#she’s named after flower from Bambi

[heartfullofleeches]

FUCKING. YES.

What (some of) my ocs put you as in their phone:

Liu/Lucille (butcher/cannibal Yan): "Bambi" or "Belle/Beauty" The latter related to one of their favorite movies as a kind. If she could love her beast, you'll do the same won't you?

C.C/Saffron (Yan incubus): "Bae <3" with a string heart and flower emojis after. Will just as quickly change it to "Lil' bitch" if you ignore him long enough

Amyas (Yan cupid): "Answer immediately"

Baron (Yan demon): "MJNW" He's trying to spell mine, but his fingers are too fucking fat to hit the right keys

Maddox (Yan reaper): "Them"/the gendered variant. Simple, to the point - brings a smile to their face everytime they see it on the screen.

Alasdair (Yan Angel): "My light" Bro lights up a whole room with those eyes, but pop off king

V (incel Yan): "Kitten"

Miller (streamer Yan): "P1"

Erin (Yan Bully): "Pain in my ass" when you first give it to him. "Everything" after he finally let's his heart bleed.

Theodore (Teacher Yan): "Dear" for you, but he asks you put him in your phone as "Teddy"

Devlin (immortal Yan): "Boo (at night I think of you...)" His favorite song from that time period and what he plays outside your window.

Silas (immortal Yan): "THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE DUMBASS" He sends a lot of "prank texts" to people and almost send you a five paragraph long threat when it was meant for your boss.

Selene (Yandere housewife): "Sweetheart, My One/My Only" She gets so embarrassed when you find out.

Orion (Yandere Devil): "Prized Jewel"

Gemini/Gemini (Twin Devils in one body): "Our Missing Piece" They change it constantly, but that's what it's been for the longest

Daina (Yan Final Girl): "Rid3 or Di3"

Dea (Worshiper God): "My Universe." Stuff like that seems so small to them, but it just feels right.

Cherry, Clementine, Lemon (Yandere robots): "Master" Cherry and Lemon put hearts at the end, Clementine puts a sword

Lime (Yan cat hybrid bot): "Owner~" with a tongue emoji at the end

D.kay (Yan Murderbot): "SUNNI" (sunny) or just a long string of those heart eyed emojis

Milk Tea (Yan cow hybrid): Pet

Eggnog (Yan cow hybrid): "Bunny or J.J" The name of the rabbit plush they own as a child. Without it they aren't sure they'd be alive today. The same goes for you.

Root beer Milk (Yan cow hybrid): "Partner in Crime"

Bluebird (Former Darling Yan): "Saving Grace" or your name with a key emoji at the end.

Gus (Clown Yan): "Cutie Pie"

(And that's it for now. If there are any characters you'd like to see just lemme know and I might do a part two)

[reidslovely]

Bambi!! I have a request, my love!

Frat!Peter taking you and your little baby daughter on a picnic sometimes because he just wants to spend time alone with his girls ♡ maybe she's a bit older by now and he just chases her around a field and they pick flowers to bring to momma? he's so girl dad I'm gonna cry. okay, anyway, love you, love frat!Peter, hope you have a lovely day/night

Tana my love I love you so much!! I adore this thought and while listening to my cute little domestic Peter playlist Hozier's In a Week came on and it only fueled me to write more...thus I give you this cute little blurb..

We'd Become the Flowers

(please reblog or comment in place of liking/hearting this post pretty please)

Grass and flowers crushed under Peter's bare feet as he chased the three year old around the field. “Maisy, Maisy, Maisy May.” He said your little girl's name in a sing-song voice pretending not to be able to catch up with the little girl. 

“Be careful you two I don’t need another coffee table incident.”

Peter and the little girl's ears peaked at your voice yelling into the field. 

“I only needed a few stitches.” Peter defends himself, hearing you laugh. Snatching the curly haired toddler into his arms blowing a soft raspberry on her cheek. 

Her soft giggles and squeals of more filled the air in the meadow, you lounged lazily on the yellow checkered blanket with your finals study guide/homework scattered around you. Peter could see a blur of your hair color and the blue sundress hazy in the sunlight. 

“Wanna help daddy?” Peter asked, kissing his daughter's head spinning her around. 

