.

Biggest mistake ever

Eren is already annoying by nature, and after watching Kaguya-sama's two seasons he would spend the day and night trying to get you to confess to him EVEN IF YOU'VE BEEN IN LOVE FOR TWO YEARS AND HE HAS BEEN THE FIRST TO DECLARE. HIT HIM, PLEASE.

"Do you think that using such a low trick will make me give in?"

“Eren, I just got out of the shower. What trick? Wear an outfit? ”

“Showing off your skin won't make you win”

If you wanted to play with him, great. You are going to spend the day in this little game until he gets tired and just hugs you or something because he can't spend a lot of time without touching you. But if you didn't want to, just you could use that touchy side of him against him too.

"Maybe I shouldn't show you anything else then"

"Yes, of course, do- Wait what?"

"You heard"

“NO, BABE! YOU WON! I CONFESS! I LOVE YOU"

Watching anime with him would be quite an experience. For being very verbal, Eren would be the type of person who doesn't shut up watching anything. Especially, something that makes him laugh. You would see him laughing out loud and throwing himself back on the couch or on you, whether you were with him or not. You may even complain, but it would be fun to see him react to everything as immediately and naturally as an unfiltered child.

He will sing ALL the openings for the rest of the days around the house until you are humming some without realizing it.

For some reason, can I imagine him doing Chika dance ?? Yes, please film this big bear dancing like a little girl.

Levi - Death parade 

A / N: Do you want to cry and hurt yourself? This is the right place. Death Parade is a story about what happens after death. The characters are sent to mysterious bars where they will be judged to decide the fate of the souls themselves. (18+)

Warnings: Suicide, depressive themes, mentions of rape and domestic violence

I don't see Levi watching many animes. In fact, I don't see him watching much anything at all. He would be the type of person who can't spend a lot of time in front of the television without feeling like he's wasting time. Which would result in a very selective and demanding taste.

He would always read the reviews about the film, and after watching it, he would make his own. Ever. No exceptions. Unlike Impossible-to-be-quiet-Eren, Levi would be silent to be able to capture and understand all the details. This is interesting because getting his attention is a difficult task. But once it's done, he is 100% focused on the story and immersed in the characters.

So, after reading about it, he would agree to watch Death Parade with you.

He would have low expectations at first, and if the anime failed to hold his very difficult attention in three episodes, he wouldn't even try with the rest.

So when in the first episode, all suspense and doubts left to the viewer entered Ackerman's head, he would finish the other 11 without realizing it.

As a rational person, he would love things that make him think and reflect on the proposed theme. In the case: Life and death.

For some reason, I imagine him as someone who would like to study and read philosophy as a hobby and that he would love Nietzsche? So, you could expect deep conversations after each episode.

But without any arrogance, humanity's strongest soldier might not be the most talkative man in humanity, but surely when he opened his mouth to it, it wouldn’t be to show himself off with something that he knows and you don’t. On the contrary, he would be more than happy to explain if you asked and added your opinion.

He wouldn't cry, but he would be touched by the way the emotions were shown and created in the characters.

He would probably see the scene where Decim cries more than once for being impressed with how the pain of a character who is supposedly not flesh and blood is expressed so well.

And after the anime is over, you would always see him listening to the music of the ice skating scene around the house while doing something.

When you were finished watching everything, you would talk again about the anime. You lying on his chest and he touching his hair, smelling him.

"Do you believe in reincarnation, Levi?"

“If so, I wouldn't go back to this shit a second time. No matter what they offered me ”

"Levi!"

"Unless it was to have you again"

“What a cliché” He would roll his eyes after hearing your response “But I like clichés”

Again, he wouldn't cry, but he would be thinking about how ephemeral things can be, including being alive. Then you can expect a more touchy Levi for a few days.

Jean - Banana Fish 

N / A: Another one to cry and get hurt. Banana Fish is way more than just a story about one character just is hard to define. So in case, you didn’t watch it, here’s the trailer. (18+)

warnings: pedophilia, rape, violence, drugs, your heart being destroyed

You know that guy who says that no yaoi is good, it's just a way to feed a bunch of fujoshi and stuff like that? Jean. It's him. I just know it. So when you suggested Banana Fish and said it was a BL / yaoi, he would probably laugh and ignore the idea.

But after insisting a little and showing him the many compliments that both the anime and the manga received, he would accept.

At first, he wouldn't pay much attention. He really thought it would be just another bad anime. But by the end of the first episode, he would be too involved in the story to stop.

I think he would love crime novels for the same reason that Levi: To think. Try to find out how things are going to end and pick up any clues that the author has left about the ending. So the plot would hold him so much because he would make a ton of theories about the end.

He will ship Ash and Eiji with all his soul. I mean, how can he not ship? To see an anime in which the physical touch between the couple doesn't really happen and still builds a well-developed and healthy relationship would be a new experience for him.

Jean is somewhat similar to Eren in this respect. So you can expect to see him huffing in anger, cursing one of the characters, throwing a pillow away, or using it to hide a tear or two that he would let go of you. The kind of person who gets emotionally involved with the things he watches.

He would cry an entire river after watching the last episode and deny it later.

“I was not crying. The cushion fabric made my eyes itch a lot ”

Show him again and he will cry the same amount and intensity

Armin - Haikyuu

A / N: Considering all the texts on Tumblr for haikyuu characters, I’m pretty sure you know what anime it’s lol (10+)

Armin is an otaku with a license card and no one can change my mind. He would probably start watching it as a child. So, his first animes would be everyone's classics: Naruto, Dragon Ball Z, Bleach, etc.

So it would be normal that as the vast majority, he would continue to have a preference for shounen when he grew up. So it would be your idea to see Haikyuu.

He would have low expectations because he thought it would be just another anime with cute characters for everyone to be thirsty as an inverted harem. And also because the synopsis does not create a strong impression, especially for those who consume shounen daily.

"So we are just gonna see a little boy trying to catch a ball?"

“It's gonna be good! Everyone is talking about it now ”

"Does he have some superpower?"

"No"

"Something scary?"

"Armin, just give a chance!"

He would like it. Did I say he would like it? Because he would love it. The atmosphere created and well developed with such a simple plot would hold his attention well. (Is it possible to dislike Hinata in the first episode?)

It would be a great anime for him to watch because 1. It is different from what he usually sees. Unlike shounen, Haikyuu deals only with real and tangible scenarios. Of course, still with that touch of anime, but it is very easy to recognize yourself in the characters and learn from them and therefore reflect on yourself as well.

It would be great to make him think about his own insecurities and how most of them were inside his head.

He would be so immersed in the anime universe that he would have to pause the game scenes because he would be too nervous waiting for the ball to fall.

You will probably see him taking a deep breath in each drawing scene of the characters and see him truly cheering for the team as if it were a real national game.

More than that, you will see his eyes full of tears when Yamaguchi hit the serve in the match against Aoba johsai.

In fact, Yamaguchi would be his favorite character. No discussions.

"I said it would be good"

"Shut up"

"Make me"

Mikasa - Heaven’s official blessing 

A / N: I'm going to leave the trailer here because I don't know how to define it very well. It's a novel, but the story doesn't focus ONLY on that. (14+)

Okay, you didn't suggest. She did not suggest. So how do you end up watching together? You catch her watching when you come home by surprise lol

Until then, you would know that she watched some anime, but nothing romantic. Never. In fact, that was her little secret.

Although common sense is that Mikasa would be cold even in a modern au (and I agree in parts). I think she would be the type of person who loves to see the sweetest and softest things to melt alone on the couch without anyone seeing. A moment for herself and a part of her that she would not show to anyone.

You would already know about her romantic side, but seeing her under the covers sighing while watching the Netflix special episode is a totally different story.

Please don’t mock her!!. She would be red enough by the time she was discovered.

When she was less shy, she would ask if you want to watch with her. She would say she saw no problem watching it with you again since doing it with you would be a different experience.

If you accept, you would spend the rest of the night in the room sharing a blanket and absorbing the soft atmosphere, the soundtrack, and the Chinese culture so present in history.

She would not speak a lot because she was paying attention, but she would hug you all the time. In the romantic scenes, she would tighten her arms around you a little and sometimes left a kiss on your shoulder.

I think she could relate to Hua Cheng's way of loving. He is always there to protect, care for and see his lover even if sometimes Xie Lian doesn't even know.

And that is what she wants to show you, that more than a girlfriend, she is also someone you can count on.

Days later, you will see her reading the rest of the work around the house because she couldn't stand to wait for a second season.

And later, SURELY melting and vibrating while watching Mo Dao Zu Shi.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 302: As the Todoroki Turns

Previously on BnHA: 

Today on BnHA: We have a very fun chapter in which (1) Shouto grows up lonely on account of his parents being worried that his siblings will literally try to kill him, (2) Natsu and Fuyu grow up neglected on account of not being special and/or self-destructive enough to attract attention, (3) we get to revisit all of that exciting spousal abuse from chapter 39, and (4) Touya burns to death right on cue, pretty much exactly like we expected it to happen. Thankfully since this is a shounen manga, Horikoshi finds some hope in all this misery as the Todoroki family rallies together, with Shouto getting his long-overdue credit for being a perfect sweet angel who put up with all of this shit for sixteen years and somehow came out of it strong and kind and empathetic and determined. Anyway, so that flashback was a barrel of laughs. But now that it’s over, we can put all of that angst behind us, and move on to... well I guess, probably, more angst. Look, we’re short on variety at the moment. Bear with it.

ouch. we knew this was coming, but still

A+ parenting move there. “ho boy, our eldest just tried to murder our youngest, now what? hmm how about we isolate our youngest from all human contact”

though in their defense, we probably shouldn’t have expected this rabidly strength-obsessed fire man and his wife who was groomed since childhood to obey her family’s whims to have any idea of how to raise stable, well-adjusted offspring

SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS

this is a perfect example of Enji’s tragically self-revolving viewpoint right here. just because being a hero is your entire world doesn’t mean you can just excuse yourself from anything outside of that and act like it’s out of your control. “alas, all I care about is hero stuff and my son can’t be a hero, we are doomed to inhabit two different worlds” no you jackass, it’s called having more than one hobby?? figuring out how to spend some time with your son that doesn’t involve training?? the same exact thing you were telling him to do last week, while ignoring that you’ve never done that yourself in your life??

that said, yet again we have that complexity though because it’s obvious that Enji at least on some level is aware of his own flaws, even though he seems unwilling or unable to confront them. honestly, from what we’ve seen so far, Enji’s obsession with surpassing All Might might be more accurately called an addiction. he literally can’t let go of it even though he’s fully aware of how it’s slowly destroying his life. and so in the same way that a lifelong smoker or alcoholic might tell their child to stay away from cigarettes and booze, Enji tells Touya not to follow down the same path as him, even though he himself doesn’t know how to leave that path. so yes, it’s hypocritical as fuck, but there’s also an element of helplessness there as well because Enji literally doesn’t know how not to be like this

though all the same he sure could stand to put in more than just a token effort. but it is what it is, and we already know how much he’ll come to regret it

and meanwhile Baby Shouto has frozen his sleep bubble with his quirk lmao. so I guess his quirk did come in early. that’s a recipe for chaos right there

once again Shouto is ruining every single dramatic panel in this flashback

this was so dark and intense... and then I spotted the lil bubs in the corner. Horikoshi please control yourself

“some hero you are, running away” and then all of a sudden, “FIVE YEARS LATER” lol what. OKAY THEN

(ETA: love the confirmation that eight-year-old Natsu comes from the Iida school of puberty and is basically a fully grown man, and meanwhile Touya comes from the hobbit school of puberty and has been perpetually eight for the past five years.)

“HEY BIG BRO WANNA COME RECREATE AN ICONIC FLASHBACK SCENE WITH US. WE’VE GOT THE SOCCER BALL RIGHT HERE, BUT HURRY UP OR WE’LL BE TOO LATE FOR SHOUTO TO WALK ON BY AND STOP TO LOOK”

lol and that’s literally the next three panels. but Horikoshi did add this extra bit after Endeavor starts to drag Shouto away

seriously Enji what the hell did you expect was going to happen here. “Touya went nuts and tried to kill his little brother out of jealousy, so let’s make it clearer than ever that Shouto is the important child and all the other children are just rejects. this will definitely not make the problem 100x worse, and will surely lead to Touya giving up and living a happy life, having been emotionally abandoned by the person he admired more than anyone.” good for you pal you figured it all out. no need for that plan b, “we all just go to therapy”

anyway so he’s telling Shouto he can’t play because he needs more endurance training. and meanwhile Touya’s patented Todoroki Drama Genes are going through puberty as well

definitely the face of a happy, emotionally stable child who’s not still plotting to murder his younger brother in his sleep

“WELL ACTUALLY MAKESTE” lol I stand corrected??

apparently during the five year interim Touya actually stopped blaming Shouto and realized Enji was the one at fault. good for him! a bit inconsistent, given what we know happens later, but I assume we’ll get to that in good time

anyway. “yeah man I agree that dad sucks, but it’s the middle of the night and I’m only eight and you’ve been monologuing for the past two hours bro”

LMAO

the manga is making my jokes for me, only better. fine then

looks like someone’s still miffed about that disagreement he had with his baby sister back when she was like four

“Fuyu doesn’t get properly riled up like I want her to so ranting to her is annoying.” okay but having been in Fuyu’s shoes, it really is just a different way of coping, and I can guarantee she’s not as fine with the whole situation as Touya might think. but making your peace with something is often a decision that’s made for emotional self-preservation reasons. and I sure as hell don’t fault her for trying to shut out a situation that she had no control over, and trying to make the best of it, and scrape together as normal a childhood as she could manage

and now in Touya’s defense as well, that is of course easier said than done, and I’m sure if there was a “push this button and instantly get over all of the trauma in your life” switch readily available for Touya then he would have pushed it too. unfortunately it’s not always that simple

so now Rei is pleading with Touya not to go train up on his little emo hill again, but it doesn’t seem like much has changed since he was eight

I don’t think he gives two figs about being a hero; he just wants his father to look at him again with pride. fucking hell, stop doing this to me you damn Todorokis

guh, they keep telling him the same thing over and over again

even if we hadn’t already known he was gonna go melt his jawbone off soon, I wouldn’t have expected a line like that to go over well

yep. fuck

that Todoroki puberty angst, though. nothing else quite like it

“you have a part in this too, Mom” ooooooh man

okay but look, he’s not entirely wrong. like, I’m not saying any of this is Rei’s fault at all! she’s in an impossible situation where she’s afraid to stand up to Enji (who by this point has shown that he’s willing to physically attack her if things get too heated, which is terrifying), and doesn’t really have anywhere to turn for support. her parents aren’t helping much if at all, and Japan in general is just a terrible country to be in when you’re in a domestic abuse situation. everyone’s expected to put on a brave face and deal with their problems all on their own in private. Rei is basically completely isolated at this point, and she doesn’t know what else to do, and so she’s just trying to keep the situation as stable as possible for the kids

but on the other hand, “for the kids” is also where that argument starts to break down a bit, because at this point Shouto is also being physically abused by his father, and the other kids are continuing to be neglected (emotionally if not physically), as they have been for years. so the situation really isn’t stable at all for them. and as a kid, what you end up learning in that type of situation is that you can’t rely on either parent. not the abusive one, certainly, but also not the other one who can’t protect you from any of it. even if they love you and they’re trying, they’re just as helpless as you. Rei is struggling to deal with all of this with one hand tied behind her back, and I get it, and I’m not blaming her at all. but all the same, particularly given that she’s (understandably) putting almost all her focus on Shouto, the end result is that the other kids have basically been left to fend for themselves

so yeah! a shitty situation all around. and one of those cases where it’s not really anyone’s fault (aside from Enji’s), but I can understand the resentment Touya is feeling all the same. and I’m so glad Horikoshi is acknowledging this, because it’s something I probably would have been too uncomfortable to bring up otherwise. as it is it’s still an incredibly heavy subject, and one that I probably have too many personal feelings about

anyway, so once again the whole “we’ll try talking to him and then just shrug our shoulders when it doesn’t work” parenting strategy doesn’t really pan out for the Todoroki fam

sob this boy is Anakin Skywalkering before our very eyes. all that’s missing is AFO to come and start whispering in his ear. any minute now...

“anyway so then he got taller and his fire changed from red to blue”

guess we’re getting pretty close then huh. this is the part of the flashback that I really don’t want to see, but also unfortunately the part that I’m most curious about :/

oh for fuck’s --

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IGNORING HIM FOR FIVE YEARS DIDN’T ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM�� sob. back to the drawing board I guess

I thought he got taller, why is he still only like a third of Enji’s height here

oh fuck me these are armor-piercing feels. this is the heavy artillery right here

ENJI I’M BEGGING YOU PLEASE STOP AND THINK FOR ONE MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE BEFORE DOING SOMETHING YOU’LL REGRET FOR THE REST OF ALL TIME. your child just told you that he still thinks beating All Might is the only thing you care about, and that he believes his existence is a mistake unless he finds some way of doing that for you. please stop for a moment to contemplate that and choose your next words with care and grace and oh who the hell am I kidding

-- OR WE COULD JUST BLAME REI

go on and blame everyone but yourself then!! that’s a great solution!! jesus christ man I know this is Endeavor at his literal worst but still this is fucking hard to watch

POOR BABY SHOUTO IS YELLING AT HIS DAD NOT TO HIT HIS MOMMY THIS LITTLE BRAVE BOY NEEDS SO MANY HUGS OH MY GOD

AND MEANWHILE THE OTHERS ARE HUDDLED IN THE NEXT ROOM TRYING NOT TO CRY AH FUCK

(ETA: Fuyu covering Natsu’s ears cuts RIGHT TO THE CORE OF ME. Horikoshi if you’re really not gonna get these kids some therapy then at least consider giving your readers some. what is this.)

you know it’s bad when you’re starting to think the part where the kid burns to death might actually be a less traumatic thing to cut to right now

holy shit, actual Rei thoughts

“I was the one who ultimately made that choice” well there we go, wonder if that’ll put that whole argument to bed at last. I doubt it, but you never know. actually who am I kidding it’s not gonna settle jack shit lol

oh thank god, they decided it was getting too intense and cut away back to the present to narrate this next (final?) part

get ready to cue up that Alicia Keys. THIS BOY IS ON FIREEEEEEE

yeah I think that’s one thing we can mostly all agree on. neither of them had any clue what the fuck they were doing pretty much at any point. though I will say that the hypocrisy of him being all “WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HIM” followed by him IMMEDIATELY DOING THE EXACT SAME THING is a bit rich

(ETA: and he still has this problem, doesn’t he? he froze up when Ending snatched Natsuo, and again when Dabi was attacking Shouto. he’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing that he ends up not doing anything, which of course is exactly what led to Touya’s death. damn Enji I guess you’ve still got some additional character development to unlock.)

and of course neither of them could possibly have known how badly it was going to turn out. like, the consequences here were WAY disproportionate even for the shittiest of parenting. no one expects “I didn’t know how to talk to my son” to snowball into “my son burned to death and then somehow came back as a villain and murdered thirty people”

ohhhhhhhh fuck me

LITERALLY INCINERATED THE ENTIRE HILLSIDE. fuck. and I am so not ready for the scene of Enji finding the remains of his jawbone afterwards. at least we were spared anything super-graphic (for now at least)

I feel like the timeline here is off, btw?? wasn’t Touya’s death supposed to happen after Rei got hospitalized? this might be the first actual retcon of the entire flashback. although I think it makes more sense this way tbh

I do appreciate that ten years later Enji is finally reflecting on the fact that if he’d just given up his stupid obsession he could have stopped his family from crumbling apart. that probably sounds sarcastic as fuck, but it’s not. there are countless jerks out there who would have still managed to find a way to blame literally everyone and everything under the sun except for themselves. at least he finally figured out how to take responsibility, even if it came too late to stop his son from dying and being radicalized into a villain terrorist organization

and speaking of, it seems to me we’re missing a third and final part to this little tale of woe, and one which only Touya himself will be able to shed any light on. so we’ll see how that goes

oh man seeing the other kids blaming themselves even though none of it was their fault hits hard af. Rei wasn’t kidding when she said they’d been bearing that burden of guilt far longer than Enji

SHOUTO I SWEAR TO GOD IF THE NEXT PANEL IS YOU APOLOGIZING FOR BEING BORN, I WILL... WELL I’LL BE VERY SAD, I GUESS. SO DON’T DO IT

oh good he’s just being quiet. good. it absolutely is not your fault lil bean. it’s not theirs either, but feeling guilty about things that aren’t your fault is a time-honored shounen tradition

goddammit I braced myself for the angsty Shouto panel a page too early. gotta do it all over again now lol. okay here goes

;_;

well well well would you look at that

imagine that. talking things out with your child before they make a rash decision. looks like the Todorokis’ parenting skills are finally leveling up

OH MY GOD

holy shit. this is the most quintessential moment of father/son Todoroki bonding in the entire series. for me it even tops the “nice scar” scene lol. Enji sobbing at the fact that he still has a chance to set things right. and Shouto offering his hand in what is actually the most mature and selfless gesture I’ve ever seen, and being all “we’ll stop him together” to his dad who he hates, but also doesn’t really entirely hate anymore. and all of that is incredibly moving... BUT ALSO HE STILL REFUSES TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HIM AND HE WOULD LIKE HIM TO STOP BEING SO FUCKING DRAMATIC ALREADY IF YOU DON’T MIND. “WHEN YOU’RE DONE CRYING...” fkjldsk

OH MY FUCKING LORD

(ETA: wouldn’t be a Todoroki drama fest if there wasn’t somebody listening in on the whole thing in secret just around the corner lmao.)