“Wanna help.” She says kicking her legs as Pete puts her down picking a handful of flowers. She watches him intently grabbing from yellow and pink flowers. “For momma.” 

Peter nodded in response. “Of course.” 

Peter watched her adoringly, she was the perfect mix of the two of you. She was so little but her heart already held your passion and kindness. Her need for adventure and terrible two’s coming from him. He thanked whatever sent you to him, and whatever got him here. He sat in the grass pretending to bite at the flower his daughter was putting in his face.

 These were his favorite days, all day picnics in upstate. He felt a joy he knew all too familiar. It was the same feeling he held going to ball games with Ben growing up, but now he was happy to be on the other end. 

Peter carried his daughter on his hip as he walked back, her little arms tucked full of the flowers they had picked. Maisy insisted she was big and strong enough to carry them all. 

“What is this?” Your head craned up to look at them and the heat built in Peter’s chest and face. 

“Just a little gift for momma.” Peter smiles sitting Maisy down as she handed you the bouquet, which of itself was pretty impressive. 

“Awe thank you Maisy May.” You said kissing your daughter's head flattening out her hair. Maisy smiled hugging her arms around your neck and Peter took a mental picture tucking it away into his long term memory. 

“Everything okay?” You had asked him after a bit of him just sitting and staring, your daughter half asleep in your lap. Your fingers played with her curls as Peter's chin rested on his knee. He smiled and twirled one of the pink flowers from the batch. 

“Everything is perfect bashful, I got my girls.” 

Hope you enjoyed this small little blurb friend 🫶🏼 it was so cute.

Taglist: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @a-lumos-in-the-nox @moonyslove78 @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @eevylynn

If you'd like to join my taglist check my pinned post!!

[bteezxyewriter12]

Daddy/ 5

Pairing- Namjoon x Named Reader

Word count- 1.7k

Includes- Stepdad Namjoon, "Dumb/naive" reader, reader name not used- instead called "baby"or "bunny", all are of consenting age, corruption, fucking from behind, oral, pussy eating, blow job, deepthroating, throat bulge, cum eating, squirting, missionary, choking, multiple orgasms, extremely minute fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @nctzennikki09 @mrcarrots @yoonallthetime @namjooningera @quinsly @kendranicole1996 @jacobhey @wolfgurl2600-blog @mrskimjoon @svnbangtansworld @taeluv13 @effielumiere @moonchild-qaads @kitinae

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Daddy Masterlist 📝Masterlists

📝BTS Masterlist

📝Namjoon Masterlist

One Month Later

Namjoon POV

"Gonna be my good cum slut and cum for daddy?", I ask, slapping her ass as I fuck her from behind

She's such a slut for me

She texted me to come to her room so she can ask me something

When I opened the door, she was already naked, on her hands and knees, legs spread, pussy dripping, begging me to fuck her

"Wear my cunt daddy! Wanna be worn so badly", she begged

How could I say no to that

I immediately went inside her and have been fucking her ruthlessly for ten minutes

"Harder daddy! I wanna hear the sound of your cock fucking me!", she yells

That only fuels me to go harder, breaking her cunt on my cock, the loud wet squelching sound of her taking my length so loud in the room

Over the last month she's become the perfect sex slave

Spreading her whore legs whenever I want, coming to me to get her cunt split everyday

Her sex drive is high, fucking me at least three times a day

She can't get enough of my cock or my tongue

"Please daddy! Wanna cum", she begs

"Oh do you?", I ask, watching her pretty lips spread open for me, like the petals of a flower

"Yes please. I'll make a big mess on your cock daddy"

"Oh yeah baby?", I ask, eager to see it

"The biggest mess"

She's become so good at dirty talk, saying she learned from me

Damn right

"Ok my cumslut, make your mess", I tell her, hitting her spot hard

"Daddy!", she screams, falling apart on my cock

I shove my whole length inside her, letting her throb around my entire length, the pleasure intense

"Mmm bunny, such a big mess", I praise her

When her cunt stops coming, I pull out, admiring the complete mess of cream on my shaft

Then I move my eyes to her sloppy cunt, her cream smeared around her slit

Kneeling down, I lick around her hole, cleaning up the mess

"Daddy", she moans softly

"Mmm my favorite", I murmur, slipping my tongue in her pussy, getting more

"More daddy"

"Mmmhmm", I answer, slipping my tongue in and out of her cunt, spreading her ass wide so I can get better access to her cunt hole

She's pouring juice, all of it in my face, down my neck and I revel in it

Fucking my tongue into her cunt, I move my arm around her waist, my fingers rubbing and pinching her clit fast and hard

Her screams of pleasure are a beautiful soundtrack, the clenching of her cunt around my tongue so fucking pleasurable

"Daddy, I'm gonna....daddy", she whines, her legs shaking hard

Her pussy squirts, gushing into my face, soaking me and her bed even more than it already was

My fingers don't stop rubbing her clit as I swallow mouthful after mouthful, savoring the taste

God, everything I ever tasted from her pussy tastes so fucking good, I can't get enough

She finishes and I kiss her pretty swollen lips before standing up

"Sit up", I tell her, walking around her

Standing in front of her, I wrap her hair around my hand in a ponytail and demand, "Open your mouth"

She does and I immediately pull her on my cock, bottoming out in her throat

She chokes hard, her spit dripping all over my dick and her bed, tears springing to her eyes

She's alright

Over the last month I've trained her throat for deepthroating everyday

She's used to how rough I am and she loves it

It turns her on

Gripping her hair, I pull her up to my head, let her breathe then shove her back down, burying in her throat

Moving her up and down my cock, I move her faster with each bob, moaning from how good it feels to be in her tight throat

Her constant chokes and gags turn me on, the sight of my cock bulging her throat so beautiful

"Such a good cockslut, taking daddy's shaft down your throat. Making such pretty sounds for daddy", I praise

Pulling her off my cock, her fucked out eyes moving to mine, tears flooding down them

"You're so pretty bunny", I say, wiping some of the tears, then gripping my cock, I press my head to her lips, "Suck daddy's head baby"

I watch her pretty lips wrap around my tip, her mouth sucking softly, her eyes closing

"Good bunny", I groan, pleasure running up my spine, "Go a little more down"

She does, sucking faster, her tongue on the underside of my cock

"That's it bunny. Doing such a good job for daddy"

As she moves, her tongue licks all around and I push her farther down until she had my whole shaft in her mouth again

I watch her go at it, sucking desperately, moaning as she does

"My baby loves sucking daddy's dick huh?"

She nods, gagging every few sucks

"Daddy loves his bunny's mouth. Feels so good. Your throat is almost like your pussy. Tight. Wet"

Her mouth doesn't stop, pleasuring me to the fullest

I taught her well

"Head down, mouth open bunny. Gonna fuck your throat"

She does as I say, her mouth so inviting, my hips move on their own, snapping and delving into her throat, over and over

She takes it and it just takes me a few thrusts before I'm ready to cum

I pull out, pumping my cock, coming all over her face as pleasure hits me

"Bunny! Yes baby!", I groan

She keeps her mouth open but I'm not sure if I get any inside

When I finish, she lifts her head, cum everywhere, even in her eyelashes

She moves her fingers in her face, collecting cum in them then shoving them in her mouth sucking

"Mmm", she moans, wiping more off and eating it, "Daddy's milk is so good"

"Bunny loves it huh?"

She nods

I let her finish eating my cum from her face then tell her, "Suck daddy's cock. Make me hard so I can fuck your pussy"

Her mouth is around my dick in seconds, sucking hard and fast

She's so eager to suck my dick and it's fucking great

I get hard in no time, pulling out of her mouth

Shoving her down, I move on top of her, getting her legs around me

"Gimme that pretty pussy", I murmur, sliding her on my cock, "Oh god yes. Fuck. Pulsing already"

"Yes daddy. Always want your cock inside me"

"I know. Such a slut for my cock"

She nods

I start moving, burying my cock in and out of her tight cunt, the pleasure so fucking intense

I can't get enough of her pussy

God if I could just stay inside her all the time, I'd do it

Her cunt is that good

Her hands are on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly as I fuck her mercilessly into the bed

I slowly move my hand up and around her throat

I wanted to try this but I was waiting

Didn't want to give her too much, to soon

I look at her, raising my eyebrow and she nods

My hand immediately tightens around her neck, silence filling the room

Her pussy gets so fucking tight, her body shaking

Fuck

Letting go, she inhales deeply, her eyes opening

"Good?", I ask

She nods, "So good. Can feel all of your cock so much more daddy"

I give her a few more pumps of my cock before I squeeze her neck again

Her body goes rigid, her cunt squeezing the life from my cock, her clit throbbing so much harder

It feels so fucking good to push through, her pussy sucking my cock good

Letting go, she screams, "Again daddy! I'm gonna cum! Again!"