“you think we should have waited somewhere else?” “yeah, probably.” “are you feeling a lot of secondhand embarrassment too?” “god, you have no idea.” STFU HAWKS IT’S NOT EMBARASSING TO BE MOVED TO TEARS BY YOUR FAMILY ALL COMING TOGETHER IN YOUR DARKEST HOUR TO GIVE YOU HOPE THAT YOU PROBABLY DON’T DESERVE BUT ARE NONETHELESS INDESCRIBABLY GRATEFUL FOR

and anyway you chose these guys as your found family, bucko. too late to back out now. next time go get yourself adopted by the Iidas then

AND MEANWHILE NO WORD ON THE WHOLE “HOW DID A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD SURVIVE A FIRE THAT COVERED HIS BODY WITH HORRIFIC SCARS AND MELTED HIS JAW OFF, AND HOW DID HE SOMEHOW THEN MANAGE TO GO INTO HIDING FOR TEN WHOLE YEARS, AND WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT INTERIM TO CHANGE HIS GOAL FROM ‘SURPASS ALL MIGHT TO IMPRESS MY DAD’ TO ‘KILL ALL HEROES TO MAKE MY DAD SUFFER’.” as if we don’t know the answer to that. but still, would it kill Horikoshi to just confirm AFO’s involvement in all of this already. at this point it’s basically just a formality

so here’s hoping next week we’ll either get that, or more Hawks action, or (DARE I EVEN SUGGEST, I’M AFRAID TO JINX IT) finally cut back to Bakugou and Deku and All Might omg. either way I’m hyped

[pingutats]

could you write a really fluffy bit on harry kissing every single self harm scar on your body? like, stroking them and cuddling with you and reassuring you that your body is beautiful and okay even with scars? 🥺

thank you for requesting this! this was genuinely quite therapeutic to write so i’m glad i did it — it’s longer than i meant it to be at about 2.4k words, but anyway. here’s a difficult conversation with new boyfriend!harry. 

major trigger warning for discussions of self-harm and scars. this is not a story for everyone, and could definitely be triggering if you are not in the right headspace. please be responsible and look after yourselves <3 

this is also pretty unedited so forgive any mistakes. okay!! onwards!

It’s getting late when Harry asks you, ‘Do you want to spend the night?’

The meandering film you found on Netflix is drawing to a close, finally. The characters are on a boat, drifting away into an Italian sunset. You barely have a grasp of how they got there — mostly, you just listened to Harry talk over the dialogue about a pretty little café he knows just around the corner from where this scene was filmed, or how cool the water gets at night there and so the actors must have been shivering. All of it wrapped up, of course, in a quiet suggestion to take you there someday so you can see for yourself. You get a little thrill every time he says something like that. It means he’s thinking of a future with you, which means he wants one, even though it’s only been just over a month since you’ve been seeing each other.

He trails his fingers up and down your arm, bringing up goosebumps beneath your sleeve, and looks at you. ‘Or I can drive you home, if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.’

You hum. ‘No,’ you say. ‘I’ll stay. I’d probably end up falling asleep in the car anyway. I’m so tired.’

His dimple appears. ‘Good, because I’d probably fall asleep at the wheel.’ He grabs the remote and turns the TV off, then pushes himself off the couch with a groan. He holds his hand out for you. ’C’mon, then.’

You grab his hand and he hauls you up, his other arm coming up to your back to pull you into his chest. You fall against him, grabbing his biceps to steady yourself. The two glasses of wine you’ve had tonight have thrown your balance off. He presses a kiss to your hair as you giggle. Then he brings his hand up to your jaw to tilt your head up to look at him properly. You nearly melt at his green eyes.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I can sleep on the couch.’ His gaze is completely sincere.

You haven’t slept together before, both in the literal and figurative senses. You haven’t had sex with anybody at all, actually, and Harry seems to have picked up on your hesitancy. He’s never asked for anything. He lets everything stay on your terms. 

That’s what makes you trust him.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ you tell him.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, just to make sure. ’Right,’ he says, breaking into a smile.

He finds a new toothbrush in his cupboard for you, and you brush your teeth together. It feels like a big step to do these nighttime rituals with him. It’s so domestic. He shares his cleanser with you and offers his moisturiser that smells like vanilla. You imagine spending every night like this.

As he leads the way back into his bedroom, he pulls his shirt off. ‘I get hot at night. D’you mind?’

You giggle — you can’t help yourself, at the sight of his muscled torso with all of its tattoos. He’s so handsome. ‘Not at all,’ you tell him.

He throws the shirt into a hamper in the corner, and the birds on his chest seem to fly with the movement of his shoulder, then looks back to catch you ogling him. He chuckles, and the sight of his dimples gives you butterflies.

‘You like?’ he asks.

You narrow your eyes. ’Are you flexing?’

He relaxes. ‘Yeah, a bit. Just wanna impress you.’

You snort at that. ‘Like you need to do anything to impress me.’

He grins. ‘D’you want something more comfortable to sleep in?’ He rummages around in his drawer for a moment, then pulls out a t-shirt and holds it up for you. It has an incredibly faded image of Flinstones characters on the front. ‘How’s this?’ he asks.

You smile at his courtesy. ’Perfect. I love your t-shirt collection, by the way. Where the hell do you find things like this?’

‘Oh, you know… Here and there.’ He tosses it to you.

You catch it with some semblance of grace — you’re proud of yourself for that. ‘Thanks.’ You glance at the bathroom door. ‘Alright. I’ll just… get changed in here,’ you say, slipping through the ajar door.

‘Alright, love.’

You shut the door, and realise you’ve forgotten to turn the light on, leaving you in pitch-black. You grope against the wall for the switch and turn it on, and take a deep breath. Why are you so nervous, so frazzled? It’s just Harry. You shimmy out of your leggings, then pull your sweater over your head.

You look at your reflection. Well. There’s a problem. It’s easy for you to forget when you’re alone, or wrapped up in layers of clothing — it’s just a part of your body now. Artefacts from a different time, years ago. Even the memory of how you got them — how you gave them to yourself — is slipping away, thank God. It’s all a haze. These scars were carved by a girl that you don’t see much anymore. They aren’t really a painful reminder anymore, just a fact of life. You know they're there. The problem is, no one else expects it.

You stare down at your wrists, seeing the lines that never faded. Maybe if they were all like the thin white lines, barely visible until you look closely, you wouldn’t mind. You’re going to sleep, anyway, and it’s not like he’s inspecting your forearms. No, it’s the three darker ones, hard twisting scar tissue that you can feel even through sleeves. Times where you went just a little too deep, were a little too reckless. The ones you regret the most. They’re big, and ugly, and too obvious. He’d notice them right away.

But he gave you his t-shirt.

You look at your reflection in the mirror, furrowing your brows. You adjust your pose, twisting your arms around so the inside of your wrists are hidden, facing behind you. You look ridiculous. You know, as soon as you see Harry, you’ll reach for him, and he’ll see.

Would that be so bad?

You look down at your arms again. It’s been years, and they’re still there. They’ll probably be there forever. They’re as permanent as the tattoos on his skin — except those are beautiful, and what you have is not. You can’t show this to him. The world where these scars exist, and the world where he exists, should never cross over. It wouldn’t be right.

You pull your long-sleeve back on, covering them again. Then you put the t-shirt, which is long enough to be modest on you. This is fine, right? It’s better than any alternative, at least.

You leave the bathroom holding your folded sweats up to your chest, nervous now realising that you are standing in front of Harry in just your underwear, more naked than you ever have been in front of him.

He’s checking something on his phone as he sits on the bed, back against the headboard and long legs stretching down the covers, but he brightens up at the sight of you. His gaze drops to your legs — which makes your cheeks burn, but his boyishly excited expression dissolves your nerves — then rises up again to your shirt. He frowns at the long-sleeve. 

‘Are you cold?’ he asks. ‘I thought it was pretty warm but I can turn the heat up if you need.’

You shake your head, dropping your sweats on the floor beside the dresser. ’No, it’s fine.’

He sits up straighter, swinging his legs over the side so his feet rest on the ground. ’Can’t be comfortable to sleep like that.’ He hesitates. ‘You didn’t have to wear the t-shirt if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I want to. I do.’ You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to figure out how to navigate this situation in a way that won’t end in him being annoyed or disgusted. ‘It’s just…’ You trail off, but one glance at his frown, at the way he leans forward and hangs on every word, makes your resolve crumble. You’ll have to have this conversation at one point or another. ‘Okay. Shit, Harry, can I talk to you about something?’

The way he answers immediately makes you want to cry. ‘Yeah, of course. Anything.’ He sits up straighter, pats the covers next to him, inviting you to sit down.

You sigh and cross the room to sit next to him, not daring to meet his eyes. How the hell do you explain this?

He moves his arm behind you once you’re sitting. Not touching you, but enough so he’s close. ‘What’s wrong?’ he prompts. ‘Do you need me to drive you home instead? Because I didn’t—’

‘No,’ you interrupt. ‘It’s fine. It’s just, I kinda…’ You take a deep breath. ‘Okay, please don’t freak out?’

He frowns. His next words are measured. ‘I’ll try not to. Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah,’ you whisper. It feels like the greatest effort in the world, but you curl your fingers around the end of your sleeve and pull it up, revealing your wrists. ‘So, I have these…’ Your voice shakes.

‘Oh, baby,’ Harry says quietly, and that’s all you need to hear. His arm behind you reaches around and pulls you into his chest, hugging you close to him. His thumb rubs circles into your shoulder as you sniffle, his other hand resting on top of yours.

‘It’s in the past, you know,’ you say, muffled into his shoulder. He smells good, you notice. Not that it’s really important right now, but you appreciate it all the same. ‘Not a big deal. Just didn’t want to scare you or anything. ’S embarrassing.’

‘Listen to me,’ he says, pulling back and holding your face in his hands. He waits until you manage to look him in his eyes. They’re watery, you realise, and that might be the most painful thing about this night. ’It’s not embarrassing, alright? I don’t want you to feel like that. They’re part of you, and I really like you, every part.’ He smiles. ‘I really do, you know.’

You sniff, wiping at your cheek with your fingertips, trying to calm your tears. Suddenly all your fears seem ridiculous. Did you really expect him to turn you away, disgusted? Ask to never see you again? You knuckle at your eyes. ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

‘Hey.’ He springs from the bed to grab the tissue box from the dresser and brings it to you, pulling out a tissue and dabbing under your eyes himself. He’s so gentle. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry, that you were worried to show me.’

You chuckle, grabbing a tissue from the box and blowing your nose. What more can you say to him? He’s so wonderful to you. It’s early days still, and you’re wary of moving too fast and coming on too strong. You aren’t experienced with relationships in the same way that you know he is. But you love him. You’re sure of it. You’ll tell him, one day. Soon.

‘You don’t need to wear my shirt if you don’t want to,’ he repeats once you’re calmer.

‘I’ll wear it.’ And to show him, in your sudden burst of confidence, you undress right next to him, taking off both layers and then putting the only t-shirt back on. You turn to him, and giggle. He’s turned his head away. ‘You can look,’ you tell him, nudging his knee with yours.

He looks back with a sheepish smile. ‘Didn’t want to be a creep.’ He scoots backwards onto the bed, settling his back against the headboard. ‘C’mere.’

You crawl over to him, settling with your back against his chest, sitting between his legs. His arms wrap around your middle, anchoring you to him. He presses kisses to your neck, the scruff on his cheeks tickling you. You curl up, twisting your neck away, giggling.

‘Harry!’

‘Sorry, love.’ His hands relax, and find your own. He rests his chin over your shoulder, and gently turns your palms upwards, so your wrists are visible to him.

You shiver, but allow it. You feel this is important. You don’t want to hide with him.

‘Y/N…’ he says quietly. You feel his chest push against your back as it expands with a breath. ‘Am I… am I allowed to touch them?’ he asks.

You’re surprised. You thought he would want to avoid them. You nod, then, realising he can’t really see you, you add, ‘Yeah.’

Your fingers are tense. You can’t help it. His thumb presses into your palm, massaging the tension away. He pulls the back of your hand to his lips and brings it back to your lap.

You close your eyes.

When he finds the first hard lump of scarring with his thumb, he pauses. He takes a shaky breath, then he runs his thumb up and down the length of it.

‘Y/N,’ he says softly.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. ‘Mm?’

‘You’re beautiful, you know.’ He pulls your hand back up to his lips, but instead he kisses the biggest scar on your wrist. ‘No matter what. You are.’

‘Harry,’ you whisper, because you don’t know what to say.

He kisses the scar again, then trails his lips up your wrist, covering them all. ‘I don’t want you to be ashamed of anything. You survived. That’s a wonderful thing.’ He drops your hand and cups your jaw, turning your head towards his. He leans around your shoulder to face you properly. ’I’m so fucking proud of you, you know?’

You never were good at taking compliments, so you just cross the distance between the two of you and kiss him.

When you’re lying together in the dark a little while later, with his arm thrown over you protectively and his soft breaths hitting your neck where his t-shirt doesn’t cover, you feel safe. Your arms are bare, you’re with another person, and you feel safe in this situation for the first time in years. It’s a wonderful feeling. All because of Harry.

You can’t wait to wake up in the morning and see his face again.

[goldencuffs]

untraditional

@lamenweek day five: traditions

Damen doesn’t think he’s supposed to feel so bone-weary at thirty-one.

Everything in his body aches, and he’s already greying at his temples. Last night, he had gone to bed at eight.

Theomedes doesn’t look up from the Ios Financial Times when Damen enters the Drawing Room. The table already has been set: Damen’s seat is, as usual, is to the left of his father, exactly fourty-seven centimetres apart. Damen’s food has been already served, because his father got here before him, and everyone gets served the same time as Theomedes.

Damen’s entire life has been dictated by these traditions, guidelines and precedents.

Some of them are good, but most of them are like this: nonsensical and elitist.

Even Theomedes’ and Damianos’ tea is prepared via strict protocol: one teaspoon of loose tea leaves per cup, heated to a hundred degrees celcius (seventy for green tea), with a tablespoon of organic, raw honey added straight to the teapot.

(It’s amazing tea, though).

Theomedes says, “Your food is cold.”

Damen stares at the pile of mash potatoes and salmon. “I’m not hungry.”

He also hates salmon, but Theomedes is the only one who sets the menu for the week with the head chef. Last week, they had roast beef and vegetables four times.

“You’re not still sulking are you?” Theomedes finally says, three minutes later.

Damen grips his table fork. He forces himself to do the breathing exercises Makedon had taught him.

In an ideal world, he wouldn’t reply, but in this one, everyone answered to the King.

“No, sir,” Damen says, and shoves a polite bite of food in his mouth.

“You haven’t had a meal with me in three weeks,” Theomedes says, and he sounds hurt and disappointed.

“Hmm,” Damen says. “I’ve been busy. You know I’ve been working on the preservation of Marlas with Nikandros.”

Theomedes crosses his fork and knife over his plate. Instantly, three different staff members rush forward to clear the table.

Damen’s plate is cleared too; no one eats after the King has left. Another useless, bane tradition.

“You know I did what’s best for you,” Theomedes says, looming over Damen.

When Damen nods, Theomedes kisses his temple. “You’ll realise it sooner, rather than later.”

“Yes, sir,” Damen says quietly, and rises only after Theomedes has left, as is protocol.

*

An hour later, the itch under Damen’s skin becomes unbearable, and he finds himself burrowing under the left corner of his mattress for certain… supplies.

He pulls on the red, shoulder-length curly wig with little care, and then the faux-leather beret. It’s peeling and terrible, but Damen doesn’t care.

The rest of his outfit is just layers: sunglasses, two coats, scarves, and a muted shirt, to hide as much of his body as possible.

He normally doesn’t leave so early in the day, when he’s being patrolled by guards and the Kyros.

Luckily, it’s only Nikandros who catches him, right outside his door.

His expression is flat. “You’re not serious. You’re leaving now? We’re in the middle of drafting the Delpha treaty!”

Damen shrugs. “I have to go.”

“You don’t have to—” Nikandros cuts himself off with a sigh. “Whatever. Can you please bring me back those caramel slices?”

Damen grins. “You got it, boss.”

Once he’s past the Main Foyer, the rest of the journey is easy: Damen takes an hour and a half train ride from Central Ios to Andris, and then a fifteen minute bus ride on the eighty-six. And then finally, an eight minute walk to the Andris Office District.

There’s a small bookstore there called Pocket Bookmark, painted emerald green, the lettering done in gold.

Inside, it’s not too busy: it’s not quite the end of a business day, and the customers in here are high school students, skimming the Shakespeare section, and a man hovering near the new releases.

Damen keeps his head down, weaving through the aisles.

Nicaise, the mouthy teenage cashier rolls his eyes when he sees Damen approaching, lifting up the wooden flap on on the bench, allowing Damen to duck through.

“Thanks, kid,” Damen says, mussing his hair.

“Ah, fuck off,” Nicaise grunts, but fondly. He’s warmed up to Damen ever since Damen bought him his first car. (Nothing too flashy, obviously).

Damen hurries all the way to the back, opening the door marked, No entry, and then goes up the narrow steps, which always make the worst creaking noises.

There’s another door a the small porch upstairs, and Damen fishes out the key in his pocket to open it.

Instantly, he’s hit with the smell of butter chicken simmering on the stove, and his mouth salivates. He dumps his entire attire by the small settee in the hallway, inhaling gratefully.

The second thing he’s greeted with is Wendy, who meows and claws at his leg.

“Come here, baby,” Damen murmurs, picking her up and holding her to his chest. She purrs and curls up, like a big ball of fluff and he kisses her head. “I love you so much.”

She meows in response, and snuggles closer.

Laurent turns off the stove in the tiny kitchen. He looks over his shoulder for just a second and scrunches his nose. “Ugh, she’s such a slut. I’ve been petting her for the last hour, but apparently I’m just not good enough.”

Laurent is in his after work attire: which means he’s as half dressed as possible. The shirt he’s wearing is one of Damen’s, and his shorts are the pair that shrunk in the wash; they ride too high up his thigh.

Laurent’s just come out of the shower: the hair at his nape is still wet, and his skin is pinked and glowing. Even with the curry, Damen can smell jasmine and coconut.

Laurent has got this sweet, soft smile that lights up his eyes.

It takes Damen’s breath away: not just Laurent, but this entire picture of domesticity. It’s all Damen’s wanted his entire life.

He means to make a snarky comment about Wendy, but what comes out is: “Marry me.”

Laurent drops the wooden spoon, eyes wide.

Damen grips Wendy too tightly and she lets out a shriek and jumps out of his arms.

They stare at each other for a moment. Damen’s heart is racing.

Laurent blinks. “Oh, sorry. I think I hallucinated for a minute.”

Damen steps forward, smiling. “It wasn’t a hallucination. Marry me.”

Laurent makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “Are you asking me or telling me?” He swallows, eyes darting all over Damen’s face, his body. “I don’t see a ring,” he says quietly.

Damen groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, I know. I had this whole plan, I was going to propose with the Queen’s ring, but obviously I’d have to talk to my father first and—” He sits down at the kitchen table, pulling out his phone. “There’s a courthouse ten minutes from here. It’s Thursday night, so they’re still open. We just need to show up with a signed ‘Intended Marriage Certificate’. It���s like three pages, we’ll be fine.”

“…Oh.” Laurent has gone very still. “You’re looking up courthouses. You’re serious.”

“Shit,” Damen says, watching him. “I’m so sorry. You—Do you want to marry me, Laurent? Because I’ve been dying to marry you since I first saw you. Er. No pressure, though.”

Laurent glares at him, affronted. “Of course I want to marry you, you fucking idiot!”

Damen leaps to his feet, grinning and flushed. “Fuck yeah! Let’s go print this form and—”

“Damen!” Laurent laughs, looking a little crazed. “We can’t just—Just wait a minute.”

“Alright. Shoot, baby.”

Predictably, Laurent flushes pink. “Is it even legal? Aren’t there special ceremonies for royals? And—and the King still thinks we broke up!”

Damen winces a little at that.

After an entire year of sneaking around, of meeting up in discreet hotels, and making plans to move in together one day, Damen had fucked up three weeks ago.

Drunk and enamoured, he had kissed Laurent outside his bookstore after a date. There had been photos—and the only saving grace had been the fact that Laurent’s face had been inscrutable.

But the fact that he was a commoner had been enough for Theomedes to unleash his rage. He had ordered Damen to break things off with Laurent, and Damen had pretended to, but… Well, Laurent had been hurt. It had been the first time he had realised how shaky their entire relationship was, how quickly it could come crumbling down.

Damen had spent days convincing him otherwise, and Laurent had finally agreed, but there had still been shadows in his eyes.

Now—now, though, Damen realises exactly what he can do, what he should have done months ago, to make Laurent realise he’s it.

“Fuck the King,” Damen says. He finally closes the distance between them, gripping Laurent’s hands. “Laurent, listen. I can still get married legally in a civil ceremony.”

“But—” Laurent bites his lip. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. And,” His voice grows small. “I know there’s so many rules and traditions you have to follow. I’ve read about the whole tradition where your father is supposed to gift you a diptych piece.”

Damen’s heart is warm. He smiles down at Laurent, smitten. “You’ve read up on royal wedding traditions?”

Laurent colours even more. “Of course.”

Damen kisses him hard, unable to bare the love swelling up inside him. Laurent flings his arms around Damen’s neck, his mouth emitting small, sweet gasps.

When they pull apart, Damen presses his forehead to Laurent’s. “Fuck the King,” he repeats. “Fuck the customs and rules and traditions. You are the only thing that matters to me. Just forget everything for a moment and answer: do you want to go downtown and marry me?”

Laurent’s smile overtakes his face, his eyes shining. “Yes,” he says softly. “I want to—so much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you in a better way or give you a ring or—”

“Stop. This was absolutely perfect.” He sighs. “You’re perfect.”

Damen kisses him again, pressing him to the counter. “I want you to have my mother’s ring.”

Laurent buries his head into Damen’s chest, overwhelmed. He nods.

Damen drops a kiss to his hair. “Get changed, baby. We’re getting married.”

Laurent looks up at him in wonder. “We’re getting married.”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

“I’ve been doing stupid things

Wilder than I’ve ever been

You’ve become my favorite sin

So let them keep, let them keep on talking.”

— Bad Decisions, Ariana Grande

A/N: laidese and germs.....i cannot feel my mfing fingers!!!!! but the filth is worth it 😌this is the longest piece i have ever written and i’m pretty proud of it! i put my heart and soul into this and the smut is.....pretty wild ngl! this is the first full-on sex scene i’ve written for them so it’s pretty long but who doesn’t love a long smut scene, amirite? it’s also the official introduction to Onyx and Nimbus into the demon!h universe so a round of applause for those two legends. Lucifer is mentioned in passing and i posted a face-claim for him, in case you were wondering what he looks like (he will be making appearances in the future so keep your eyes peeled for that). a little disclaimer, the Latin i used for the summoning spell i created is a very loose translation!! i did the best i could with google!! without further delay, here she is :D thank you so much for supporting my writing, feedback is not only greatly appreciated but also getting tattooed on my forehead, get ready for quite the ride, and i hope you enjoy!

masterlist : ask : more demon!harry

word count: 26k (i have no self-control oop)

content: a ton of domestic banter, a huge amount of fluff, two (2) make out sessions, demon!h putting that tongue piercing to good use, a load of filthy ass smut, him looking hot while doing some spells, and some dogs of course

preview:

Y/N’s attitude is one of timid guilt. “Isn’t that tapestry a sacred antique? Wouldn’t it be wrong to…y’know...?”

Harry belts out a disbelieving laugh. “Since when do you care about defiling satanic artifacts? Thought you’d be all for it.” 

She scowls. “Won’t Lucifer find out?” 

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes haphazardly, waving a hand weakly for emphasis before using it to push his disheveled curls away from his forehead. “I highly doubt it.” 

“I feel like he has a way of knowing everything, H.” 

“He does, most times. But,” he holds up his pinky symbolically, wiggling it around with a shit-eating grin curving his cupid’s bow, sing-songing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

The raunchiness of it all is appealing to her urge to be rebellious— an urge he had instilled in her over the months they’d known one another. She reiterates her previous point, trying to convince herself more than anyone because it really is so unbelievably tempting. “It’s a risk, and it’s wrong.”

Harry fits her chin between his thumb and forefinger, ghosting his mouth over hers and blinking slowly, establishing a seductive hold. His whisper is warm and raspy, almost as if he’s trying to keep their shadows from eavesdropping. “That’s what makes it so fucking hot.” 

Y/N follows his lips, aiming to draw him into a kiss, but he pulls back, brows kinking in a mocking fashion. The action silently communicates its intended message: If you want a kiss, you have to give in to me.

or demon!harry wants to introduce angel!y/n to his hellhounds but an extremely sinful offer ends up postponing the summoning ritual 

///

Y/N’s having a stroke. 

She has never experienced one and, technically speaking, angels’ bodies are immune to all sickness and ailments given that they are just physical vessels for celestial energy. She’s probably just being dramatic. However, Y/N is pretty sure that what she is currently going through is most definitely classified as a stroke. 

Her palms are sweaty, her vision is blurring in and out of focus, she has a serious case of cottonmouth, her ears are ringing, her lungs are burning, and her heart is attempting to burst through her ribcage. According to what she has seen on television shows and commercials, as well as a quick search on WebMD, these strenuous sensations are the characteristics of a severe seizure. Or maybe a panic attack, at the least. 

The issue is that Y/N is the one inflicting this upon herself by overreacting, but she can’t seem to help it. Given the current situation, it’s not unusual that all her nerves are splintering and that her entire body has kicked into high gear. Any angel having to witness a satanic ritual would react the same exact way. 

It’s not so much Harry’s culture and practices that make her catastrophically uncomfortable, but it’s moreso the fact that she’s standing not even a full yard away as it all unfolds.

From the second Y/N and Harry had started dating, she was well aware of the consequences of their relationship. Apart from having to lie to her friends and family about why she had decided to extend her visit to earth into a semi-permanent moving-out, she’d also had to sacrifice a lot of the morals and ethics ingrained into her from the instant she had been created. Dismantling three thousand years worth of education and routine wasn’t necessarily a walk through the Garden of Eden. Y/N had no choice but to set aside her personal afflictions about her boyfriend’s lifestyle in order to make it work and though it had been a rocky start, everything she used to despise about demons had gradually integrated into her new status quo. 

She had learned to turn a blind eye when it came to Harry’s demonic dealings; she wasn’t by any means supportive of people selling their souls and condemning themselves to damnation, but God gave humans free will for a reason and it’s not any of her concern what they decide to do with it. Plus, according to what Harry had told her, demons have a certain monthly quota on how many souls they are required to collect and if he were to miss the mark, it would be a dead giveaway that something was out of the ordinary. Harry is one of Hell’s most prized businessmen— he’d been breaking records for centuries now— and if his numbers were to suddenly drop, rumors would no doubt cascade up the corporate ladder and make their way to a certain ill-tempered archangel’s ears. 

The last thing either of them needed is Lucifer sniffing around, particularly because it would give him ammo to lord over Y/N, which he’d unquestionably use to threaten her status in heaven. Her own personal worries aside, she has no idea what her father would do to Harry if he got wind of their forbidden connection and honestly, she would rather saw off her own wings than find out. 

There were too many risks involved in convincing her boyfriend to take the moral high road so instead, she kept her nose out of it all together. It's for the best. 

When it came to his other demonic duties, she made herself slightly more aware of them, despite wishing she didn’t have to. Duties such as mandatory business meetings— which doubled as satanic rituals— and his role as a professor of dark arts and lethal combat training to the upcoming generations of Hell. Y/N asked him endless questions about his responsibilities because she felt that being purposefully ignorant was selfishly stupid. Educating herself made it easier to understand Harry’s life and taught her not to judge him so harshly for the actions he partook. Hearing him speak about blood sacraments and swearing loyalty to someone she had been conditioned to hate made her mouth turn sour, almost like she’d swallowed a spoonful of brimstone dust, but she shouldered it because she loved him and when you love someone, you have to put aside your own biases in order to fully comprehend theirs. 

This had been Harry’s life for almost a millennia now and it’s not like he could bow out if he wanted— he’d sold his soul for the rest of eternity. Nothing could change that and she had to accept it. 

And though the logistics of it all made her stomach curdle, there was one primary concern that truly nicked her above everything: Harry’s safety. 

It mainly funneled down to the blood sacraments; the ceremony didn’t sit right with her for obvious reasons. There was just something so sickening about being required to participate in such an intrusive event and she doesn’t think it fair that he doesn’t have a choice. Harry assures her that it’s really nothing— a simple chore, at best— because he had been attending these occasions for decades now and was numb to their grotesqueness, but she can’t keep herself from prickling at the concept. Blood is so sacred— it’s a vital substance that all creatures have, humans, angels, and demons alike— and being forced to give it up to protect and stroke someone else’s ego is demeaning. 

From a hindsight perspective, Y/N thinks that’s why she’s so strung out and why she carries so much stress towards the spell Harry is about to cast— because it requires his blood. 

Y/N had seen Harry cast encanations plenty of times before and it never bothered her, mostly because all the sorcery she had seen was never anything to fear. Most of the magic he performed in front of her was harmless and innocent, which had surprised her since occultism was invented by Lucifer and anything that stemmed from him generally tended to be evil. 

But the witchcraft Harry showed her was pretty juvenile. An embarrassing nude situation with a binding spell and the little disappearance act with his Halloween costume. Setting his hot chocolate mug aflame to toast the marshmallows on top, and using his powers at the Party City store to “lightly” shove an old lady that had been rudely judging their close proximity. Using an invisible force to tug at her hair from across the room to be annoying, or teleporting her phone out of her hands at random times just to fuck with her. 

It was all benign, or so she thought. She knew there were more extreme forms of magic— it wasn’t referred to as the dark arts for the fun of it— but she had yet to experience anything drastic so she didn’t dwell in her head too much about it. 

Because Harry hadn’t exposed her to anything worth the horror, she had agreed to accompany him while he performed a ritual to summon his hellhounds to their apartment. She wasn’t necessarily keen on engaging with two five foot tall, red-eyed, bloody-mawed beasts, but from the way Harry had talked about them, she could tell they were important to him. 

He’d told her about how he had raised the hellhounds into adulthood since they had been spawned into existence as mere puppies, which obviously meant they had a deep bond spanning over centuries. Apart from that platonic connection, being their guardian had helped Harry get over the trauma that lingered from his death. It had been at the claws of a different hellhound, and it’s needless to say it had not been pleasant— the rough scarring running down the length of his chest can attest to that. Onyx and Nimbus (the second name he’d assigned ironically; it was a synonym for “halo,” and both he and the dog got quite the kick out of it) taught him to mend, and in return, he had taken them under his wing. They’d been inseparable for decades. A packaged deal, and considering Y/N was now a major part of his life, too, he wanted them to meet and get along. Or at least not try to kill each other on sight. 

Y/N had hesitantly agreed to letting the dogs stay at the flat, promising that she would do her best to form some type of civil relationship with them. She’s not sure how she would get used to two lethal canines casually milling around the kitchen, but she’d try awfully hard just to make Harry happy. Luckily, he wasn’t insensitive to her caution and explained that he would use magic to shape-shift his hounds into a more acceptable domestic form— “Probably pitbulls or labradors. Or German Shepherds! Those are pretty sick.” That consolation worked wonders for her peace of mind; it’d be easier to run from them without their ten foot leg-span advantage. 

Amidst Harry’s other reassurances, she also figured the spell wouldn’t be too harsh— he’d probably just chant some words in Latin and the dogs would pop up out of thin air— so she’d just shrugged her shoulder and agreed to be present. 

Much to the relief of her conscious, the initial setup had seemed as mild as usual. Harry had gathered a few select herbs, a rusted gold bowl with satanic glyphs carved into its circumstance, a matching muddler, and four stout candles, setting it all on the ground as he proceeded to move the coffee table off to the side for more space. He had extended a large tapestry over half of the living room, a giant gold pentagram painted over its expanse, weird symbols detailing each of its peaks. The piece had seemed ancient— it was faded and torn in certain places, mysterious dark stains splattered in others— and it made the back of her neck bristle for some unknown reason. 

Y/N had brushed it off. She should’ve expected to feel a bit uneasy— it was a fucking occult object. Any sane person would feel nervous around it. 

Harry, on the other hand, had been as carefree and nonchalant as always. Her boyfriend had dusted off the huge drapery, pinning down each corner with a different magical stone and a candle companion, whistling to the vague tune of his grandson’s newest single. Y/N found that incredibly amusing considering he never missed an opportunity to mention his hatred for the boy. Well, hate is a harsh word. Strongly dislike is more suitable, or so he would say. 

“Could never hate someone with my face. It’s too cute to hate.”

He just found his relative’s fame annoying. Harry had lived almost seven hundred years of his undead life without having to fret about his appearance or about people recognizing him, but then his descendant had decided to pursue a career in a world-renowned industry. Even worse, he had the nerve to be good at it, which had launched him to international stardom and condemned Harry— his uncanny doppelgänger— to suffer the irritating lookalike-induced consequences. As if the identical physical aspect wasn’t enough, his grandson shared the same first and last name as him, as well, and it felt like the universe was playing a giant cosmic joke on Harry’s patience. 

It had gotten to the point where he had been left with no other choice but to cast an illusion spell on his inverted cross necklace in order to mist their similarities in the eyes of mortals. Despite that, he had to withhold liquifying people’s insides every time he got a comment along the lines of “Oh my god, has anyone ever told you that you look like Harry Styles?!” It would get even worse once they learned his name and/or heard him speak: “Your name is Harry, too? And you’re British? That’s so crazy!”

He had started to develop an eye twitch as a result. 

Especially because with his family tree logic taken into consideration, he didn’t look like the musician; in actuality, the musician looked like him. Harry was the original blueprint, his grandson was just the watered-down knock off. 

But since no one could know the truth, lest the entirety of the supernatural world be exposed, Harry had to swallow his pride, smile tightly, nod, and mumble a, “Such a coincidence, huh?” through gritted teeth. 

Unpleasantries overlooked, the young man’s music was pretty decent, Harry will admit. He had an astonishing voice and an undisputed talent for creating catchy tunes with easily enjoyable lyrics. And according to his newest hit, he also shared Harry’s affinity for the mutual pleasure that comes with giving oral, so at least the Walmart version has taste.  

Harry had finished setting down each raw crystal, his hummed cover of Watermelon Sugar fading to an end as he carefully surveyed his work. 

Obsidian for focus, malachite for strength, amethyst for protection, and garnet for manifesting. The jewels were the most appropriate for the hex and he’s proud he had remembered which ones to use without having to consult his grimoire. He had then made a curious sound in the back of his throat, recalling one more gem that was technically optional, but could be extremely useful for conserving his vitality and sharpening his clarity. He had rummaged a bit more through his black velvet bag and pulled out a rock bigger than the others, roughly the size of his palm, and set it down at the very center of the pentagram. Apatite, meant to empower and connect the energies of the other four gemstones to each other and to the rest of the ingredients within the summoning spell. 

At that instance, things still seem to be remaining calm in Y/N’s eyes. These are the normal tools he uses here and there when needed; nothing scary. 

She takes a small step back as her boyfriend walks over from standing in the middle of the tapestry, slowly sitting down front and center at its edge with a light grunt. Harry fiddles through all of the earthy contents he had collected, double-checking to make sure he has everything required before beginning the ritual. When he confirms that all of the factors are adequately present, he then proceeds to shrug off his oversized windbreaker, discarding the light tan fabric onto the floor behind him. He has to be as unconstrained as possible.

He is left in his checkered copper slacks and a tee Y/N had gotten him for Valentine’s Day from one of his favorite brands. It’s a blood red fitted cotton shirt with navy blue horizontal stripes and knitted detailing around the brim of the cuffs and along the collar. A small Mickey Mouse graphic sits embroidered over the right pectoral with its eyes cast upwards towards the wearer’s face, smiling happily and she had thought it to be pretty adorable. The t-shirt is a somewhat odd piece for a demon to wear given the cartoon, which is exactly why she had gotten it for him. She knew he’d enjoy the irony of an innocent drawing flushed tightly against his scarred chest and she had been absolutely right. 

Harry twists around, craning his head back to meet her gaze and gifting her a huge, exaggerated smile while batting his lashes dramatically. His voice carries a theatrical honeyed tone. “Care to be my pretty little magician’s assistant for a second?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, unfolding her loosely crossed arms and leaning down closer as a response, moving a handful of rogue curls away from his forehead with the back of her hand. She kinks her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his request. 

Harry continues in his normal voice, his sugary sweet act dissolving away into his default sly smirk. “Can you go get me a dish cloth from the kitchen? One of the older ones, please.”

She thumbs over his lip ring for a moment, reaching forward and pecking his mouth chastely. “Sure.”

“Thank you, dove.”

Once she returns with what he’d asked and Harry drapes said rag over his broad shoulder for later access, she retakes her position behind him, absentmindedly chewing on the pad of her thumb nervously as she watches him crumble dried plants in his fist and sprinkle them into the steep metal bowl. Harry drops the shredded juniper, mandrake, rosemary, vervain, and lavender into the kettle in turns, a few unintelligible words whispered lowly as each herb filters through the cracks in his fingers. He retrieves the golden muddler, his other hand cupping the large bowl and spinning it in careful circles, grounding down the plants into a fine powder. 

“What’s each one for?” Y/N pipes up, curiosity besting her wariness. 

Her boyfriend continues his concentrated motions, keeping his eyes trained on his work as he humors her, voice airy yet focused. “The juniper’s for purification, mandrake for enhanced protection, rosemary for warding, and vervain for psychic connection.”

“What about the last one? I think it was lavender?” 

From her sideline perspective, she catches the corner of his lips twitching into a small, amused grin. “That one’s just to make it smell good. Don’t want the stench of death stinking up the house.” 

His indifferent demeanor makes it hard to tell if he’s just screwing with her or not.

Y/N decides to chance another question. 

“You said one of the herbs is for enhanced protection? Is the protection from the stones not enough…?”

Harry doesn’t miss a beat, tapping the grinder tool along the edge of the bowl with finality before setting it down on the floor beside his thigh. “The stones should be enough, but you can never be too careful, right?”

Y/N swallows heavily, the caution behind his quip causing her stomach to knot. “I thought you were just gonna, like, ring them up and they’d just pop in. Is it really that dangerous?” 

The demon throws a knowing glance behind his shoulder, scoffing into a light round of chuckling. “Sweetheart, I’m quite literally reaching a telepathic arm into Hell to yank them out. If I don’t take extra precaution, who knows what else could latch on.” 

The angel’s eyes widen in angered alarm, arms tightening protectively around her torso. “You said this was safe! That you’d done it before and nothing went wrong!”

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” Harry reaches over and squeezes the back of her calf playfully, trying to sooth her nerves. He runs a palm up her leg as far as it allows and then grabs onto the hem of her Minnie Mouse t-shirt (which he had gotten to complete the matching set with his own), tugging at it to signify he wants her to come down. 

His girlfriend refuses, glaring at him with cinched brows and a begrudging grimace weighing down the ends of her pretty mouth. 

Harry’s eyes go hooded in a deadpan expression, jesting. He pulls at her shirt again to try and convince her to kneel down next to him, but is yet again met by her body stiffening up to stand her ground. 

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N.” He sighs in exasperation, wrapping the material of her maroon tee around his knuckles and giving one final yank, tapping into a bit of his unnatural strength to get the job done. “Come here.” 

The sudden heightened force behind his action throws her off balance and Y/N ends up toppling right into his lap, falling bridal style over his crossed legs with a sound of infuriated shock. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.” She grumbles, features maintaining a sour appearance as her arms lock harder around her chest. 

Harry gently moves a few strands of hair out of her face, the locks having fallen victim to her rough landing. He tucks them behind her ear, thumbing over her temple tenderly as boyish giggles threaten to spill out of his mouth. He stifles them by biting into his lower lip, but he can’t stop the way his mouth jolts as they try to come loose. 

Y/N stares at him intensely from beneath furrowed brows, daring him to laugh at her. “This isn’t funny, Harry. What if something happens?”

He clears his throat lowly, finally managing to get rid of the snickering threatening his relationship. He sighs dismissively through his nose, shaking his head in an after-thought. “We’ll be okay, I was just answering your question honestly. All magic comes with a risk, especially when it’s this advanced. But lucky for you, I’ve been doing this for a while now so the chances of me fucking up are pretty low.” 

She presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek, raising an eyebrow with newfound doubt. “‘Pretty low?’ So not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“And that includes you getting us dragged to Hell.”

“You look real cute when you glower and pout, y’know that?”

Y/N shoves at his chest, slapping his hand away from her face. “Will you cut it out? I’m being serious.”

“So am I! Makes you look pretty in a rugged sort of way.” He leans forward, puckering his lips to try and get a kiss in. 

His girlfriend smothers her hand across his face to push him away and he has to resist biting into her palm as retaliation. “If you get me plunged into that godforsaken realm, I swear to Dad I’ll—”

“Think of it this way,” Harry interrupts, swiftly snatching her wrists and giving her a quick shake to get her attention off the bloodthirsty rant. “If we end up down there, I can give you the grand tour. We can visit all my favorite places and I can show you where I made my blade! Seems like a neat date night idea, if you ask me.”

“You’re insufferable and I’m leaving. Call me when it’s done.” 

Y/N goes to stand up, attempting to shimmy her way out of her boyfriend’s lap and get a decent footing. Harry, as always, has other plans. He pulls her upwards towards his face, flushing their foreheads together and rubbing the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. She blinks at him in a daze, all rage slowly melting right off her face as the amber specks in his eyes soothe away her fright. 

“I promise on my soul— as damned as it may be— that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

The emotion behind his oath works as intended, seen in how she releases a shaky exhale and gifts him a solemn nod. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He runs his nose across the crest of her cheek, dimples carving into place. “Now gimme a kiss.” 

She rolls her eyes lightly, an endeared smile finally cracking the unease on her face. “Just one.”

“Just one?” Harry groans dramatically, throwing his head back in fake anguish and she can feel her ears spark with electricity at the way to his throat flexes against the collar of his shirt. “You’re killing me. A second time.”

Y/N laughs fully now, wriggling her hands free and shifting accordingly across his thighs until she’s sitting upright with her arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, her fingers toying with the baby curls along the nape of his neck. She speaks up with exaggerated authority. “Just one kiss, so you better make it good.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump up challengingly as his head cocks to the side, large hands coasting along her plush waist and onto her backside, roughly hoisting her closer to his body until she’s practically balancing on her knees around his hips. Y/N gropes at his t-shirt as a means to steady herself, breaths catching in her lungs as she feels one of his middle fingers trace up the curve of her spine, his entire hand then raking into the hair along the back of her head. 

He jerks her head downwards until their mouths are barely touching, the skin of his lips brushing over her own, warm and unbearably silky. His tousled curls tickle along her hairline, the heat of his words puffing over her cupid’s bow. His voice is as soft and tempting as his mouth, paired with a dark undercurrent of dirty intentions. “I think you know by now just how good I can make it feel.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker between the coy smirk painting his beautiful lips, the attractive smugness defining his cheekbones, and the suggestive glint dancing across the different shades of jade in his eyes. If she pays close enough attention, she can just make out the faint black veins starting to web underneath his waterline. 

It’s rattling how even after being together for a decent amount of time, Harry always manages to knock the air out of her chest and the composure out of her mind. They’ve been here a dozen instances before, with him placing subtle caresses on her skin, whispering blatant innuendos into her ears, and playing every single one of her strings like he was made for the sole purpose of unraveling and putting her back together. He always leaves her speechless, breathless, and aching for more. 

More of anything— of his attention, of his affection, of his hand at the dip of her back, of his lips pressed to the base of her throat, of his laughter chiming around her, and of his irises blinking back at her’s with all of his emotions leaking through. And at the moment, she’s practically squirming to feel the way he handles her when he’s desperate for her touch. To feel the way he groans hoarsely when she smudges her lips across the sensitive spot on his neck, and the way his breathing stutters when she drags her fingertips down his bare chest, and the way the muscles along his back flex and contract beneath her palms while she makes him feel like his soul is glowing. 

All the pit of her stomach is throbbing to experience is the way his nose bumps at the slope of her jaw timidly when he exhales shakily across the curve of her neck, voice tight and needy while his hips crash between her thighs messily. “Want your mouth, baby. Want you to mark me up and remind me I’m all yours.”

She wants the feeling of his fists tearing at the sheets below her sweaty body as he tries to keep himself from spilling too soon, hellbent on stretching every millisecond into an eternity because the way she’s all snug around him, whining and bucking to his thrusts… It’s the only thing that could possibly rival heaven, or so he says whenever he’s murmuring sweet nothings into the shell of her ear. 

She needs it— needs the sensation of him panting and gasping into the sweaty hair along the crown of her head as she digs her teeth into his shoulder, her hands fumbling to grip the fleshy bits of his waist as they rock into her at a sloppy, hard pace that is somehow controlled, giving her everything she craves while still making sure she’s comfortable and cared for. He’d flutter kisses across her forehead, rasping reassurance against her scalp between guttural moans and pleads. “You’re okay, yeah? Doing alright for me, princess? Wanna make sure I’m making you feel good— need to know I am. Need to know I’m making my girl feel so fucking good for me.” 