"Ok bunny", I agree

Not because it feels good for her but because it feels good for me

Choking her again, her cunt pulses the hardest it's ever had, making me gasp in bliss

A few hits to her spot have her coming, her body arching and shaking uncontrollably

I let go of her neck, her screams shattering the silence, cream gushing from her onto my cock and pelvis

I keep fucking her through it so close to coming

She finishes but I haven't came yet, so I keep splitting her pussy open

"Hold daddy tight baby", I pant, her cunt clenching my cock

"Good girl", I say, moving my hand to her clit and rubbing

Her pussy tightens, throbbing over and over shoving me over the edge

"Fuck bunny", I cry, ecstasy hitting me hard as I orgasm

Rubbing her clit hard, her pussy squeezes around my coming cock, sucking hard

"That's it baby", I praise her, "Suck daddy's cock. Mmmm take all of daddy milk inside you. Take it, you're pussy is so hungry for daddy's milk"

"Yes daddy, yes!", she screams, her hand in her hair as she cums around my orgasming cock, the mix of our cum running out from her cunt and around my cock

The pleasure is lasting so long and my vision blurs as I struggle to stay upright

When it's finally over, I pull out and collapse next to her

God that was good

She turns to me, coming closer, cuddling into me

Uh, what?

"Bunny-", I start, moving away

This can't happen

It's only sex, nothing more and she needs to know that

"I'm tired daddy. Can you stay until I fall asleep? Then you can get up and leave"

I hesitate

It feels comfortable with her in the bed but I don't want her to get the wrong idea

I'm not her boyfriend nor will I ever be

She's just a fuck toy

"Just this once", I tell her, "But don't ask me again. I'm your daddy, I fuck you that's it. I'm not your boyfriend"

She nods, "I know daddy"

I nod, "As long as you know. Don't ask again"

"Ok", she says, cuddling back into my side

Holding back a sigh, I just stay still, watching her

Hopefully she falls asleep soon and I can get up

I need a shower, then I have some more work to do

As I lay next to her, I feel my eyes getting heavy

A nap would be amazing right now

But not here, in my room

Alone

After a shower

She moves closer, her forehead leaning against my upper arm

Her eyes are closed and I don't know if she's asleep

Closing my tired eyes, I decide to wait a few more minutes then leave

[queerdrow]

Sooo my husband and I really like taxidermy. We have a skunk named Flower (yes, after the skunk from Bambi) a jackalope named Beezlebub (my husband named it when he was stoned lol) and a fox named Vix (obviously short for Vixen, what female foxes are called) They’re all from Paxton Gate so sourced ethically.

But anyways, the point of this is Vix’s dumb face. I saw her on their website and had to have her. JUST LOOK AT HER

Look at this ridiculous fox. I love her, she’s my favorite

(Also I have no idea if that fox was male or female so Vix it is)

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

I totally get if you dont wanna reveal the answers but im also SO curious abt the answers to your Disney trivia (esp the 101 dalmatians book one!!!)

I thought I checked a box that said they would tell u the answers if u got it wrong but apparently that's not working so absolutely.

Quiz is HERE is you guys wanna take it before reading this! I worked very hard on it <3

Anyway, infodump time

How Many Banks Children were in the first Mary Poppins book?

A: Four. While Jane and Michael were the main characters of the book, they also had infant twin siblings. I had to edit this question to include “first book” after finding out that they get another sibling in later books; so the first book has four, and later books have five.

2. T/F: In 101 Dalmatians, Pongo's mate is named Perdita after she is found alone on the street.

A: False. Perdita is not Pongo's wife or the puppies' mother, but a nurse for some of the pups. She was indeed named Perdita (meaning "lost") after being found on the street, and was a liver-spotted dog looking for her own lost puppies. Pongo's wife is named Missis and she's a bimbo and i love her

3. Disney added multiple characters to Bambi. Who of the following was actually in the book?

A: Faline. Thumper and Flower were added to the Disney film and did not appear in the original book.

4. T/F: In the original Pinocchio book, the character who would become Stromboli was actually more sympathetic than Disney portrayed him as.

A: True. Stromboli's character, Mangiafuoco, is at first annoyed at Pinocchio for ruining his performance and threatens to burn him. However, he takes pity on the boy and later lets him go, giving him some gold coins for his journey.

5. Which of the following is NOT something that happens in the original Peter Pan that Disney cut from the ending?

A: the answer I made up is the one of Nana going to Neverland. In the original book, at the end, Captain Hook is eaten by the crocodile, the Darling children return to find that they had been reported missing for several months and their parents were frantic, the Lost Boys move in with the Darlings, them and John and Michael forget about Neverland, and Tinker Bell dies offscreen. Peter forgets about her cause his memory is shit.

Other Peter Pan fun fact: There are actual canon nonbinary fairies in this 1911 book! Wendy talks about the fairies, and says, “The mauve ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are.”

6. T/F: Tarzan’s foster mother, Kala, dies in the book.

A: True. She’s unfortunately killed by some tribal African stereotypes which. oof.

7. What role did Ariel's sisters play in the original Little Mermaid?

A: They sold their hair for a way for the Little Mermaid to return home. The sisters gave the Sea Witch their hair in exchange for a dagger for Ariel to use to stab the prince; if she did so, she would revert to a mermaid. Ariel considered it, as the prince had fallen in love with someone else and thus she would not be able to marry him by the time limit, but decided against it.

8. T/F: Dumbo's mouse friend was present in the original story.

A: False. Timothy Q Mouse was made as a replacement for a wise robin named Red.

9. What are two of the ways the wicked Queen tries to kill Snow White before using the apple?

A: She tries to suffocate her with a laced bodice, and then brushes her hair with a poisoned comb. These both fail, as the dwarves untie the bodice and remove the comb. Fun fact: the reason the apple failed in the OG story was actually because when the prince moved the coffin, it fell from her mouth!

One of the fake answers is “She gives her slippers that make her dance endlessly,” which is the Queen’s fate in the fairytale. Another fake answer is “She sends crows to peck her eyes out” which happens in the Grimm version of Cinderella to the stepfamily. “She tries to get her to prick her finger on a poisoned thornbush” references both Sleeping Beauty and the beginning of the story where the good Queen wishes for a child as red as blood and white as snow after pricking her finger and seeing blood in the snow.

10. T/F: In the original "The Fox and the Hound" book, the Hound kills the Fox.

A: True. Disney switched the names of Copper and Chief, but the character who would become Copper does chase Tod until he dies of exhaustion. The dog then dies at the end of the book. Cheery! The whole book is full of death and despair I only recommend it if you want to make people uncomfortable at parties.

11. What was Jasmine’s name in the original folk tale?

A: Badroulbadour. As for the other answers: Yasmin is her name in the Arabic dub of the Disney film; Scheherazade is the main protagonist of 1001 Arabian Nights; Dalia is Jasmine’s handmaiden in the live-action reboot; Fatimah is the pestering wife of Maruf the Cobbler in his Arabian Nights story; Morgiana is Ali Baba’s heroic daughter-in-law from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves; Nouronnihar is another princess in The Three Princes and the Princess Nouronnihar, and Zumurrud is one of the protagonists in Ali Shar and Zumurrud.

12. In The Frog Princess, which The Princess and the Frog was VERY loosely inspired by, what is the actual reason that Emma (who would become Tiana) turns into a frog after kissing the prince?

A: She is wearing a curse-reversal bracelet. It was given to her by her adventuring Aunt, and she has to retrieve the bracelet in order to turn into a human and then kiss the prince again.

The fake answer “She is not a real princess” is the reason used in the final film that Tiana transforms.

13. T/F: In 2022, Disney released a sequel film to "Hocus Pocus." However, a book sequel was created in 2018 with a drastically different plot. In this plot, Max and Allison's daughter is canonically gay.