Most importantly, she longs to see how his eyes ink completely black when he stumbles over the edge, a numb darkness swallowing up the bright emerald of his irises, framed by pleasure-furrowed brows and thick lashes. Longs to feel his front teeth catch on her stinging lips as he pours whimpery praises onto her tongue, his hard back shuddering beneath her palms as his shaky hands cup her jaw lovingly. Longs to clench around him and whisper encouragement against his mouth as he returns the favor, telling her how the noises that escape her mouth make him utterly drunk and how he would crawl across Hell all over again if it meant getting to spend even a minute between her legs. 

Y/N can’t help the way her thoughts wander when Harry’s so close to her. He sets every single one of her cells on fire without having to lift a finger. She’d never had anyone make her feel the way he does— never looked at anyone the way she looks at him. He’d somehow won her over with his stupid inappropriate jokes, that stupidly handsome crooked grin, the stupidly gentle nature in which he touches her, and his stupid poetic way with words. He keeps her on her toes and makes her grateful to have given love a chance; she doesn’t think anyone else would have given her an epic story quite like theirs. 

And now she sits here perched on his lap, as wordless and awestruck as ever, his arms snaked around her securely, one large warm hand gripping her ass as the other cards into her roots with a domineering air. A conceited look plucks at his sculpted brows and at one corner of his bitten lips, waiting for her to respond to his last comment. Harry’s suggestive remark echoes in her ears like a church bell, causing her thighs to unintentionally clench around his as her fingers twist harder into his expensive tee. 

“I think you know by now just how good I can make it feel.”

A whimpery “I know.” is all Y/N manages to squeak out before Harry’s surging forward and knitting his mouth to her’s, the hunger behind the action causing heat to spill into her cheeks and across her neck. 

Y/N fumbles to cup his sharp jaw with trembling hands, moaning shyly into his mouth at the way the pads of his digits dig into her scalp. His lips burn against hers, her body vaguely recalling that what they are doing is strictly forbidden, but they’ve been doing it for so long now that the sizzling is nothing but a dull sear. It’s easy to ignore, especially when Harry turns his head to the side to deepen the kiss, their cupid’s bows smearing and noses bumping, a weak little, “Fuck, I love you.” rasping out below his breath. 

Her thoughts wade through the syrup pumping into her head, trying to find their way to her vocal chords but she can hardly focus when her boyfriend’s hand gives her ass a rough grope, large palm then sweeping up beneath her shirt to scratch up her back. A small delicate whine betrays her, skin boiling under his influence as his cold rings send sparks raging down her spine. Harry chuckles into their prolonged kiss, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and bleeding into her own, making her heartbeat hiccup. 

His knowing purr streams right past the crack of her teeth, lodging in her throat and making it difficult to breathe. “You like the way my rings feel?” 

Y/N nods her head bashfully, the pads of her fingers staining bruises along his jaw. She doesn’t mean to, but she can’t be expected to control her strength when there’s a pulsing in her abdomen demanding her full attention. 

“What about when I do this?” 

Harry pulls his hand out from below her clothes, much to her disapproval, and cups his digits into a loose fist, reaching upwards to run his gold rings across the arch of her cheekbone. Y/N easily gives into him, coaxing the side of her face against his hand. The image of his black- and red-lacquered nails goes blurry, the sensations he’s putting her through fogging her peace of mind. 

He continues to lull his jeweled knuckles up and down her cheek (especially the ruby ring hugging his pinky, which is the same one that often hangs around her neck from a feminine silver chain), pressing soft pecks to the opposite end of her wobbling lips, his nose drawing meaningless figures along her other cheekbone. His voice comes out admirable and dreamy. “You look so pretty right now. Y’always do, but especially when you give into me like this. When you want me to baby you.” 

Y/N blinks the frost out of her sight, drawing back to get a look at her boyfriend, swallowing audibly at the expression of fond affection softening Harry’s flawless traits. He looks younger, for some reason, with that wispy smile barely titling his lips and his eyes the color of pure seaglass, glossy with familiar warmth. 

The angel inhales slowly, turning her face a bit to dust a kiss onto his palm. Her tone is airy yet solid, confident in her words. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry’s sudden sarcastic snort snaps her out of the lovey haze that had settled into the atmosphere. “Was starting to think you weren’t gonna say it back.” 

Y/N narrows her eyes at his dig, diving her fingers into his dark auburn locks and giving a vengeful tug. “Shut up. Way to ruin the moment.”

His jaw drops into an open-mouthed smirk, his mood one of dramatic pained insult. “What did I do?! I was just expressing my concern for the fact that you left me hanging.”

“I didn’t leave you hanging.” She scoffs, using her hold on his curls to give his head another spiteful shake. 

“Yes, you did.” Harry crinkles his face ironically, scrunching his nose and blinking a bunch of times for snarky emphasis. “I was getting nervous. Thought you were gonna pull the good old, ‘I love spending time with you’ on me. Would’ve had to chug a liter of holy water to avoid the embarrassment.” 

“Moron.” Y/N deadpans, but the giggle hanging from the end of her sentence muffles the insult. 

“Guess that makes you a moron, too. By association.” 

“Is that so? And what’s the logic behind that?” 

“The logic,” Harry shifts her in his lap, the hand in her hair falling away to find a place snuggled at the dip of her spine, the thumb of his free hand tapping at the center of her bottom lip playfully, “is that you regularly let this moron fuck you into a begging mess.” 

Y/N ignores the spark that goes off between her thighs. 

“Very funny.” 

“I’m only telling the truth, aren’t I?” He holds up his fingers, counting off each statement with a cocky shrug of his brows accompanying each motion. “You let this moron stretch you out over the bed, and you let him bend you over the kitchen counter, and you let him fuck you in the shower while he pushes you face-first into the wall, and you jerk him off in the mornings when you wake up all needy, and you sit on his face every other—”

“Okay, okay!” Y/N buries her face into his chamomile-scented hair, trying to hide the pastel blue glow she can feel sheening across her irises. “Enough.” 

“And—”

“Harry.” The angel grits out warningly against his scalp.

He snickers at how he’s managed to bend her all out of sorts, the hand nursing her chin streaming downwards to play with the ends of her hair. “Alright, alright. I’m done.” 

She sighs sharply in relief. “Thank you.” 

A few seconds drag by, and then he breaks the silence. 

“Wait! Can’t forget the way you willingly get on your knees and suck on his—”

Y/N claps one of her palms over his mouth, glaring at him pointedly. “Be quiet.”

Harry blinks in mild surprise, going cross-eyed to look at the make-shift gag covering the lower half of his face. He glances back up, eyes half-lidded in mischief, cheeks jolting with an evil grin she can feel beneath her skin. 

A much less pleasant feeling suddenly washes across said skin: his warm, damp tongue. 

“Ew!” Her shriek could probably be heard all the way in heaven. “Harry, that’s gross!”

He launches into a round of bubbly, childish giggles, eyes winking shut from how hard he’s laughing. The fact that Y/N is frantically rubbing her palm over his clothed chest to dry it only adds to the comedy. “Should’ve thought of that beforehand, then. And that’s hilarious considering you don’t seem to mind when I put my tongue somewhere else.”

This time around, she doesn’t have enough control to hide the celestial flush that invades her irises. It shines through at full blast, casting a watery white light across Harry’s face and despite her best efforts to wield it away, it dies down aggravatingly slow. 

The demon purses his lips arrogantly, circling a strand of her hair around his index finger and giving it a lighthearted tug. “There’s that cute little blush I fancy so much.” 

Y/N breaks their gaze, blinking away the last remnants of neon blue and muttering under her breath. “I think I will leave, actually. You can do this yourself.” 

“Oh, c’mon, darling.” Harry locks both of his strong arms around her hips, preventing her from moving even an inch. “Was just teasing, yeah?” 

She knows it’s all harmless, but she enjoys working her temper to her advantage. She’s learned quite a few tricks from her time dating a demon and she’s not ashamed of putting them to good use, one of them being that throwing a fit earns her more babying rights. 

“You’re gonna have to make it up to me.” She reasons, running her touch along the delicate gold chain around his neck. 

Harry chews along the inside of his lower lip, lashes fluttering at the current of electricity passing from her fingertips onto his collarbones. He ducks his head a smidge lower, trying to catch her attention. “Yeah? Any ideas?”

Y/N strokes over the inverted cross at the base of his necklace, smiling to herself as she dwells on the significance of the piece. He’d had it for a while as a backhanded joke, but had told her it’d taken on a deeper meaning once they had started going steady. Told her he kept it around so that he could always have a little piece of her with him. 

“I don’t know,” she finally pipes up, shrugging her brows sarcastically. “You did the crime, shouldn’t you be the one to come up with a way to pay penance?”

Harry hooks his index and middle finger between her own and the charm hanging from his neck, turning her palm over and bringing her knuckles up to his lips. He maintains eye contact as he rubs them across the back of her hand, irises twinkling. “I’ve got something in mind.”

It’s almost sad how easily he can pull her back under. How he has her at the palm of his hand all over again by simply pressing a kiss to the right spot. She adores the banter they share and how his wit matches hers. How he inches her out of the comfort zone she’d inhabited for over three thousand years and shows her what it’s like to unwind and let down her walls. He makes her life exciting by guiding her through this new unknown territory and by making sure she’s happy and fulfilled at every step; she wouldn’t trade it for the world— the fact that she’s willing to lie to God himself in order to protect her relationship proves that.

All in all, her wandering thoughts are a long-winded explanation as how he so effortlessly manages to get her back into a compromisable position with his tongue down her throat and her hands tangled in his velvet curls. 

Harry licks across her top lip, eager to taste as much of her as he can get. One of his hands holds her face firmly as the other coils the fabric of her dark red tee in his grasp, trying to keep himself in check. She drives him fucking mad, that much is obvious, and it takes every fiber of his being to withhold from tearing her clothes off and using his tongue to make her scream. Y/N herself is fantasizing about a similar situation, eyes shut in bliss as he trails down her chin and along the underside of her jaw, suckling bruises into the sensitive flesh of her throat as his whiny sounds of pleasure melt into her bones. 

Her head lists forward drunkenly, eyes just barely cracking open and getting a perfect view of his thick thighs in those dark orange patterned trousers. She gawks at his lap without remorse, irises threatening to roll back into her head when Harry bites into the skin beneath her left ear, warm breath frying her nerves. She wills herself to keep conscious, her view blearing as the area between his legs begins to tent the material of his high-waisted designer pants, an evident bulge straining the miniature checkered print.

A small, feathery laugh escapes her swollen lips as she pins her attention upwards onto the staircase across the living room. She’d glue it to Harry if she could, but he’s just out of range, too busy using his lips to tend the racing pulse slamming against her jugular. The words feel heavy and clumsy in her mouth. “Y-You’re hard.” 

“Is that a joke?” He pants into her scalding skin, voice on edge. “Of course I’m hard. How could I not be, with such a pretty thing like you whimpering in my ear and wriggling around in my lap?” 

His compliment makes her whimper even louder than before, which he responds to by marking another love bite just under the collar of her shirt. “God, you make the hottest little noises. Could listen to them forever.” 

Y/N gnaws on the inside of her cheek, preening at the stroke to her ego. She can see why he loves it so much when it’s vis versa. “More.”

“Pardon?”

“Wanna hear more.” She insists, swiveling her hips against the swelling below her crotch. “Please?”

Harry’s clouded gaze flickers between her needy expression and the way she’s riding against him, heat flooding his face. “S’that what you want, then? To hear everything I’m thinking about you right now?”

Y/N bobs her head in a messy, desperate nod. 

“Well,” her boyfriend talks between the sloppy pecks he’s wetting across her throat, grinning into them cheekily, “I’m thinking about how amazing you feel rutting against me through my clothes. About how fucking dirty you’re being, letting me mark all over your neck because you want to feel the way it stings afterwards.” 

Her fist crumples his shirt harder.  

“I’m thinking about how wet you are underneath those leggings. How you probably want me to move your panties to the side and lick into you until you’re shaking and dripping. How I’d ease my fingers inside that tight cunt and play with that sensitive spot at the pit of your tummy. The one that always makes you bite into the pillow and thrust against me.” 

Y/N carves the digits of her other hand into the back of his skull, feeling him coast his lips across the subtle dip of her collarbones. Her voice barely passes as a whisper. “Y-You’re so good.” 

“Yeah, baby?” He runs his top teeth over her clavicle teasingly. 

“Yeah— yes. Yes, yes, yes.” 

“I’m only this good to you, y’know that? You’re the only one who gets all my attention. The only one who gets to feel my lips against your skin, my fingers between your thighs, my tongue against your clit, and my teeth biting along your chest.” 

“Shit, Harry, I...” She struggles, not trusting herself to form coherent sentences. 

Harry pauses for an instance, hot breath pooling along the junction at the base of her neck. He gulps heavily, licking his raw lips once before speaking the dirtiest thought running around his mind. 

“I want to stretch you out so fucking bad right now, pet. Wanna pound into you until your thighs go sore.” 

Y/N stays quiet, but the way the air falters past her nostrils tells him she’s hanging on to every accented syllable. 

“Want to lay you out on top of that tapestry and make you feel like you’re back in heaven. Want to have you whining and gasping under me.”

She nearly collapses in his arms. It takes a few seconds to process his confession, feeling him shift around and realizing he’s moving the metal ritual bowl— which had been forgotten until now— away from the pentagram layout. His intentions become clear once he hoists her further up his lap, wrapping an arm around her lower back for support and extending the other along the ground before them. He’s adjusting in order to get her onto her back. 

“We—” 

A low, throaty moan of, “Christ, you’re gonna make me ruin these pants.” interrupts her as she repositions herself against his groin. Y/N nearly calls a ceasefire on what she was about to say. 

She gathers her bearings and tries again.

“We have to stop.” 

Harry halts all his actions, gradually pulling away from her tender neck, face and nose flushed a bright cherry red as his eyebrows cinch in disappointed confusion. He gulps down air as if it were about to run out, lean chest heaving and her belly flops at the way his pectoral muscles stretch the cloth of his crimson shirt. He drops his hands away from her body, sitting back on his palms in surrender. 

“Do you not…?” His voice comes out raw and hurt, as if he’s scared he had broken a boundary. “Do you not want to? Is it too much? I don’t want you to feel forced—”

“No, no! God, no.” Y/N rattles her head wildly, surging forward and cupping his face gently, pressing a comforting kiss to the tip of his colored nose. She wants to, she really fucking wants to. In fact, how often she wants to is an embarrassing detail she’d never admit aloud. “I just feel that at this rate, if we keep going, you’ll never actually get to do the summoning ritual.”

Harry contemplates her for an elongated heartbeat, then speaks carefully. “Is that the only reason you’re saying no? You’re worried about my dogs?”

She shrugs one shoulder emptily, looking slightly ansty.

He takes on a jesting demeanor to lighten the mood. “‘Cause if so, I promise you they’re fine waiting a bit Ionger. It’s nice and toasty down there— proper holiday.”

Y/N snorts lightly, which he deems a win. 

“Now is that really the only reason?” He prods her nose with his own. “You know I can tell when you’re lying to me. You’re pretty shit at it, love. Don’t know how you get away with it back home.” 

She picks at her thumbnail— an anxious habit he knows all too well. Her eyes glass over in the manner they do when she’s ambling too deep in her head. “Well…” 

Her minimal sentence trails off ominously. Harry gives a two-toned whistle to reign her back, mouth twitching with endearment when she blinks at him, startled as if she’d forgotten he was there. 

Y/N’s attitude is one of timid guilt. “Isn’t that tapestry a sacred antique? Wouldn’t it be wrong to…y’know...?”

Harry belts out a disbelieving laugh. “Since when do you care about defiling satanic artifacts? Thought you’d be all for it.” 

She scowls. “Won’t Lucifer find out?” 

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes haphazardly, waving a hand weakly for emphasis before using it to push his disheveled curls away from his forehead. “I highly doubt it.” 

“I feel like he has a way of knowing everything, H.” 

“He does, most times. But,” he holds up his pinky symbolically, wiggling it around with a shit-eating grin curving his cupid’s bow, sing-songing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

The raunchiness of it all is appealing to her urge to be rebellious— an urge he had instilled in her over the months they’d known one another. She reiterates her previous point, trying to convince herself more than anyone because it really is so unbelievably tempting. “It’s a risk, and it’s wrong.”

Harry fits her chin between his thumb and forefinger, ghosting his mouth over hers and blinking slowly, establishing a seductive hold. His whisper is warm and raspy, almost as if he’s trying to keep their shadows from eavesdropping. “That’s what makes it so fucking hot.” 

Y/N follows his lips, aiming to draw him into a kiss, but he pulls back, brows kinking in a mocking fashion. The action silently communicates its intended message: If you want a kiss, you have to give in to me.

She ogles at his incredibly plump lips with greed, her mouth watering without permission as she recalls how they were wheedling sins out of her only a couple minutes prior. Her face does a dire job of hiding her true feelings and Harry’s eyes glint triumphantly in recognition. 

“You stubborn little minx….You want to do it.” He marvels aloud, poking fun. “You’re just saying no to try and save your conscience.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, but doesn’t deny it either. 

“S’just a quickie, sweetheart,” he moves a smidge and his elegant masculine cologne wafts from his neck, swaying her. “And by the looks of it, you’re already set on a decision.”

Y/N finally breaks her silence, gradually peeling herself away from his lips up to his coy gaze. “You’re a terrible influence.”

And there it is— a green light. 

Harry pouts, though it’s jokingly condescending and bears no true regret. “A horrible one.”

He throws his weight forward with her in tow, causing her legs to instinctively clasp fully around his hips to avoid falling out of his lap. She clings to his shoulders for security, grasp tightening at the turbulence that comes when one of his palms hits the ground below, the other tied around her lower spine. She eyes the way his gold necklace drapes off his upper chest, the cross dangling over her face and she can’t help but find the irony in it. 

The angel gnaws into her lower lip to muffle a grin. “Absolutely awful.”

Harry begins crawling forward, holding her to his chest as he glimpses up momentarily at his target— the center of the pentagram. “Utterly loathsome.”  

“Incredibly atrocious.”

He’s nearly there, excitement starting to toil the pit of his stomach as all of the possibilities of what he could do to her shuffle before his eyes. “Properly despicable.” 

“Entirely vile.”

Harry murmurs a minor spell under his breath, the large chunk of apatite rolling a couple feet out of the way. With a gentle hand, he sets Y/N down in the middle of the giant satanic star, admiring the way the golden glint of the aged paint compliments her skin tone so beautifully. He tethers his forearms on either sides of her head for balance as he settles his lower body between her legs, face hovering right above her own, eyes briefly flitting black in amusement at their little game. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were about to break up with me.”

Y/N sputters into a laugh, fingers tracing the collar of his suddenly restricting shirt, toying with his chain. His breathing catches in his throat, Adam’s Apple bobbing thickly as he waits for her to make the first move, wanting to ensure she’s fully committed. 

She dances her shiny irises over the peaks of his parted lips and the high points of his cheekbones, absorbing every characteristic of his handsome aspect. The little moles at the right corner of his mouth and the way his nose curves faintly along it’s bridge. The arch of his eyebrows and the length of his lashes. The different shades of green swimming around his pupils and the dusting of pink blossoming along the base of his throat. The slope of his jawline and the way his dark ringlets curl around his small ears and frame his chiseled face. She takes it all in and locks every detail away in her heart for safe-keeping, knowing she’ll reflect on them during a time when she doesn’t have him near. 

Y/N loops his necklace around her index finger, giving it a few playful yanks, voice quiet yet confident. “Iustus clausum et irrumabo me.”

Just shut up and fuck me.

She then slowly pulls down and Harry follows, dimples carving awake the instant their itching lips touch, his words sugar and spice against her flesh. “Quod suus mea puella stupri.”

That’s my fucking girl.

Harry loves it when Y/N bosses him around, especially if it’s in Latin. The language is an everyday commodity in his world, considering satanic magic has its basis constructed around Latin roots, but the dialect is a very private, very sanctified part of angelic culture. According to what Y/N has told him, it's only ever really used during important meetings and religious ceremonies. It’s highly respected, therefore highly contained, and the fact that Y/N is so readily sharing it with him hits a special place in his twisted soul. The fact that it is something so secluded, yet she loves and trusts him enough to speak it in his presence, let alone use it in their intimate life...

The pleasure it brings him is indescribable. Her filthy words radiate deep in his chest and trickle down into the bottom of his tummy, the fire in his abdomen rising a few notches in intensity. The weight against his inner thighs grows heavier, the dull ache upping itself into a sharp throb. He needs this now.

One of his hands leaves its post besides his girlfriend’s head, reaching down to fumble with the belt around his high-waisted trousers, struggling to get it loose. His brows scrunch down angrily, a desperate little grunt vibrating into their heated kiss as he wrestles with the issue. Y/N’s amused smile spreads along his lips, her hands dragging from around his strained neck down to his rapidly rising chest, hooking around his own and giving a squeeze. The way her eyes glimmer up at him makes his spine shiver, her whisper soft and sultry. “I’ve got it.”

Harry returns his arm to its previous position, tilting his sight downwards to get a view of what she’s doing, his chin pressing into the dip between his defined collarbones. 

It shouldn’t be so erotic, but it is. He watches in a numb stupor as Y/N undoes the buckle around his slender waist, delicate fingers easily drawing out the loop. She tampers with the button of his pants, unclasping it in one swift move and the relief that floods between his clammy thighs is almost shameful. 

The demon slowly raises his attention back to her face, only to find that Y/N had been carefully studying his during the entire ordeal. She has her bottom lip tugged between her teeth and a white iridescent glint washing over her irises, curious excitement evident in her features. The hand perched at the waistband of his copper-tinted bottoms begins to crawl lower, wandering further down until it covers the obvious bump in his black Calvin Klein briefs. 

The oxygen in Harry’s lungs chars, his breathing stilled by the suspense. The discipline it takes to wait for her to continue is insane. 

Y/N's left eyebrow jumps upwards ever so slightly in a smug question, his only response being the veins along his neck becoming prominent. She gradually begins to palm him through his underwear, moaning softly at how heavy he feels in her hand. 

His entire nervous system breaks into blissful flames, strong back flexing as his fingers tighten into fists against the cloth beneath their bodies. “Fucking hell.”

Her hand rocks harder against his cock, giving a particularly deep grope while somehow maintaining her shy pace. A hiss streams through his gritted teeth, the beginnings of a whimper following suit. Y/N feels as if electricity were coursing through her limbs, the power she has over him fluffing her esteem. He just looks so hot right now, slightly damp curls falling across his striking jawline and decorating his heavy lashes, an alluring shade of raspberry spilling into his cheeks as his swollen lips quiver. She could stare at him for hours— keep him on edge like this just to see him slowly split at the seams, begging for more. 

Her voice comes out awed and airy. “You look so pretty, Har.” 

His cheeks dye brighter, tongue wetting his dry lips. “You like seeing me come undone for you?” 

Y/N hums quietly in agreement, wrapping her grasp around the back of his neck, pulling him dangerously close until their mouths are barely a centimeter apart. “And I like feeling you get hard in my hand.” 

His hips give a rough buck in reply, head falling into her throat, eyes screwing shut as colors pop across his vision. He starts to thrust against her palm, weaning out as much pleasure as he can from what she’s offering. His whine is warm and sticky against her sleek skin. “I love it when you touch me like this, baby. Love showing how worked up you get me.”

Y/N speeds up just a hair, matching his movements and swimming in the bundle of broken sounds that resonate from in his chest. Her breathing stutters as he pastes sloppy kisses along the pulse thundering in her throat, her thoughts slipping reality at the sensation of precum wetting the length of her fingers. The nails of her free hand rake underneath the cotton of his shirt, carving along the back of his shoulder and along his upper spine, leaving vicious marks that she knows will be gone in a matter of hours. 

Y/N jolts when she feels the warmth of his digits coasting just beneath the hem of her tee, the pads brushing her love handles and thumbing at the dimples along her waist. She doesn’t want it to stop and Harry doesn’t intend to, the chill of his chunky rings running up the expanse of her torso, bringing fabric along with it. He pushes the material over her floral baby blue lace bra, folding it over onto her upper chest, humming appreciatively at how gorgeous she looks in the see-through piece. The tiny flowers are a perfect decoration for what lies below.

Harry’s messy pecks drift down to the swell of her breasts as he shifts his mass onto one forearm, his graze streaming up along the crest of her belly button, the center valley of her cleavage, and beneath one of the lingerie straps. He fiddles it between his thumb and forefinger, looking up at her with lust dilating the amber droplets around his pupils, teeth gently bearing down onto her skin and staining it dark purple. 

The grip below his belt hardens as a result, the whites of his eyes spilling black, accompanied by a provocative grin flickering the corners of his mouth. He tugs the strap of her bra lower just until her chest is fully bare, his mouth descending the same route as the cloth. He softly nestles at her pebbled nipple with the tip of his nose, circling it with a sprinkling of kisses, the silver hoop at the right corner of his mouth catching on the bud. 

Y/N wriths under the teasing, mewling a wispy, “Please, Harry...please.” into the tense ambience surrounding them. Her head falls back against the ground and she is so lost in the moment, she doesn’t realize the tapestry has started to burn against her. The object seems to be rejecting her touch, well aware of what she is and that she shouldn’t be anywhere near its proximity, yet she chooses to ignore it. It isn’t anything major— just a light prickling— and it only feeds the appeal of what they’re doing. 

Her boyfriend’s deep, garbled voice ropes her. “Look at me.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me, darling. Wanna show you something.” 

Y/N obliges, using the small amount of self-control she has left. 

There is barely any light in the room given that rituals normally take place in dim settings, the only source being the faded rays spilling in from the kitchen. Harry’s murky gaze shines under that scarce amount, and it’s enough for her to see the black veins mazing their way down from his eyes and across his cheekbones. The first time she had ever seen his transformation, it had scared the living grace out of her. But now, it was one of those traits she had become accustomed to and had even grown fond of. It was odd, and she knows that, but it made him more attractive in a nature she can’t quite explain. 

Once Harry sees he has her undivided attention, he murmurs a vaguely familiar spell against the skin of her breast. “Incendia.”

A spontaneous gleam fills the room, the candles placed around the corners of the tapestry igniting to life. The warmth of the flames wash their bodies, melting over Harry’s tanned figure and bouncing shadows across the walls of the room. He looks incredible in this lighting, his skin seeming to glow under the buttery orange hues as the tattoos on his arms stand out more evidently than usual, matte and dark against the backdrop of his smooth, lean arms. The faint stubble along his jaw shines faintly, ringlets and lashes undergoing the same fate, looking silky with a gorgeous sheen. Every detail is highlighted and she can’t seem to tear herself away. 

As his large silhouette casts over Y/N while she stares up at him with admiration, he is doing the same exact thing— basking in her beauty within this unique moment. However, Harry manages to take it a bit further. 

“Can you see yourself?” He whispers, breath fanning over her pert chest, making the knobs of her spine jolt.

“What do you mean?” 

“Can you see?” Harry implores. 

Y/N begins to ask once again what he’s getting at, but then it dawns on her. Her reflection braces the darkness washing his gaze black and she understands what he means. She can see herself in his eyes— quite literally. 

“Y-Yeah, I can. Why?”

Harry licks his lips almost nervously, reaching his free hand up and running a knuckle across her twitching cheek. “Want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Y/N’s heart softens into a lovesick puddle, his sweet words pouring heat into her ears. What he’s doing is meaningful to her— taking something she had been shaped to despise and showing her how it can be used for good. 

She cups his jaw with her unbusy hand, rubbing her thumb over his lower lip and releasing a timid giggle. “Only you would get all sappy while I have my hand down your pants in the middle of a satanic ritual mat.” 

Harry breaks into a dorky grin, snorting softly as the ink recedes from his irises. “Wowww. What was that you said earlier? Oh, yeah! Way to ruin the moment.”

Y/N crinkles her nose with fake disgust, pretending to gag. “It was gross, anyways. Very chick-flick cliche on your part.”

“Heyyyyy!” Harry bites into her thumb, causing her to yelp out and retract. “You’re pretty fucking ungrateful for an angel, y’know that?”

“Was I wrong, though?”

“I’m never being romantic with you ever again.” 

“Oh, don’t mope. What was that you said? Oh, yeah!” Y/N mimics his voice, dropping in pitch and crossing her eyes into a silly expression, exaggerating a British accent. “Was just teasing, yeah?”

“Look who’s annoying now.”

She beams at him snidely. “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry grumbles, slapping his hand down against the floor to once again use it as support. “Whatever.”

He returns his focus to the naked side of Y/N’s chest, sticking his tongue out completely and giving the sensitive bud a gradual lap. That one action is enough to silence her permanently. That is, until he takes her nipple fully into his mouth and starts flicking at it eagerly. Then she can’t keep her mouth shut. 

“Oh—Oh my God.” Her back arches up sharply, the hand she has below his waist forgetting its purpose, instead jetting upwards to join its companion within the damp roots of his hair. “That feels— oh!”

Harry smirks around his occupied tongue, putting more force behind his suckling, hollowing out his cheeks and purring in self-assured content when Y/N’s head falls back onto the tapestry. His other arm shifts closer to her body, hand blindly searching for the leftover bra strap, grabbing at it and yanking down wildly. He switches sides, settling for using his thumb to toy at the wet, bruised nipple as he paints a matching hickey on its partner, the ruby stud imbedded in his tongue cold and rough to the touch. 

Y/N knots his hair into the cracks of her shaky fingers, holding his head in place as her shattered whines ring across the air. “That feels so good, H, I— you’re just— fuck.”

Harry pulls back with a damp pop, licking at his stinging lips as he surveys his work with a certain slyness quirking his mouth, absentmindedly already tampering with her leggings. His voice has dropped a few octaves, coming out thick and scratchy. “They look so pretty like that.”

Y/N has trouble swallowing, glancing down at her hastily unclothed breasts, delicate bra reduced to a crumpled mess beneath them. There are teeth prints scattered over the supple area, the raw nubs aching from the air-conditioning draft. She doesn’t disagree; there’s something so satisfying of seeing where he marked her. Her thoughts come out half-conscious and dazed, slightly teasing. “Thanks for not ripping this bra open like the others. I really like the color. And it was fifty dollars.” 

“I know.” Her boyfriend huffs, hauling himself onto his knees and jerking the cotton tights down her legs in the process, casually tossing them over his shoulder. “I was the one that bought it.”

Harry bends forward and starts coasting his lips down the center of her upper tummy, leaving a wet trail of pecks in his wake and blowing a raspberry onto her belly button, which she responds to by almost kicking him in the groin. She claims it’s an accident but he can see her mouth trying not to twist into a smile.

Y/N’s hips lift a bit once he arrives at her lower abdomen, anticipating him in a much needier spot. He rests his stomach onto the ground for a more formidable position, swiftly separating her clasped thighs with his palms, peering up at her suggestively through his lashes. 

In the back of her mind, she fantasizes about taking a picture to commemorate this specific shot, but she knows it’s a risk having it on her phone. Her friends have a knack for stealing it as a prank and the last thing she needs is them finding a photo of her with her legs spread open across a pentagram rug, a heavily tattooed demon laying between them and grinning up at the camera. She’d willingly kick herself out of heaven if that happened.

Instead, she just indulges a quivering exhale, watching as Harry takes turns gluing open-mouthed kisses along the slope of both her inner thighs, dragging the band hooked into his bottom lip along the plush area. His tongue peeks out to savor the velvety skin, a wispy mumble feathering across his lips. “So soft.” 

He slowly treds closer and closer to her panties and she tries her best to keep still to avoid any mishaps. She wants to be able to see everything he’s doing— watching him work her over gives just as much bliss as the actual actions. Harry reaches her crotch, playfully running his nose across the elastic band of her undies, pressing his lips lazily right over her clothed clit. She bites into the inside of her cheek to stifle a whimper, eyeing him with enough lust to damn multiple souls. 

He gently hoists one of her legs over his shoulder, socked heel thudding against the sturdy muscle, toes curling. He loops his arm around her outer thigh, splaying his fingers across her lower stomach while wriggling his thumb below the center of the matching lace set. 

Harry pins it to the side, away from his area of interest, his confidence drinking up the way she’s already dripping. “If I’d known you were already this wet, I would’ve skipped the foreplay.” 

Y/N shakes her head half-heartedly, too engrossed in how his warm breath feels across the pooling in her center. “I like foreplay.” 

Harry sticks the flat of his tongue onto her exposed clit, giving one leisurely lick. “Obviously.”

The fingers in his curls— which had hung on loosely for the trek downwards— suddenly tighten so hard he sees stars blot his vision. Y/N doesn’t make a sound, but her ragged breathing speaks volumes. 

Harry kisses along the lips on either sides, dimples winking awake at how her body gives tiny jolts. “Someone’s sensitive, huh?”

Y/N’s heel digs deeper into his back, his scalp prickling under her strength. “Need more.”

“More what, dove?” He knows exactly what she’s pleading for, but he wants to hear her confess it.

“Need—” A cracked mewl interrupts her sentence, a direct reaction to Harry blowing over her cunt softly, edging her on purpose. 

“Use your words.” He mocks, continuing his torture. 

Y/N manages to squeeze out what he’s bargaining, amidst holding in a scream. “Need more of your mouth— of your tongue.” 

Harry halts himself, raising an eyebrow and blinking up at her with fake innocence. “What, this mouth?”

He runs his cupid’s bow messily across the thick of her clit, getting her excitement all over the lower half of his face. The stimulation it brings has Y/N squirming against him, nodding her head frantically. 

He stops what he’s doing, tutting. “What did I say about using your—?”

“Yes!” Y/N growls in frustration, belly clenching. “That mouth, yes.” 

A conceited hum runs along the back of his throat. “And what tongue? This one?”

He begins to give her small kitten licks, the red jewel on his tongue heightening the experience as his head bobs lightly between her thighs. He flicks his piercing against her clit with concentrated strokes, smirking when he feels a sudden warmth flush his face, letting him know he’s doing a more than adequate job. 

The view above him unarguably belongs in a museum. 

Y/N just looks so gorgeous with her unsteady legs opened wide for him to have his way, her chest spilling out of her clothes as her back caves off the floor, heaving under his influence. Her mouth is shamelessly agape, the noises she’s making sounding nothing short of a melody to his ears. Her hands fidget around his hair, one ending up perched at the crown of his head with the palm pressed between his brows, the other knitted along the spiral where his curls stem. She’s cemented him into place, her hips bucking upwards against his face, riding against his skilled tongue in a manner that makes his cock ache in his trousers. 

Unintentionally and unbeknownst to him, he starts grinding against the ground, trying to calm the raging along the underside of his balls. He needs some type of relief— as minimal as it may be— or else he’s going to make a complete mess without even being between her legs. He has to pace himself. 

“Who’s tongue is it, hm?” He’s muffled by a full mouth, but that’s never stopped him before and certainly won’t stop him now. “Who’s the one that gets you this fucking desperate?”

“You, Harry, you.” The angel is nearly sobbing, water blearing her vision as pleasure fogs her mind. “Y-You’re the only one that can make me feel like this.” 

“Yeah?” His eyes flicker between black and their usual emerald hue, his rhythm quickening as spasms begin to wring down her body, his piercing prodding her sensitive clit with more excitement. “Just me? Nobody else ever could, right?”

“No one. Ever.” 

“Damn straight.” Harry buries his face deeper between her legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the feeble moan that streams from a few feet above. “Nobody knows my girl the way I do. Shit, you’re so fucking sweet. Your mouth, your skin, between your thighs— everywhere.”

She’s getting close— he’s done this enough times to spot the tell-tale signs. The way her grip strains, how she snaps her jaw shut in order to chew into her cheek, the way her tummy jumps, and how she’s forfeited the ability to even try to speak words. He wants to make her cum like this so fucking bad— wants to feel her spill across his tongue so he can lick up every drop until she goes limp— but he wants to feel her unravel while he’s balls-deep even more. Wants to fill her up and taste his name in one of those pretty whines she’s so keen on making. 

Harry draws back, lips and eyes glistening in the candlelight, teeth buzzing and cheeks hot. “Not yet.”

Y/N’s pent up body slowly ebbs onto the tapestry, the orgasm he’d been kindling flowing its way out of her system. She’s not upset in any way, she just feels empty and needier than before. But she knows it’ll be worth it— it always is. 

“Not yet, I know…” She recites back, fingers ruffling his locks lightly, throat barren as she fights moisture down its path. A bit of praise escapes her as an afterthought, quiet and revelling. “You’re amazing.” 

“So are you.” Harry returns without missing a beat, carefully propping himself up onto his elbows, wiping his mouth down with the side of his hand. His tone is groggy and distant, yet assured. “And you taste so fucking incredible. Like candy and champagne.”

Y/N rests her head against one of the golden lines that form the pentagram, eyes lulling closed as she tries to get her spastic breathing under reign. The cloth below her shifts as a result of sudden movements, the origin being Harry gently setting her leg down from his shoulder. He slowly crawls his way on top of her, palms flat besides the curves of her sweaty neck. 

He levels their faces, head listing a smidge to the side as he admires the expression of sheer rapture still present on her features. He leans down and buttons their lips, the kiss chaste compared to the ones prior. He anchors onto his forearms like he had initially, moving strands of hair away from her cheeks as her weak fists find comfort against his chest. 

“Need a minute?” His comment doesn’t carry his usual vanity, but is rather concerned and understanding. He wants to make sure she’s alright. 

“I’m fine.” She swallows, eyelids blinking open, the intensity present behind them striking him by surprise. “What I need is for you to work me over until I can barely stand.”

Harry’s cock twitches, the wet patch in his briefs growing. He poses his forehead to hers, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Bold words for such a delicate little thing.” 

“I’m not delicate.” Y/N’s irises give a faint angelic glow, waringingly playful. 

He sighs thoughtfully through his nose, a simper stringing his pursed mouth. “You’re right. You just look like it. Makes me forget how much of slut you can be.”

His girlfriend’s eyes burn brighter and he knows he’s hit a nerve. Out of all the kinks he could have ever imagine an angel would possess, degradation would have never crossed his mind. 

Harry’s grin widens. “You liked that, didn’t you?” 

Y/N doesn’t even flinch. 

He begins to push his pants down his thighs, bringing his underwear down with it. He doesn’t rid them all the way, but just enough to fish himself out. There’s a delicious type of desperateness to fucking half-clothed; it paints the image of two people so gone for each other that they do the bare minimum when it comes to preparations, all in order to feel one another as quickly as possible. And, fuck, does he need her so bad right now. The last thing on his mind is handling his trousers. 

Y/N looks down at what he’s doing over the crests of her cheeks, biting back a groan when she sees him entirely bare. Though Harry’s cock is the only one she’s ever had, she knows for a fact it’s above average not only in size, but in looks. It’s just pretty, she can’t really explain it; he takes care of himself so well, says he wants to keep presentable for her. 

There’s something extremely attractive about a man tailoring to his girlfriend’s desires. The hair around the area always remains neatly trimmed and he keeps his happy trail thicker— it’s one of her preferences, he’s learned. He makes sure to regularly keep up to par because there’s nothing that quite inflates his pride like watching her ease down his pants and lick her lips with a hungry hint in her eyes as soon as she sees him fully naked.

He spots that same starved quality glint around her pupils now as he cups his prick, giving himself a few rough tugs for good measure, squeezing the head until precum bubbles out. He can feel her forehead crease against his, her impatience obvious. 

“You like this, too?” He murmurs against her parted mouth, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. “Like watching me touch myself for you?” 

She glances up at him through her heavy lashes, giving the slightest nod. It’s cute how shy she can be despite the situation. 

“That’s pretty filthy, Y/N.” He gives a harder stroke, eye contact stagnant even as he chokes out a broken gasp. “Makes you my proper little...” 

He trails off on purpose, dangling the possibility over her head. 

She speaks up, somehow timid and adamant all at once. “Say it.”

“Say what?” The demon taunts, working his palm down to the base of his cock and giving another squeeze, to which she winces lightly. It seems to be impacting her more than him. 

“Say I’m your...” Y/N’s hands curl tighter in anticipation against his pectorals. 

“What are you, darling? Why don’t you spell it out for me? You know how simple-minded demons can be.”

“Harry— just please.” The way her voice breaks feeds his mildly sadistic tendencies.

“‘I’m your little…’” The forefinger of his free hand traces the word over her cheek letter by letter. “Go on.”

His girlfriend sniffles, gathering herself. “I’m...I’m your little whore.” 

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Harry grasps her jaw lightly, planting a kiss at the right corner of her mouth. “Say it again. Who’s?” 

“Yours.” 

The hand that had been playing with himself comes up before her face, fingers coated with precum. Her first instinct is to reach forward and lick them clean, craving his taste. 

Harry jerks back, scolding her. “Mm-mm. You want it in your mouth, you’re gonna have to say it all.”

Y/N hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, but it’s always been difficult given her background. “I said it, I said I’m yours.”

He rests his wet digits against the center of her lips as an incentive, warning her not to take a taste. “Who’s?”

A familiar sparkle casts across his eyes and she knows exactly what he wants to hear. 

“Daddy’s. I’m daddy’s little whore.” 

Harry’s shoulders shiver at the way the statement sounds coming from her mouth— so dirty, but in such an innocent tone. “There it is. Go ahead.”

Y/N eagerly sucks every last trace of him off his digits, licking her lips with finality. He always tastes so fucking good— salty but somehow sweet. 

Her eyes are glossier than he’s ever seen them, staring at him hazily. After a minute of contemplating, she makes a demand in a voice steady as can be. 

“I want you to fuck me hard.”

Harry starts to arrange himself into place, balancing forward on his knees and throwing both of her legs around his hips. He spits into his palm— which shouldn’t be hot, but it is— and reaches down to prep himself, aura as cocky as ever, which somehow manages to cover up the tremor in his voice. “Is that so?”

Y/N can feel the tip of his prick sliding between her folds, nudging at the hood of her clit and bumping along the rim of her entrance. She snaps at him, knowing that this is exactly what he was aiming towards— for her to be dominant, as short-lived as it may be. “Stop being such a tease and make me cum.” 

Her boyfriend chuckles onto her tongue, grabbing at her wrists and nailing them to either sides of her head. “You’re so hot when you’re assertive.”

She bites his lower lip in a flare of confidence, huffing shakily when she feels him start fitting his cock into her slowly, leaning forward inside her at a patient stride. “Finish what you promised me earlier.” 

She’s referring to when he had spoken all of his fantasies and his eyes momentarily go dark in a symbolic fashion, the figures of the ritual candles reflecting off the surface. “My pleasure, sweetheart. You know demons never break a promise.”

Harry’s hips give a harsh thrust forward, filling her up in one swift motion, causing her to cry out as searing pleasure rips across the pit of her tummy. 

Y/N’s hands wriggle around in his grasp, thighs clamping around his waist as he stretches her out into a whimpering, trembling mess. He grinds to a halt once he bottoms out, keeping himself tucked inside for a couple of seconds, allowing her to get accustomed to his girth. He dusts soft, sloppy kisses onto the curve of her jaw and along her throat, her heartbeat pounding beyond humanly possible. If she wasn’t a higher being, it would have surely burst from her chest by now. 

He rubs the tip of his tinted nose underneath her chin. “Doing okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N pants into his ear, his back tightening due to the warm air caressing the shell. “You’re just— it’s just...big.”

“Feels good, though?” Harry’s tongue tends the alcove of her juglar, drawing a stripe upwards until he’s at her lips once more. “Not too hard?”

She rattles her head, bumping his mouth with her own and giving him a testing look. “Harder.”

He gulps down a moan as he tries to keep his composure, but it’s proving difficult as her walls clutch around him. “You sure?”

Y/N nods once, smearing the crescent over her upper lip across his, whisper low but collected. “I can take it.”

The determined shimmer in her irises makes his chest flutter.

Harry draws his hips back slowly, grunting softly at the way she clings to him, vision washing in different shades of electric reds and mellow blues. Fuck, she’s a godsend— literally. No one’s ever fit him so well. 

He juts forward, spreading her open again and gauging her reaction. She wavers ever so slightly with a sharp, “mm!” and he instantly regrets it, thinking he might have gone too far, pushed too much on her too soon. But then a floaty, satisfied smile ticks onto the edges of her mouth, the lewd grin widening around her bitten lip. She was right— she wasn’t delicate, and she could definitely take it. 

He cradles his face into her neck, words scalding into her flesh. “Want me to fuck you like the darling little slut you’re trying so hard to be?” 

Her hips lurch in response, causing him to sink deeper. “Yes, please.” 

And with her swollen pouty lips, her calves tied around the backs of his thighs, and the greediness mirroring his...How could he ever turn her down?

Harry’s fingers loosen around her wrists, intertwining between the cracks of her own. The softness of her skin somewhat fastens the last remnants of his self-discipline together, the bridge of his nose burrowing into the spot right below her ear. He snaps his hips forward into her as far as they will go, then recedes, repeating the action over and over and slowly beginning to gain a set rhythm. 

Y/N convulses with every stroke, teeny whimpers and gasps strangling from her each time the head of his cock hits the trench of her belly. Harry isn’t much better at controlling his noises, not that he’s really trying. He knows she loves it when he’s vocal, hence why he lets himself go, his frail grunts and whines hot and tacky under her earlobe. The thick cotton material of his fitted t-shirt is sticking to the sweat along his back, his belt buckle slinking along to his strong pace, which is gradually losing its curt rhyme, becoming slack and harsh. His cross necklace dangles above her chest, dabbing across her bruised nipples and sending waves of heat flooding through her stomach.

Y/N’s open mouth flushes against his temple, taking in rattling inhales every time he draws out and exhaling them in the form of a prompt puff when he slams back in. Her fingers curl around his own, nails imprinting into the back of his hands, her mind drunk on the ecstasy he’s feeding into her bit by bit. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, biting down until he shudders above her, lips parting open in a silent moan against the nook of her neck. 

“You feel so good, baby. You always feel so good.” Her breathy compliment sends a current racing down his spine, the simple pet name flogging the fire boiling in his stomach. 

Harry’s voice doesn’t sound quite his own, but rather a vulnerable, watered-down version. “Love it when you call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you—” A fractured cry plucks her vocal chords when he gives a particularly intent ram. “Keep going.” 

Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to drive into Y/N, her whole body jostling against the ground, wrinkling the cloth of the tapestry and sifting the half-melted candles out of their specifically chosen sites. The intense span of time never sees a quiet moment, instead littered with noises of damp skin connecting and needy sounds of pleasure, which take the shape of half-conscious mewls of approval whispered onto impatient tongues and overzealous lips. 

Harry extends her arms further above her head, stretching out her back and chuckling along the pulse in her throat when she gives a curious yawp at the fortified sensations the new position brings. The wider range makes it feel as if he’s touching deeper inside; it translates into a heightened throbbing along her inner thighs and heat flashes pooling at the base of her backbone. 

“Better?” He mumbles against her mouth, milling his hips in long circular motions that make her lungs stammer.

“Yes— yes, yes, yes! You have no idea.”

“How about now?” Harry passes both of her wrists into one of his hands, the other one coming down to wrap around her throat. His dark-polished nails catch a firm hold and he can feel her neck straining under his palm. “Like it?”

The constraint of the whole situation makes her go lightheaded, but in the best way possible. It amplifies the ache between her legs and she’s never felt more sinful than now, with a demon’s rings tight around her jugular as he fucks a sixth sense into her system. As much as it shames her to say it, she doesn’t like it, she loves it. 

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N croaks out, fingers twisting into feeble fists in his grasp. “Love it.” 

“Mm.” Harry hammers into her harder, appreciating the little cries she squeaks out. “Thought you would.”

After a couple more minutes of cramming inside her harshly and delighting himself in watching the way her furrowed, surprised expressions mold into ones of awed sexual relief, he clears his throat softly, hips coming to a still. Her eyes fly open in protest, but the way he’s worrying at the corner of his mouth tells her it’s far from over. 

“Want you on top.” 

Y/N blinks at him sleepily, swallowing the lump in her throat. “On top?” 

Harry’s head gives a small bow of agreement, eyes glazed. “You just look real cute bouncing in my lap.” 

“I do?” It’s an honest question; she can barely think straight right now, let alone hold a conversation.

He purrs in confirmation, wincing at how she gives a sudden squeeze around his cock. “At the risk of a cheap joke, the only way I can describe it is by saying that you look like an angel.” 

She laughs lightly as she stares up at the ceiling, the shadow of his broad body pictured over its expanse. “You’re lucky I love you and your cheap jokes.”

“My astonishing good looks outweigh the shitty humor.” 

“Debatable.”

He lets go of her hands and throat, one of her unfeeling arms coming down to hang across his neck as the other runs the pads of her fingers over his cheekbone affectionately. “You want me to ride you?”

Harry releases a tight breath at her bluntness, his sanity slipping through his fingers. The way she can so easily flip back and forth between her normal tender personality and this unapologetic, sexually confident alter-ego always leaves him shell-shocked. “So fucking bad.”

She nods once feebly, whispering into his ear. “Put me on top, then.”

Harry scoops her fully into his arms and maneuvers accordingly, twisting and turning carefully to assure he doesn’t crush her in the process. After a flurry of limbs and a decent amount of extra wrinkles on the drapery, Y/N ends up in Harry’s lap once again, except this time around they’re wearing way less clothes, are way sweatier, and he’s buried to the hilt. 

He sits back onto his palms as she balances her knees on either sides of his bare hips, hooking her socked feet along the inner parts of his knees as she settles herself comfortably against his thick, warm thighs. His belt buckle is cold against her backside but the sensation somehow docks more pleasure. Especially with the way Harry’s mooning at her, almost as if she’d put the stars in the sky. 

Y/N remains unmoving for a few seconds, her hands traveling down the extent of his clothed torso, the fabric itchy against her palms. She wanders below the hem of his maroon Mickey Mouse tee, his happy trail bristling the pads of her curious fingertips. She glimpses up at him amidst heavy lashes, gnawing along the inside of her bottom lip. “Want it off.”

Without hesitation, Harry sits forward a bit, lifting his arms above his head obediently. Y/N slowly rides the material up his toned stomach and over the swell of his hard chest, yanking the shirt off and letting it crumple to the ground. 

She shamelessly bounces her gaze all around his torso, from the rippling tendons along his shoulders, to the deep creases that separate his pectorals, to the graceful wings of the butterfly tattoo that ink his golden skin. She allows herself to be distracted by the flexing of his large biceps and the veins sculpted along his forearms and the back of his hands, which have found their way onto the subtle dips of her waist. 

She traces her digits over each aspect, reveling in how his muscles jolt beneath her feathery touch. She stencils over the skull and boat tattoo on his left arm, following the sharp peaks of the three nails and the tissues of the highly detailed heart. She trails upwards, looping her nail along the cursive “g” he’d had ingrained on behalf of his sister, and along the printed dates that lay in the nooks of his clavicle, which are a tribute to a part of his life she knows little about. Then, she mills down over the feathers of the birds suspended in flight, counting each one. 

She soaks up every faint detail painted across his body through the ridges of her fingerprints, admiring him in an instance of raw intimacy that he hadn’t received from anyone else in eons. He studies her with his lips parted in awe, ears tingling at her gentle, affectionate nature, not daring to interrupt. 

Y/N descends the dips of his collarbones towards the very center of his torso, winding to a stop when she mounts onto the rough scarring that runs down his stuttering chest. The wounds are old and faded, but even now— centuries later— their appearance communicates the pain they had yielded. The marks are jagged and uneven, obviously left by an animal with no compassion and an intent to kill. Harry’s scars had been a touchy subject for him for a long time— he had been using an illusion spell for decades as a means to cover them up, not trusting anyone to see the leftover strains of his humanity. 

All demons have some form of this scar on their bodies, whether it be teeth or claws, and it was purposefully inflicted to stain them for an eternity, as a reminder of who they are and who they belong to. It’s a leash, created to commemorate that he can’t outrun the disgraced identity of what he had become, and that his soul belonged to Lucifer, for as long as it exists. 

Due to the heaviness of this reasoning, he had kept them a secret from Y/N even after they had started dating. They were tied to so much emotional turmoil and undealt fear on his part, he had been terrified to bring them into his new budding relationship. He hadn’t revealed their existence until a few months ago, when he had felt comfortable enough to share them, and he was grateful that he had. 

She didn’t judge him for his afflictions and took the news rather well— almost too well, which had made him uneasy at first. Harry never would have expected that an angel, of all people, would help him come to terms with such a sensitive topic that had tormented him since he had been released from Hell, but she had taught him that he shouldn’t feel ashamed of something he couldn’t control. 

These scars were a part of who he is, and if anything, they were memorabilia of the caring, loving, brave person he once was in a previous life. She put into perspective a view that had never crossed his mind: he should feel proud of the marks, not embarrassed. He had given up his life to protect the people he loved and there was nothing more noble than that. Since then, Harry had taken down the mirage enchantment, and he wore his scars with pride instead of humiliation. 

This breakthrough had sunk deeper than just his emotional issues; she had cured him of his physical hesitations, too. Harry had never let anyone knowingly touch the marks until she came along and aided him in ridding his baggage, which goes to show that she truly holds a special place in his heart, despite the fact that it no longer beats. 

Y/N does that now, delicately nursing her graze over the healed claw wounds as the candlelight dances across their darkened appearance. She ducks down, pressing a tender kiss over each one, feeling his breathing catch beneath her lips. He takes a penetrating inhale through his nose, letting it out in one long sigh, managing to tame the minute red flag that had instinctively flared in the back of his brain. 

Y/N lifts her head back to level with Harry’s, cupping the sides of his neck and pecking at the stud pierced through his left eyebrow. “You okay?”

He clears his throat shakily, nodding passively. “Yeah, m’fine.”

She leans forward and speaks against the shell of his ear, the movement shifting him from within her, the head of his prick pressing deeper and causing a tiny noise to string his lungs. 

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” 

Harry’s entire face flushes a burning red. He tries to play it off with a boast of humor and a snort. “Well, you sure know how to make a girl blush, don’t you?”

Y/N draws back, clasping his jaw in her palms and urging him to look up. Her irises hold a form of determined sincerity he often sees when she’s talking about something important, their message obvious: Stop deflecting. “I’m serious, H.” 

He’s well aware of the basis behind her words— it’s a check-in, of sorts, to make sure his old insecurities aren’t bleeding back into his recovery. On a surface level, he’d claim he doesn’t need his girlfriend treating him like a rehab patient, but below his ego, he’s thankful for her concern. 

The corners of his mouth quirk into a tiny reassuring smile, the smugness in his eyes dissolving into genuine affection. “I know. I’m alright, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Y/N returns slowly, roping one of her arms across the back of his neck, palm flat between his shoulder blades as her other hand stays settled along the curve of his throat. “Just making sure.” 

“S’nice of you to do so.” Harry shrugs his brows nonchalantly, squeezing at her hips jestingly, voice ironic. “Especially now, while we’re sitting half-naked on a pentagram and I’m buried up to my balls.”

Y/N sputters into a round of easy giggles, the tension in the atmosphere turning to dust as he breaks out into a shit-eating grin, pinching at her sides playfully. 

“Probably not the best timing.” 

“Y’don’t say?” He marvels with an exaggerated expression, doing some boyish giggling of his own. 

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t pick up right where we left off.” His girlfriend murmurs suggestively, lifting her thighs a few inches and allowing herself to plop back down against his. 

The swift action makes his socked toes curl, bliss spiking across his veins, a pained grunt vibrating deep in his stomach. Y/N thumbs across his chin, sewing their lips together as she begins to rock over his cock, swaying her hips in small circles to get him wired up like before. Harry slumps back onto one palm, legs splaying carelessly as the other hand cups the dip of her spine, providing support. 

She starts off agonizingly slow, working his length with patient strokes that purposefully tighten when she gets to the top. She teases the tip, swimming in how he bites down onto the edge of her lower lip, brows creasing with intense need as his lashes flutter. He pants a strained, “Fuck.” under his breath, nails digging into the skin of her lower back as he starts to buck upwards ever so slightly, chasing the snug feeling she provides. 

Y/N sinks back down at the same gradual pace, gasping at the sensation of him stretching her out as wide as possible, feeling every chisel and bump on his skin grate against her walls. She’s doing this to play with him, but the collateral is that she’s putting off her own climax and it’s difficult to maintain a solid plan when her boyfriend’s angelic face goes slack, his sharp jaw dropping open as his rainforest green irises roll back into his head. 

His fluffy, frizzed curls drape over his forehead and stick to the water coating his temples, his chest gleaming with a thin sheet of sweat that he had worked up from before. Veins carve themselves along his neck and above his left eyebrow, his composure coming undone by the bundles and he can’t help the strangled groan that emits from the back of his throat, head falling to dangle between his shoulders. 

Y/N glances down to where their bodies connect, nearly drooling at the manner in which his fern tattoos stretch and contract with his clenching tummy, his skin tinging a desperate shade of red beneath the dark ink. She eases into a set medium rhythm, moaning softly every time her clit catches across his pelvis or dabs against the tiger head tattoo on his sticky thigh, leaving damp smears across each. “You’re just s-so fucking big, oh my God.”

Moist sounds jump against the matte walls of the living room, suspending in the heavy air above them and making it hard to breath. Y/N’s nails claw down one of Harry’s pecs, her other forearm bracing against the nape of his neck as she swings her hips back and forth around his prick, both of their orgasms inching closer to completion. 

By some miracle, her tee had managed to remain folded over her chest, but the increase in her thrusts gives it away to gravity. The shirt falls loosely down her torso, pooling around her thighs as they slap sloppily against his, the figure of her bouncing breasts imprinting through the fabric. Despite that image being prim and proper in front of his face, Harry barely pays mind to it, much more interested in her facial expressions and the noises she’s trying to stifle. “You like how full I make you feel? Like how I stretch you out? You’re such a snug little thing, darling.”

“I just—I can’t even—”

The palm he has resting on her lower back hikes upwards, his fingers fanning out across the center of her bare spine and pulling her closer until their chests meld. The cotton of her shirt rubs a rash into his skin but he honestly couldn’t care less. She’s close to him and her breath is smoking over his jugular, trickling past the region where a pulse would otherwise be present, his poise going up in flames that burn brighter than the ritual candles. “Never get tired of how well I fit between your thighs. Feels so right.”

Y/N grapples both hands down his strong back, massaging at the taut muscles that convulse with every plunge she gives, her forehead thunking down against the slope of his ticking jaw. Harry wrinkles the tapestry between the cracks of his fingers, using it to keep some type of hold on himself, his mind too occupied on the different shades kaleidoscoping past his faltering eyelids. 

Y/N speeds up her grinding, fully bouncing in his lap eagerly, his whole body jolting against the ground at the vigor behind her actions. She seems to be enjoying it way more than she expected, strokes unforgivable and wild. There’s no real rhyme to her movements, any strategy she’d had prior abandoned to pursue the pleasure that is quickly inflating the pit of her belly. 

Harry loves it. Y/N had been raised on always having a system of thought— a proposal to follow or rules to bend over backwards for— and the idea that he has her so whipped she’d decided to throw away her agenda and give into carnal desires— it has him twitching inside her. His sweet, pure, soft-spoken angel, so caught up in the heat of the moment that she’d traded in her morals to become a loud, filthy, pleasure-drunken mess. All for him.

Harry cranes his head forward, vision foggy as he stares off into the distance, feeling himself throbbing under her influence. His words are throaty and barely audible. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

Y/N mewls softly in response, the vibrations muffled by his neck. His fist curls and releases repeatedly under the material of her shirt, itching to grab onto anything it can get but not wanting to part with the warmth her skin provides. Harry gulps thickly, speaking into the hair glued along her hairline, her sweat the scent of lavender and honey. “Fuck me.”

The angel huffs into his throat, a whimper running along the undercurrent of the bated breath. “I...I am. I think. Am I doing okay?” 

He chuckles into her locks, feeling her spasm around his cock at the coyness behind it. “Yeah, princess, you are. You’re doing so fucking good.”

And at this moment, a certain analogy dawns on Harry and he finds it utterly poetic considering the circumstances: Making love to Y/N is like a ritual. 

Though it’s a strange comparison, he’s willing to lay down his second life on it; the similarities his brain conjures are too satisfying to pass up. The plants and herbs he uses in his magic are present in her smell— it’s earthy, yet fresh and delicate, like flowers and sunshine and the sensation of a sunrise. The warm surge of power that travels along his blood when he’s casting a spell is depicted by the heat her lips bring, stemming from where they connect at the base of his throat, traveling through every crevice in his body and leaving a glowing comfort in its wake. The beauty of the gemstones he utilizes is in her physique— it’s in the way she smiles against his mouth, and in the way she giggles when he cracks a joke. It’s in the song-like aspect of her moans, and in the gorgeous shade of her skin amidst the lulled candlelight. The beauty is in her caring touch and soft demeanor, in the neediness she channels when she tugs his curls between her fingers, and in the milky suppleness of her chest and thighs. And most prominent, the fulfillment that comes with undergoing an incantation correctly is evident in the way she drives him to finish, the fizzing in his fingertips and the empty content in his belly identical down to the last drop. 

Giving Y/N pleasure is a ritual as much as any other he’s ever performed, and it’s one he’s more than happy to provide his whole being to. Harry has bedded a lot of people in his time— that’s not uncommon knowledge; immortality is practically synonymous with a high body count— but no one, human or otherwise, had ever made him spiral the way Y/N does. Not since he was mortal, at least. He’s learned that anyone can find a way to satisfy someone physically, but it takes a rare type of bond to truly satisfy someone down to their soul. That’s what Y/N was to him— that golden commitment that could gratify him down to his core. 

That same commitment grabs onto the hair along the back of his head now, nails raking up the middle of his back as she yanks him into another kiss that is full of clacking teeth and feverish tongues, his nose dying a darker shade of crimson. She spills a moan into his mouth and it singes his lungs. “‘I— ‘m close.”

“Yeah?” His teeth catch on her bottom lip, his hold on her body helping her rock against him at a rising flow. “Gonna cum for me?”

Y/N wobbles her head in a tipsy nod, their noses bumping as she rides him messily. “Wanna cum for you so bad.” 

Harry grunts into her mouth with every rough pound of her hips, having trouble forming valid sentences when she’s hugging around him so tightly. “Want to see how good I make you feel, baby. Think you can show me?”

“Y-Yeah. It feels so— oh!— so fucking good.” Her forehead collapses onto his, the tip of her nose running along the side of his. “Please, please, please.”

“That’s my fucking girl, hm?” The hand he has on the ground works as reinforcement as he leans against it to throw his hips upwards, meeting her thrusts. “Look at you, taking me so deep and loving every inch.” 

Y/N whines brokenly and he knows he’s got her right on the edge. 

“Can feel me in your tummy, can’t you? Touching that spot that makes your entire body shiver?”

She sobs into their slack kiss, gripping onto him like a vine. 

“Be a good girl and show me just how much you love my cock, hm? Show me how dirty my perfect little angel can be.”

Every nerve in Y/N’s body suddenly bursts, electricity shooting through every bone and concentrating at the bottom of her abdomen. Teeny gasps spurt out from her mouth as she continues rocking over him, the pleasure originating from between her thighs causing every one of her muscles to contract, her head falling backwards to hang off her neck and she’s lucky he has his hand between her shoulder blades or she would have toppled right off. Her thighs grow sore quickly, but she refuses to let her orgasms flush out at the same pace. She rides it out for all it’s worth, bright white lightning webbing across her closed eyelids as Harry tends her dangerously fast pulse with his warm tongue, murmuring encouragement against her sensitive skin. “You look so fucking gorgeous when you cum for me.”

In his opinion, she never looks more heavenly than when she loses herself like this. There’s a certain pureness that comes with dwelling in such a vulnerable state; it makes her skin glow— literally and metaphorically. The veins along her neck and jaw flare faintly, almost as if liquid skylight were pumping through them instead of blood. He watches with wonder as they crawl up along her cheeks and below her waterline, her eyes momentarily brightening below her eyelids. 

It’s a view he’s seen a handful of times, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to its beauty. 

Y/N’s climax begins to die down along with her irises, the bow in her stomach gradually untangling, and she gives a sudden clench as an aftershock. Harry had failed to realize he’d been teetering over the edge, as well, too caught up in watching her come undone to pay much attention to himself. That one squeeze shoves him over. 

A sharp tremor tumbles down his spine, his orgasm starting at the tips of his ears and the heels of his feet, racing up his thighs and down his heaving chest. It plunges into the pit of his belly and along the underside of his prick, radiating deep in his gut to the point where he thinks he might pass out at the intensity. He spurts inside Y/N in messy ribbons, pulling her into his arms and burrowing his face away into the crook of her neck, eyes snapping shut as a gurgled groan tears his throat to shreds. “Christ, that’s it, pet. That’s perfect, just don’t— shit— don’t stop.”

Y/N blindly cradles his head against her upper chest, scratching at the back of his skull and kissing along his hairline, swinging her hips in slow, deep circles to milk him of every last trace of bliss. Her voice is shaky and soft against his prickling scalp. “Love how warm you feel.” 

He’s spilling into her to the point where he feels like it’ll never stop, thighs and abdomen flexing as she draws his composure from him. All he feels is satin and all he tastes is her sugary skin as he throws the arm he has as support forward, clasping so tight around her lower back that if she wasn’t supernatural, he’s sure he would have snapped her in half. 

“Fuck, you’re so good to me.” He whispers into her throat, feeling the last trickles of ecstasy bead into her from his cock. “You’re fucking magical.”

Y/N gently coaxes his face from her neck, tilting his chin up so that their gazes meet. Their eyes are both groggy with exertion, but the specks of colors around their pupils are shining with a form of fulfillment that they only ever get from each other. She lifts her thighs attentively and he winces at the loss of friction, his cock falling limb against his inner thigh.

Y/N pets at his cheekbone lovingly, moving a stringy curl away from his face and planting a kiss to the corner of his swollen lips. “Love you.” 

“Yeah,” Harry clears the gravel from his words, cracking into a weak smile, irises twinkling like a million diamonds. “Love you, too.” 

He slowly falls onto his back on the tapestry, bringing Y/N down with him. She lays on top of him for a bit, ear pressed over the vacant area where a heartbeat was present centuries ago, her fingers following the outline of the many tattoos across his flesh. Harry’s own fingertips slink up and down the line of her spine, chalking out random shapes and words over her back, merely for the silky sensation that comes with touching her so gently. They stay like this for a while, bare and dreamy as his digits comb through his tangled curls, her cheek snuggled into his scarred chest as they watch shadows waltz in the buttery dim lighting. 

After what feels like decades, Y/N eventually rolls off of him onto the ground, hissing softly at the sting the occult object below angrily delivers.

Harry turns his flushed face towards his girlfriend, chin propped on his shoulder and eyebrows jumping up in concern. He sounds raspy and depleted. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think your tapestry likes me very much.” She scoffs, lifting her arm a smidge to show him where a vague burn mark is already fading. 

Her boyfriend jerks back in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at the disappearing patch. “Has it been burning you the whole time? Were you planning on telling me?”

Y/N shrugs leisurely, tucking her disheveled hair behind her ears and resting back against the stinging cloth, ignoring it out of stubbornness. “It wasn’t too bad before, but it seems to be grumpier now.”

“Yeah, maybe because you just came all over it.” He quips, laughing childishly when she reaches over and punches him in the shoulder.   

“This was your idea, Harry!” She protests, her argument half-aimed at the tapestry, despite the fact that it’s an inanimate object. Mostly. 

“Maybe so, but I get home court immunity.” The demon mocks, sticking his tongue out at her and wagging it humorously. 

Y/N’s hand lifts up once again to swat him on the head this time, but he catches her wrist and wrestles it towards his mouth, teeth gnashing as if to bite her. His girlfriend wrenches her fingers back, giggling nonstop when he chases after her. He turns entirely onto his side, scooting across the space between their bodies to burying his face into her neck, blowing raspberries where he knows she’s most ticklish. 

Y/N pushes against his chest, laughing fully now and smothering his nose with her palm to form a decent barrier. “Okay, enough!”

Harry’s fingers find their way to the sides of her torso, wriggling against her cushiony love handles. “I don’t think so.”

The angel writhes and squeals in his arms, the smile on her face easily outshining the sun. He leans forward and presses a caring kiss between her brows, his digits abandoning their post on her waist and instead tangling with her own. He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing across each knuckle and up the length of each finger, pecking at their pads delicately. The edges of his eyes wrinkle with smile lines, his dimples plucking into place, giving him a wholesome appearance despite the face jewelry and dark tattoos glinting under the candle flames.

Y/N tries to stifle a heartfelt grin, but her mouth refuses to obey, lips pursing into it without her approval. “Pest.”

Harry scoffs, pitching his voice higher for the hell of the joke, the result being a very shitty American accent. “Only for you.”

She leans forward and smears the tip of her nose against his, the gesture small but packed with affection. “Guess I’m just the luckiest person in the world, huh?”

“I’d go as far as to say the luckiest across all worlds, human, demon, and angel alike.” He returns her actions, blinking his sleepy lashes. “But I think that’d make me sound like a bit of a pompous dick.”

“Right. And you’re definitely not arrogant at all.” Y/N remarks, shaking her head with faux exaggerated agreement. 

“Exactly!” The snark in his tone is almost palpable. 

Y/N snorts at his expense, the couple falling into a comfortable silence afterwards, continuing to play handsies as the clock ticks off a few more minutes. Harry doesn’t seem to be in any hurry and therefore she isn’t either, feeling happy and content within the bubble of domesticity that had submerged around them. It’s an innocent form of love, accompanied by fleeting kisses and chaste touches, too sweet to burst so soon. Harry skims his index nail across the vanishing love bites littered across her neck, his finger hooking into the collar of her t-shirt and pulling back, a quick peek confirming that her chest is undergoing the same fate. 

He pouts up at her, grumbling under his breath. “Thought I’d get a picture. For bad days, y’know? But we waited too long.” 

Y/N sucks on her teeth with fake sympathy, yanking her shirt out of his grip and letting it fall back against her clavicle. “Sucks. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

Harry rolls his eyes dramatically, blowing air through his lips. “The pain of waiting. It’s worse than Hell. I would know.”

“I think you’ll survive.” She pats his cheek with finality, climbing up onto her forearms with the intention of sitting up. “Now why don’t we get our clothes back on. Can’t do a ritual naked, can we?”

“Well, technically—”

“Shut up and go put on your shirt.” 

Y/N busies herself with retrieving her leggings and panties from across the room, where Harry had so kindly tossed them in a fit of disinterest. She shimmies into her pastel blue lace undies and then her bottoms, the abrupt motions causing her to flinch at the ache throbbing deep between her thighs. He’d definitely kept good on his promise. 

She pulls her arms into her oversized shirt and fixes her bra back into place below it, well aware that if she lifts it up to get the job done, Harry will surely sprint across the room and offer to help— a cover for some much more lewd motives. She glances over at him as he finishes looping his belt, tucking his fitted tee into the brim of his high-waisted pants and dusting off his thighs. The bruises and teeth marks she had left behind have long faded by now, his skin as flawless as ever. Though the self-healing feature that comes with their supernatural status is handy, she finds herself wishing it acted a little slower at times. She’d just like to be able to admire her hard work. 

Harry saunters over the tapestry, stopping midway to set the apatite rock back in its designated spot for the spell, adjusting the candles back into frame and tending to the corners of the large cloth, straightening it out to get rid of the evidence their little escapade had left behind. He slides up beside her, leaning down to fetch the golden ritual bowl from the floor, tucking it between the inside of his elbow and hip. He slinks his head to the side as he watches her brush out the last couple flyaways from her hair, her appearance as pristine as before, not giving away a single clue as to what had unfolded not even twenty minutes prior. She reaches forward, finger-combing his curls into a presentable state and thumbing her tinted lip balm off the edges of his quirking mouth, tugging his inverted cross necklace from under his clothes and laying it against his chest with a content sigh.  

Harry lifts his brows up curiously, a certain smugness coating his expression. “All done cleaning up your mess?” 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pointedly, mood deadpan and cool. “Yup. I’ll clean up yours later, which I think we can both agree is way sloppier than mine.” 

It takes him a second to understand, but then it hits him. She’s talking about jizz, which is probably pooling in the lace lingerie she has on right now, and for some reason that thought makes his ears and neck tint a bright rose. She muffles a laugh at his fidgeting; it’s so amusing to see Harry—who is normally so calm when it comes to raunchy topics— blushing up a storm. The tables have turned and it feels like solid karma on her part. 

“Let me just— uhm...” He stumbles over his words, mumbling them towards his feet as his eyes blink black for a millisecond, fingers fiddling with his lip ring. “I’ll just get the spell going.” 

“Mmhm.” 

Harry finds himself sitting in the same position as before, cross-legged in front of the giant satanic symbol, the antique pot resting on the floor before him. Y/N finds herself in the same position she’d taken previously as well, standing behind her boyfriend with her arms crossed loosely over her chest, looking over his shoulder with mild interest and a protective undertone. Harry mixes the contents in the bowl slowly with the muddler, whispering lowly what appears to be lines of a preparation enchantment. He’s priming the ingredients for use, making sure once again that all the powdered elements are all blended together well and are connected to all the gemstones loitered around the pentagram. Everything has to run on an identical wavelength for this to work, or else who knows what could crawl out of the gateway he’s about to unlock. 

Y/N is at ease— or at least as relaxed as she can be given the circumstances— as she watches Harry spew riddles in Latin and mix the disintegrated plants together, her demeanor soothed since everything seems to be unextreme. 

That is, until Harry sets down the basin and pulls his demon blade out of thin air— quite literally. He holds his hand above the dish and swiftly slashes open his palm, the gash spurting a heavy stream of black blood into the herbs. He clasps his fist shut, controlling the flow of liquid so it trickles cleanly instead of splattering, his spoken incantation continuing without a hitch. 

Y/N can’t help her reaction. She yelps out in startled fear, surging forward with angered worry flooding her features. “Oh my God, what the fuck, Harry?!”

The dumbfounded look on Harry’s face pricks her nerves. He’s staring at her with crinkled brows and parted lips, communicating that what had just happened isn’t anything out of the ordinary. His voice comes out just as mystified as his physique. “What? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?!” His girlfriend shrieks, wild gaze bouncing back and forth between his bleeding hand and startled eyes. “I didn’t think— you just— that was—”

Harry continues to stare at her as if she’d sprouted devil horns. 

“I thought it’d just be a little blood!” She finally sputters out. “Like maybe you’d prick your finger or something! Not cut your hand open!”

The demon then has the audacity to break into laughter. He looks borderline psychotic, sitting on the ground nonchalantly, cackling as blood overflows from between the cracks of his fingers. “Darling, is that seriously what you expected? Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? Most advanced spells require blood, and when it’s a ritual as tedious as this one, it calls for quite a bit.” 

Y/N pushes down the bile threatening to rise up her throat, gawking with obvious disgust as her boyfriend reaches for the dish rag she’d brought him earlier, cradling his spilling hand into it and staining the snowman pattern pitch black. “I’m gonna be sick.” 

Harry sucks his teeth at her theatrics, giving her a humorous scowl. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not even that bad. And I’m finished! See!”

He holds up his wrapped hand for emphasis, the blood stain spreading wider over the cloth and Y/N can taste acid in her mouth. “Why isn’t it healing?”

The demon shrugs carelessly, wiping his onyx and diamond embedded knife across a clean patch of fabric on the towel. He tosses it up towards the ceiling, the weapon soundlessly disappearing in midair, back into the magical invisible locker it had come from. “Demon blade cuts take a little longer to heal. I’ll be good in a few minutes.”

“Bullshit.” Y/N grumbles, her concerned girlfriend meter running dangerously high. She crouches down to level with him, taking his enclosed fist into both of her smaller hands. “I’ll handle it.”

Her fingers begin to glow a faint neon blue, a soothing warmth undulating across the wound in his palm, his brows rising as he feels his skin begin to stitch closed. After a couple of seconds, Y/N releases his hand, unwrapping it gently and setting the rag down on the drapery so as to not stain the rug below. He uncoils his fingers and sure enough, the tear is gone. 

Harry curls and stretches his digits testingly, a pleasant hum running along the back of his throat. “Wow, that’s pretty neat. Got myself a proper doctor to patch me up after training matches now, huh?”

“Don’t make this a habit.” Y/N warns, pushing herself up by her knees. “And be more specific next time you want me to watch a blood sacrament. I don’t think I’ll be able to control my stomach again.”

Harry looks back down at his concoction, smirking softly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

He incorporates the liquid and dry factors together with a patience she oddly admires, the dusted plants dissolving into the blood as the mixture begins to bubble lightly. He’s taken up his satanic prayers once again, reciting the verses evenly as the brew amplifies from an easy simmer to a boil. The stones around the pentagram begin to glow with their corresponding shades— purple, green, amber— as the largest rock in the center washes the room in a hazy blue light, the fire within the candles rising in intensity. The sigils engraved in the metal bowl flare a fiery red, the golden lines of the occult star on the tapestry glowing as bright as its companions. 

Y/N begins to drift around the perimeter of the tapestry, drawing her arms across her torso as she rounds the far corner of the lengthy blanket, eyes trained on the shimmering pentagram. The longer she stares at it, the deeper her unsettlement roots. It’s as if the object is daring her to touch it again now that it’s been activated, teeming with power and capable of revenge. It’s tempting, for some unknown reason. The pull is undeniable and her fingertips itch to run across the unexplained dark stains that paint its surface, every cell in her body bending towards its energy and mystique. In order to curve the impulse, she finds herself running her socked foot along its edge, simply to sedate her strange need. As soon as she makes contact with it, it feels like she’s stepped on a bed of nails, the material glowing slightly brighter as if angered. 

Y/N jumps back slightly, quickly glimpsing up at Harry to check if he’d seen. To her sheer luck, he’s clueless, too focused on the churning in his bowl to pay her much attention. She goes about her business, pretending it never happened, though it feels as if the artifact is quietly laughing at her.

Once she gets to the opposite side of where Harry is seated, she comes to a slow stop, her sight peeling away from the demented mat and pinning onto her boyfriend. The potion in the bowl is now toiling violently, the carved glyphs shooting off sparks in every direction as the ritual delves into more volatile magic. Harry’s chanting swells to match the enthusiasm of the spell and for the first time since he had started, she is able make out the stanzas he’s quoting. She can’t deny that the words twist her stomach into knots. 

“Dico tibi usque ad foveas, ubi damnati habitant, alto in terram ferox canes inferni.”

I call upon the pits where the damned dwell, deep in the earth, unsound hounds of hell.

“Ortum ex sulphure et aeterna flamma, bestiæ gravehill cum tacita nomina.”

Rise from the brimstone and eternal flames, beasts of gravehill with unspoken names.

“Acuta de dente et longa ex ungue, nigro et tunicam et lata bulga.”

Sharp of tooth and long of claw, black of coat and gaping maw.

“Videte mea vocant et calcaneum meum erit, ut vobis notum est ubi habitabant molendinum.”

Heed my call and heel my will, make yourselves known upon the realm where the living mill.

Harry repeats the incantation over and over, each run-through amping in volume and lowering in pitch. With every reiteration, his voice drops another octave and Y/N’s ears pop when he breaches past the human hearing spectrum. It dives into unnatural territory, beginning to sound less and less his own, almost as if an array of spirits were possessing his body and using his tongue as a channel. She listens attentively, noticing that his typical accented drawl has started to split into multiple dark voices, each one a different tone and texture. Some are grating and baritone, while others are raspy with more trill, but the similarity shared among the various articulations is that they’re all religiously spewing the same lines in unison. Collectively, the sound created makes her bones splinter and her blood boil. The event is what she imagines it would be like if all the demons in Hell were to chant all at once. It’s terrifying and mesmerizing in the same breath. 

A bizarre fog begins to collect around the center of the pentagram, the smoke from the candles mixing with colored tendrils of vapor that stem from the gemstones, forming a loose spinning cloud around the apatite rock in the middle. The artificial tornado— which stretches up to the ceiling— picks up speed to keep in timing with Harry’s monologue, creating a draft that wafts across the tapestry but doesn’t spill beyond its bounds. Y/N squints, managing to make out the image of her boyfriend from amidst the magical phenomenon. What she sees gives her pause. 

The first thing she notices are the veins. The usual black arteries have emerged below his waterline, creeping down his cheekbones and defining the darkness below his lashes. However, they don’t halt at his cheeks. They web across his entire face, down his jaw and up to his ears, licking down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. His eyes, which she had expected would ink black due to the situation, catch her ever further off guard. They’re not black at all, but instead a color that for some reason ices her heart: they’re tinted a haunting red. It looks as if human blood had been pumped into his irises and poured over the white area surrounding them, the reflection of the satanic star in front of him seeming crueler upon this shade. Trailing further down, Harry’s soft lips have spread into a wide grin that sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. It’s different from his usual smirk, appearing sinister and evilly delighted and she vaguely wonders if sorcery brings any pleasure, or if it hurts. 

Y/N had never thought on it before, but now that she's standing here watching the detached smile on Harry’s face grow, it peaks her interest. Or rather, it peaks her concern. She speaks up, soft and scared. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s lips don’t stray from the spell and his eyes don’t wander from the center of the pentagram, simply nodding his head in response as he continues blindly mixing the ingredients below his hand.

The fog has thickened heavily, twisting with more vigor and it eventually becomes so opaque that Y/N can barely make out Harry’s silhouette across the room. The flames of the candles suddenly swell grandly, casting new shadows across the walls of their home and when she focuses on them intently, figures start to form in the images. They’re distinctly humanoid, prancing across the matte surface of their flat, ebbing and flowing to the rhythm of Harry’s hex. An uneasy coldness trickles down the back of her neck and she realizes that what she’s looking at is a portal into Hell— the shadows are the outlines of the souls within the realm. 

She thinks she’s gonna be sick. 

As she looks on, two of the dark shapes begin to morph before her watering eyes, shrinking down into a form that looks faintly like the body of a hound. Gradually, all of the other figures begin to burst into dust against the walls, disintegrating away one by one as the two main shadows solidify from blurred sketches into hard silhouettes. She can make out their shoulders and lean torsos, limbs dipping and rising as if they were walking towards something. 

The hue of the cyclone spontaneously changes from multicolored into a blood red that matches Harry’s eyes, its spinning vapors slowly starting to thin out. The fires surrounding the tapestry begin to die down from their agitated state, the gemstones following their lead. As the smoke and fumes gradually dissolve, the two figures that had been glued to the wall seem to have come unstuck and jumped into the eye of the miniature tornado. Their dark appearance chisels itself into reality and the longer she gawks, the more real they become. A large paw the size of her hand here, a matted patch of black fur there. Claws the size of her fingers and teeth so ghastly white she winces at their brightness. A tattered ear, a huge wet snout, and suddenly two pairs of red beady eyes flash by her vision. 

Y/N scrambles back from the edge of the mat, heart lodged in her throat. She’s definitely going to be sick. 

Harry’s praying has died down in intensity, as well, lulling back into a barely audible murmur. He slowly stops mixing the muddler, propping it along the side of the metal bowl and setting it down off to the side. As soon as his hands remove themselves from the pot, the glowing sigils extinguish and the satanic star abruptly stops shimmering, the half-melted candles and enchanted rocks blowing out along with them. The demon’s chanting dies off permanently, an eerie silence falling across the living room as the last traces of smoke dissipate. 

Standing at the center of the tapestry, looming on all fours and at least five feet in height, are Onyx and Nimbus. 

Y/N is relieved to say they’re not as terrifying as what she’d imagined. She thought she was accepting two distorted monsters into her apartment, but in actuality, the two hellhounds look pretty normal. Their coat is coal black, matted in some areas with a dried liquid she really doesn’t want to know the identity of, and they resemble Labradors. Just three times the size and with eyes of burning embers. 

She studies them as much as she can from her position behind their backs, noticing that the slightly buffer hound has a jagged scar running across its left eye and a tear in its right ear. She gets the feeling that’s Onyx. Harry had told her that he was the more rash and unhinged of the two, so it makes sense that he's scruffed up. The other dog is slightly more delicate in frame, less bulky and more lean, its figure almost feminine despite the fact that both are males. Without a doubt in her mind, that has to be Nimbus— his name fits his presentation. 

In ancient scriptures, nimbuses float above the heads of the divine, but what humans don’t know is that they are actually shape-shifting angelic weapons. Halos look delicate, but are strong and can withstand just about anything since they are created out of pure celestial energy, wielded and harbored into a physical form. They don’t look like much, but are capable of dangerous results, and something tells Y/N that this dog fits that description. He doesn’t seem to have any battle wounds and his coat is cleaner and shinier than his partner’s, giving her the impression that he’s somewhat sane and level-headed. She can already tell she’s going to get along better with Nimbus than Onyx. 

Harry and the hellhounds contemplate each other, the veins across her boyfriend’s face fading away into his skin, the red tint retracting from around his pupils. He pushes himself up from the floor with a light grunt, dusting off his lap and rolling out his neck and shoulders as if to relieve tension. He combs his curls back from his forehead, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest, head tilting expectantly at his dogs. 

A long moment of silence treds by, and then Onyx’s deep voice booms inside Harry’s head, as sarcastic and sharp-tongued as always. 

‘Fucking finally, you prick.’

Harry breaks out into a round of easy laughter, stepping forward with his hands outstretched and Y/N watches in awe as the two humongous beasts cradle their snouts into his palms. “I’m sorry it took a while. Fashionably late and all that.” 

Onyx is unrelenting, narrowing his cherry red eyes at Harry. ‘I thought you were gonna keep us waiting for another century. Took your sweet ass time then, didn’t you?’

“It wasn’t on purpose! I got...caught up with something.”

Nimbus’ softer, high-pitched voice chimes inside Harry’s skull, less abrasive than his brother’s but its words pack just as much bite. ‘I thought you’d forgotten about us. Was already daydreaming about what your liver was gonna taste like.’

Harry scoffs in dramatic insult, scratching behind the dogs’ ears gently, thumbing over the rip in Onyx’s cartilage. “I’d never forget about you two! The fact that you thought I would…Hurts my black little heart.” 

Nimbus huffs in amusement, shaking his head at his owner’s ironic pout. ‘What heart?’

The demon’s grin widens. “Exactly.”

Y/N watches the whole exchange with confusion pinching her face. From her perspective, as someone who lacks a telepathic connection to the two guests, the whole conversation appears one-sided. Harry is the only one actually talking aloud and though she can keep up with the simplicity of this specific conversation, she can already tell that her inability to communicate with them is going to get annoying. She doesn’t know how to go about introducing herself and she doesn’t want to interrupt their reunion, so instead she keeps her distance, arms tightening around her torso as her fingers squeeze at the inside of her elbows— a nervous mannerism. She’s perfectly fine being an onlooker at the moment. 

According to the bits and pieces of the dialogue that Y/N is able to catch from Harry’s behalf, he and his friends seem to be catching up on the last couple of weeks. Most of the subjects mentioned file under harmless gossip about other demons and hellhounds, though Lucifer’s name does pop up here and there. Harry talks about how he’s been rotating stations regularly between combat training and occult practices, and from the way Onyx huffs at certain mentions of magic, Y/N can tell he has more of Harry in him than Nimbus does. 

He’s always preferred combat, despite his impressive expertise in sorcery. There’s no invisible trickery in sparring like there is in witchcraft; everything is calculated, from the footwork to the strokes of a blade, and there’s just something so satisfying about taking down an opponent with nothing but physical force of will. Onyx appreciates that, while Nimbus thinks it’s “barbaric” and “outdated.” To each their own, Harry supposes. He gets the feeling Nimbus will get along with Y/N fairly well, once they get past the initial default hatred. 

Harry had been so distracted swapping stories and bonding with his hounds for the last few minutes that he almost forgets Y/N is there, standing at the other end of the room using the shadow from the spiral staircase as a hiding place. 

He clears his throat softly, sewing his words carefully to try and find a civil way to break the ice about his relationship. “So, I’ve got some news.”

The two dogs blink up at him, eyes shining brighter with curiosity. Onyx’s passively joking voice echoes in his head. 

‘Oh, this should be good. Last time you said that, we got the story of how you almost slept with Stevie Nicks.’ 

Harry’s teeth crunch and he’s thankful Y/N can’t hear the exchange. “Trust me when I say it’s something pretty different from the usual.” 

Nimbus sits down casually on top of the tapestry and even in a submissive position, his ears still easily level with Harry’s shoulders. ‘As if we’ve never heard that before.’

Onyx follows his brother’s lead, posture less eloquent, shoulders sagging and back hunched. He takes a small pause, sniffing at the air and then shaking out a harsh sneeze. ‘Before you start, I think something died in your air vent. Can’t you smell it?’

Nimbus nods in agreement, copying the other hound’s gesture and making a hacking sound in the back of his throat. ‘It absolutely stinks in here. Could smell it even before we crossed the threshold.’

‘Yeah.’ The scar-faced dog leans forward and sniffs at his master’s shirt, gagging and grunting. ‘It’s all over you, H.’

Harry immediately knows what they’re referring to: Y/N. Harry had gotten used to the squeaky clean smell that chases angels, due to the fact that they had been living together for months now. But this is the first time Onyx and Nimbus have been exposed to her presence. Their heightened senses don’t help the situation any.

Harry wrings his hands, twirling his ruby ring nervously around his pinky. “That actually has to do with what I wanted to tell—”

Onyx interrupts him, dark eyebrows scrunching as he takes an even deeper whiff than before, snout twitching. ‘It kinda smells like…’

He trails off, looking over at his sibling in bewilderment. Nimbus nods once in confirmation, startled voice resonating in Harry’s head. ‘It does, but that wouldn’t make any sense…’

The demon glances over their heads anxiously, watching his girlfriend shift her footing with unease. She can tell the dogs are sussing her out. 

Harry feels Onyx’s eyes bore into the side of his face, following along to his gaze and glancing over his shoulder questioningly. ‘It smells like—’

Harry panics, trying to cause a distraction to buy himself some time to explain. “Well, actually—”

But it’s too late. Onyx’s sight lands on Y/N’s still silhouette across the room, eyes widening in shocked alarm, which immediately molds into burning hatred. Nimbus chases his brother’s view, spotting the girl instantly, as well. His pupils dilate, reflecting the same cruel intentions as his relative. Their voices snarl in unison inside Harry’s brain. 

‘Angel.’

Y/N— who has quickly come to terms with being outed into the open— raises one of her hands and waves awkwardly, voice meek and unsure. “Hi.”

Hellhounds are top predators across all the worlds, mortal and supernatural alike, and that’s no secret to anyone aware of their existence. They were created with a purpose to hunt and kill, their characteristics hand-picked to perfection to succeed in their mission. Their reflexes are razor sharp and their physical abilities support their instincts flawlessly, which is why it takes them less than three seconds to spot and recognize an enemy, less than two to hone in, and less than one to pounce. If it wasn’t for the fact that Y/N was made with rivaling skills and celestial impulses, her head would have ended up rolling across the ground before she could bat an eyelash. 

She jumps sideways not a second too soon, the two beasts baring down onto the spot she had just been occupying, teeth gnashing and claws scraping against the polished hardwood ground. The angel stumbles back a few feet, horrified beyond what she had expected. They had been so calm not even a minute prior, and now they’re examining her jugular with a type of hostility that sends ice through her blood. 

The hellhounds split ranks, circling around her with spit frothing at their maws and penetrating growls scratching at her hot ears. They size her up bitterly and she may not be able to read their minds, but she can read emotions just fine and the murderous intent behind their attitude is unmistakable. 

Y/N’s fight or flight mode kicks in, electricity crackling defensively across the tips of her twitching fingers, her irises sparking a bright blue glow in warning. The dogs hesitate, the white hot lightning in her hands mirroring across the glossy surface of their crimson eyes as their claws crunch into the ground below their paws. Not a word is exchanged, but the challenge hangs in the air, heavy as the stench of sulfur that wafts from their fur. 

If it wasn’t for Harry’s peace-keeping, the tapestry would have ended up adding some fresh stains to its extensive collection. 

The demon scrambles forward, cementing himself between his dangerous girlfriend and his very lethal pets, arms out to block any possible attacks. “Stop!”

The hounds glance up at him momentarily amidst their snarling, catching the way his eyes paint blank, his mood authoritative and serious. “Desino.”

Heel.

Nimbus is the first one to accept the ceasefire, which Harry’s extremely thankful for. For once, he admires the animal’s general distaste towards violence. The dog slowly draws back, the hair sticking up along his spine gradually giving way. He remains standing, but abandons his fighting stance for a less intimidating alternative. However, the glare on his face doesn’t fade. 

Harry turns his attention towards Onyx, who is still sneering and baring his fangs, pacing back and forth in barely contained rage. The venom in his voice stings the back of Harry’s skull. ‘Intruder.’

Harry repeats his phrase from before, teeth grating and stare unwavering, establishing dominance over the mutt. He knows how stubborn Onyx can be, but he didn’t spend seven hundred years taming him for nothing. “Desino. Now, Onyx.”

After another round of growling and a few more dirty looks, the broad dog finally retracts, begrudgingly taking the seat next to his brother. He huffs in protest, but bends to Harry’s will nonetheless.

Y/N swallows heavily, the rods of electric current popping across her fingers slowly dying down along with the glowing around her pupils. She clenches her fists at her sides, forcing down her fear until her face shows a stoney facade of indifference. Concealing weakness is something she had been raised on. 

Harry releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, shoulders slumping and back unknotting. “Thank you.” 

The two sides contemplate each other coldly, all the bloodshed avoided concentrated in their gazes instead. Harry’s never been afraid of Y/N in any way— her gentle nature makes it almost impossible— but the look behind her eyes at the moment is enough to make any demon back off. He slowly lowers his arms, glimpsing back and forth between his two friends and his significant other, making sure neither will make a drastic move. 

He turns towards his dogs, sighing grandly through his nose before releasing a strained cough. He tries to put humor into his tone, but it proves difficult. “Surprise, I guess.” 

Both of his charges snap their head in his direction, their expressions anything but amused. Onyx’s gruff voice yells in his head first. 

‘Surprise?! Is this a joke to you? What the fuck is that thing doing here?’

“She,” Harry corrects in a cautionary manner, “is my girlfriend. This is Y/N.” 

The hounds break into telepathic screaming chaos. 

‘Are you insane? Have you actually lost your fucking mind?’

‘Out of all the demons and humans to ever exist, you pick an angel? You choose one of those brainwashed stuck-up prudes?’ 

‘Does Lucifer know? Does God know?!’

‘You have a death wish. For fuck’s sake, you genuinely have another death wish.’

‘Now that we know, does that make us accomplices? Would Lucifer kill us, too? There’s no way I’m dying for your hate kink booty-call.’ 

“Enough!” Harry’s voice booms, loud enough that it echoes across the apartment, stern and unwavering. “She’s my girlfriend and I love her. She’s a part of my life now, just as much as you two are, and you’re going to learn to respect and live with that. Do I make myself clear?” 

For the first time since they arrived, radio silence washes across his mind. 

Harry’s temper flares and he mumbles a spell beneath his breath, a puff of black smoke enveloping the large monsters. It dissolves as quickly as it had appeared and in their place sit two tiny, caramel brown chihuahuas, yapping and jumping in the air angrily. 

Y/N stifles a laugh with the back of her hand. 

Harry clears his throat mockingly, crossing his arms over his strong chest and leaning down to their level. “Unless you want to permanently stay in this form, you’re going to agree.” 

One of the puppies— probably Onyx— snaps his teeth at the demon’s ankle. Harry grabs his entire snout with his palm, easily wrestling the hyperactive mutt to the ground. Y/N can’t cap her giggle this time. 

“Now,” black veins flash under Harry’s eyes for a millisecond, “do I make myself clear?”

Nimbus pipes up quietly, sass evident but not enough to cause concern. ‘Yes.’

Harry turns his focus to Onyx with an expectant aura, waiting for his promise. After a few seconds of headstrong silence and trying to gnaw at his owner’s fingers, the dog’s response comes through, low and relinquished. ‘Yes.’

“Perfect.” 

Harry rises up from his knees, snapping his fingers with a happy sigh. Another puff of dark smoke later, two full grown black German Shepherds sit before him and Y/N, eyes the color of rich chocolate and coats black as night, shining like a thousand jewels. Onyx’s scars are nowhere in sight, disguised away along with everything else. 

Harry reaches over and tugs Y/N into his side, hanging an arm nonchalantly across her shoulders and planting a sloppy kiss to her temple, which in turn makes her nose wrinkle. “You’re all going to get along great. Just give it a few centuries.” 

She shifts on her feet, shrugging one shoulder lightly as she glances at the dogs gingerly, grateful for their more acceptable appearance. A dog whose height reaches mid-thigh is much easier to handle than one who surpasses her neck. “I’ll give it go if they will.” 

“See?” Harry squeezes and shakes her playfully. “Baby steps, boys! Baby steps.”

The German Shepherds huff and sneeze and Y/N gets the feeling they’re cursing her out in secret. A look at Harry’s entertained face confirms her suspicions. 

Her boyfriend nudges her cheek with the tip of his cold nose. “Could you do me a favor, sweetheart? Could you run upstairs and fetch me those collars I made? I left them on top of the nightstand.”

Harry had bought two chain collars at Petco earlier that week in anticipation for this day, as well as for the fact that the two dogs looked absolutely identical in their mortal-friendly forms. He’d fastened a polished onyx stone to one and a golden metal hoop to the other, corresponding with their given names and giving their personas a bit of extra pizazz. It was better than a regular leash with an embroidered name; the custom collars are a neat way of distinguishing them and frankly, quite the fashion statement, in his opinion. Expensive jewels and gold never go out of style. Plus, it’s going to look great with their dark fur. 

Once Y/N’s trotting footsteps are out of earshot, Harry turns to his hellhounds, kinking a brow offhandedly when he catches them staring at him with half-lidded eyes. “What?”

Nimbus scoffs in his mind. ‘I’m just impressed, is all. I never thought I’d see the day you, of all demons, would settle down.’ 

Harry chuckles softly, tangling his ringed fingers through his roots and tucking curls behind his small ear. “Neither did I, trust me.”

After a pause, the canine speaks up again, all snark replaced by genuine concern. ‘Does she make you happy? 

The demon scruffs the tip of his socked foot against the corner of the satanic tapestry, folding and unfolding the edge distractedly. A dreamy smile smudges his dimples across his cheeks. “She makes me really happy, yeah. Haven’t felt like this since I was alive.”

Nimbus rises from his seat, leisurely coming up besides Harry and rubbing up against his leg almost comfortingly. ‘You know we’ll stand by you through any decision you make...but is this really worth the risk, Harry?’

“It is.” His answer is automatic without any hesitation whatsoever. “I don’t have a single doubt about her.”

Nimbus lays down on the drapery, folding his paws over each other and resting his chin on top, eyes softening with empathy. He had always been the understanding one out of the two siblings. ‘You better be careful, then, and keep this under wraps. We’d already heard rumors bouncing around back home. We didn’t think they were true— no one really does— but if you’re not careful, this could blow up in your face.’

Harry exhales, nodding solemnly. “I know.” 

Onyx breaks his hiatus, voice piping up from where he’s remained seated. ‘This is stupid. You’re a moron, y’know that?’

The young man gives him a taunting scowl. “Y/N thinks I’m a moron, too. Now you have some common ground to build on, eh?” 

His pet doesn’t even blink at the joke. ‘This is gonna come back to bite you in the ass. Even if Lucifer lets it slide, I highly doubt God would be okay with you screwing one of his minions. And once he gets wind, no one’s gonna be able to save you. Not the Boss, not the angel, and not any of your friends. You’re putting everything on the line. Are you prepared to face those consequences?’

Harry sighs in exasperation, shoving his hands in his pockets and tightening his fingers until his rings imprint across his skin. “I know, alright? I’m not a fucking child. I can make my own choices and deal with the aftermath. Just let me be. I deserve a little happiness after everything I’ve been through.”

It goes quiet for a while, the only sound being the thrum of the air conditioning and Y/N rummaging around upstairs. Onyx finally talks once more, mood less harsh and strangely accepting. 

‘You’re going soft, H.’

Harry laughs boyishly, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head in amusement. “Only a bit. Caring for someone tends to do that to you.”

‘Yeah, well, you were definitely caring for her before we got here. Hence why her stench is all over you.’

The demon gifts his hound a deadpan expression. “Bold words from someone who smells like rotting flesh.” 

‘That’s a compliment.’ Onyx snuffs sarcastically, finally walking over and taking the spot besides Nimbus on top of the blanket. ‘Her smell really is everywhere, the entire room reeks. Out of all the places, it had to be in the room you used to summon us? Are you serious? Have some respect.’ 

“If you’re that mad that we had sex in the same room, then I probably shouldn’t tell you exactly where we did it.” He glances down at the tapestry below them suggestively, shrugging his brows smugly.

Both of the German Shepherds copy his action, their dark brown eyes filling with extreme disgust as realization dawns, irises flitting bright red. They both tumble up onto all fours, snorting and snarling in angered disbelief as they bound off the tapestry, pawing and rubbing up against the rug below it as if to clean off whatever they’d just laid in.

Both of the hellhounds’ voices shriek in his ears, so appalled that it sends Harry into a round of evilly delighted, full-bellied laughter. 

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

[hotwings0203]

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first oneshot thingy (or any piece) that I’m posting here, it’s kind of dark but I think that’s the type of fic I enjoy writing. Let me know what you all think, and any suggestions or feedback is much appreciated since this is the first time I’m using Tumblr😆

Warnings: implication of non-con, manipulation, yandere themes, kidnapping

Pairing: Yandere Dabi x f reader

Smoke curled into your hiding place, invading your senses. You could hear him smashing other various household items around the house, attempting to startle you and make a sound, effectively revealing your hiding place

Which wasn’t a very clever one, mind you.

If you only had a couple more seconds, maybe, just maybe you could’ve dove into the closet and actually hidden with some blankets and clothes covering you instead of your current chosen position, which was under the creaky bed.

You cursed yourself for even starting something so stupid, and getting a rise out of him in the first place when you knew, you knew he hated it when you picked fights over the smallest of things. All he wanted you to do was make him some breakfast, now was that so much to ask for? Did you have to put rat poison in his oatmeal at 10 am in the morning?

You didn’t think you could handle playing this happy-go-lucky fake domestic scene any further; you wanted to go home. You wanted to see your family again for Thanksgiving, you wanted to meet up with your friends and get your nails done and coo over pretty boys, and most of all you wanted to go outside and gaze up at the clear blue sky and just watch the fall colors swirl around you in a halo of leaves.

Dabi let’s you go outside twice every month if you’re being good for him, and if you really please him he’ll let you touch the grass without that stupid shock collar that adorns your neck like an ornament with with him by your side, of course. Don’t think he’ll fully trust you after that stunt you pulled last week when you tried chewing the restraints off your wrists.

He had to salute your effort though, you really might’ve gotten away if he hadn’t surrounded you by his flames before you could touch the door.

Kind of like now, actually. While you’re trembling and cramped unceremoniously under the bed, he’s finished scanning the living room and kitchen for any sign of you.

Shit

That means there’s only two places left: the bathroom and his room, where you are.

Your legs are starting to cramp up and you’re wondering how long you can manage to stay still while this psycho is hounding you out.

“If you quit acting like a pussy and come out within 30 seconds, I’ll make sure to leave your face intact. Can’t say the same about the rest of you though, babe, I’m not feeling very generous or inclined to spare you too much after choking down rat poison.” He all but snarls as you can see from underneath the bed his elbows and jaw curl with smoke, blue flames licking at his shins.

The smell of rotting flesh feels like an ominous foreshadowing of your fate if you don’t think of a way out of this, fast.

You’re pulled from your musing as Dabi slams the bathroom closet door shut, and flings the shower curtain aside violently, indicating no more places are left for him to check for you except his room.

You’re out of time.

Picking up the soap dispenser on the sink counter, he weighs it in his hand, testing it’s material. You’re peeking out from underneath the mattress, unsure of what he’s doing.

You don’t need to keep wondering after he suddenly hurls the glass down on the floor, the dispenser shattering on the floor near the bed mere inches away from where your face was.

You let out a small shriek at the explosion, and immediately still and clamp your hand over your mouth with wide eyes.

But the damage has already been done, and Dabi knows this as he lets out a dark chuckle and saunters towards the bed, turning around and plopping down on the plushy material, his boots right in front of your face.

“We both already know where this is going, little mouse. I caught you, but I’ll be nice and give you one more chance to come to me willingly.”

He leans back on his elbows and tilts his head up to the chafing ceiling. He knows you’ll come, you always eventually do, that’s why he loves you, his sweet little girl who always does what she’s told.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is you making one last break for it, clambering out from the opposite side of where you both are situated and bolting to the door.

He whips his head around at the sound of you desperately fumbling with the lock on the door, when did he lock it? God this is taking too long he’s gonna catch you he’s gonna-

But you’re already out of the door and flying down the hallway as you hear him leaping off the bed and scrambling after you, the house completely silent save for the deafening sounds of both of your own objectives pounding away at the floor in the same direction.

“You fucking bitch, I grant you one last chance to come clean to me and this is the thanks I get? You’re dead little mouse.” You hear him howl behind you, and it scares you at how close he sounds.

But now you see it, you see your freedom at the entrance just an arms length away and you’re touching the door and-

The room is suddenly enveloped by blue fire, the door handle becoming so hot under your touch that you wail as you let go and cradle your bubbling flesh, tears blurring your vision as you whirl around to locate your assailant and captor.

Dabi stands in the middle of the living room, ethereal cobalt lighting up the sides of his face and illuminating the staples that stretch and threaten to rip from the shit-eating grin he sports while looking at your defenseless demeanor.

“I told you to listen while I was playing nice, right? This is what happens to little mice who want to turn into rats so bad. Is that why you wanted to feed me rat poison, huh, baby? You were warning me to get rid of what you might turn out to be, hmm?” He pouts at you, the corners of his mouth twitching when you sob in terror

“D-dabi please,” you bawl, “please let me leave. I w- wanna go h-home.” Your chest heaves at the last word, the pain in your hand paling in comparison to the ache in your chest.

“An-and I w-want you on your kn-knees worshipping the ground I walk on and making good use of that bitchy little mouth instead of whining and sniveling.” He mocked and cooed cruelly, reveling at your helplessness.

You could do nothing but wail louder as he started slowly walking towards you, his eyes narrowed, complemented with dark glint in his pupils while his ever-lasting hellish quirk enunciated his heavy steps.

Dabi finally reached you, and you pathetically pressed yourself into the wall and turned your face as he lifted his hand and stroked your cheek in faux sympathy. His bottom lip was stuck out in a fake pout, mimicking your state of panic.

“You’re not scared of me, right baby? It’s just a game, right? I mean after all I do for you-bathe, feed, and dress you- you only feel love for me, right?”

He was toying with you, in a similar fashion a cat plays with its prey before it pounces.

When you hesitated for a moment too long, his hand by your face heated up its dying embers, warning you to give him what he wanted to hear.

You whimpered and tried to evade his hand, only resulting in his gripping the back of your head and yanking back on your hair roughly so you were forced to look up and meet his amused, dark gaze.

“Ah-ah my pretty bitch. You don’t get to move away from me after all the stunts you pulled today. I’ve had enough of your bullshit so don’t test me any more, now I asked you a question: you love me right?”

At your wits end, you maintained eye contact with him as you shakily tried to nod your head, the movement being difficult to do as he had such a death-grip on your locks.

But he wasn’t satisfied by your pathetic attempt at agreeing, it seemed like he wanted to make your life hell even further and draw this out as long as he could because he clicked his tongue and shook your head like a rag doll in his hands, hair flying across your face and giving you whiplash.

“Use that sharp tongue you got on you before I melt your fucking teeth. You might be a grade-A moron, and a pathetic one at that but I know damn well you’re not mute.” He leans in further, his nose grazing yours as you almost went cross eyed trying to keep him in vision.

“Y-yes Dabi, I love you.”

His silence seemed to scream unimpressed, so you hurried to salvage the situation as best as you could so it wouldn’t escalate the knee-deep shit you were already in.

“And I’m...sorry I was being such a brat today, I just missed everyone I used to be close with. But you were right, I should be more grateful after everything you do for me. It’s not fair that I don’t treat you with the same, uh, affection that you show me. A-and I’m sorry I put... rat poison in your food.” You whispered this last part, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

He snorted, not entirely convinced at your sincerity in the apology but it was enough for him to loosen his grip on your head and take a step back from your personal space.

You sink down the wall to your knees, curling up slightly and taking shaky breaths as you attempt to calm down. The room is still engulfed in flames, but thanks to Dabi’s foresight and extensive planning, most of the furniture of fire-proof (god knows how he got it like that, it’s not like he was the son of the number one hero or anything to accumulate such wealth) so the damage was limited save for your mental state and injured hand.

Dabi crouches down in front of you, an odd smirk on his face as you peer up at him in caution.

“You know, I didn’t say I forgive you princess, or that you’re excused for your little tantrum.”

He cocks his head at you and lifts your chin up towards him with a scarred finger. You blanch at the implication of this ordeal not being over from your excruciating apology, and his disturbing Cheshire-cat grin stretches so wide over his face, you wonder distantly if his stitches are going to pop loose any second.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just please don’t...please don’t burn me.” You whisper in defeat.

“Anything, you say? But why? Isn’t it more fun if I brand my name into your back? Oh wait! Maybe I’ll burn you so bad you’ll look like me! Then we’ll really be a matching couple, you’d like that wouldn’t you? I mean if you love me as much as you claim you’ll let me, right?”

He’s trapped you again. If you deny, he’ll ruthlessly berate you for lying to his face and who knows what he’ll do just for the sick, sadistic satisfaction he’ll get from making you stumble over your own lie.

If you comply, however, you’ll look like burnt bacon, just like this fucker.

“I’ll do anything to make you forgive me.” You quietly settle for.

He studies you for a moment, and the uncomfortably silence he grants you makes you shift in your place.

Dabi finally stands to his full height and stretches his arms back with a content groan.

“If that’s the case, then don’t say I didn’t let you choose how you wanted to make it up to me.”

You glance up when you hear the sound of a zipper being undone, and you mouth gapes at his innuendo. You can’t seem to look away as he frees himself from his black boxers, the sound of his belt and pants rustling as they hit the floor.

“Now then, what was that you said about redemption? I think this is a great way to put that mouth to good use, little mouse.”