A: True! Her name is Poppy and she summons the Sandersons while trying to impress a cute girl. Queen shit

14. Which of the following is NOT true about the book version of Eilonwy?

A: The false statement was that her bauble was a fairy. The true statements are that her mother was a princess but her father was a commoner, the women of her family were all enchantresses, but she loses a good chunk of her magic by destroying The Book of Llyr.

15. T/F: Disney’s Alice in Wonderland changed the ending to make it all Alice’s dream instead of a real adventure.

A: False! The book did originally end as Alice's dream, as did the sequel. Fun fact, though: The Wizard of Oz was not a dream in the book! As stated before, neither was Peter Pan.

16. What role does Sleeping Beauty's Husband's Mother play in the story?

A: She is an ogre that tries to eat Sleeping Beauty and her children.

17. T/F: While Treasure Planet changed a lot from Treasure Island, Jim's backstory of being abandoned by his father is the same.

A: False. In the book, his father died instead of left.

18. What was the Rescue Aid Society’s name in the book?

A: Prisoners’ Aid Society. The first book actually featured the mice rescuing an adult poet from prison.

19. Esmeralda’s goat sidekick, Djali, was actually in the original book.

A: True.

20. What is the plot to the official book sequel to 101 Dalmatians?

A: The humans all fall into a magical coma and the dogs, now with psychic powers, must save them. Yeah! That’s canon! Written by the original story’s author!! Why did Disney never adapt it!!!

Of the fake answers, “Cruella attempts to kidnap puppies again, only to be thwarted by the original dogs” is a slight ref to 101 Dalmatians 2: Patch’s London Adventure; “A dalmatian without spots saves her family” and “Cruella attempts to reform and becomes a dog lover” are both descriptions of subplots in 102 Dalmatians, and the mention of Cruella’s cat in one of the fake answers does refer to a book character.

21. T/F: The talking snowman was an actual character in The Snow Queen.

A: False.

22. What are the names of Rapunzel’s twin children?

A: The twins are unnamed in the original story. Of the fake answers, “Ruby and Rampion” references a background character in Descendants and the alternate name for the Rapunzel plant; “Dawn and Day” are Sleeping Beauty’s children; “Elba and Saiba” I got from googling fairytales with twins, and the site says it’s an African fairytale? I’ll have to look it up tbh cause I’m not sure; “Zjema and Handa” are from the Albanian folktale The Twins, and “Cassandra and Varian” are two characters from the Tangled TV series.

23. T/F: In the original Tarzan series, Clayton is revealed to be Tarzan’s cousin.

A: True. Tarzan’s birth name is John Clayton II, and Disney’s Clayton is William Cecil Clayton. While this plotline was dropped in the movie, fun fact: Clayton’s VA provided Tarzan’s famous call for the film!

24. What is Ratigan’s first name in the original stories?

A: Padraic. Of the fake names, “James” and “Moriarty” obviously reference the Sherlock character he is based on; “Proudfoot” is a family in the first 1958 Basil story; “Doran” was Ratigan’s lieutenant based on former tumblr blorbo Sebastian Moran; “Vincent” comes from Ratigan’s VA Vincent Price; “Ingham” was the surname of Basil’s VA, Barrie Ingham; and “Leslie” came from one of the inspirations for Basil’s animation, Leslie Howard.

25. T/F: Roger Rabbit dies in the original book.

A: True. I do not know how to convey to you how INSANE the Roger Rabbit book is. It’s so fucking nuts.

26. The Lion King is famously based on Shakespeare’s Hamlet. What characters inspired Timon and Pumbaa?

A: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They ended up serving very different roles in the plot, but originally Timon and Pumbaa’s characters were meant to be Simba’s childhood friends like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were, and they eventually evolved into caretakers when they needed someone for Simba to grow up with.

27. T/F: Maui is a character in Māori and Hawai’ian mythology, but not any other Polynesian cultures.

A: False. Maui appears in Māori, Hawai'ian, Tongan, Tahitian, Samoan and Mangarevan mythology.

28. How Many siblings does Hua Mulan have?

A: Two. She has an older sister and a younger brother. They were combined into Hua Xiu in the reboot, and aluded to in the original movie with Mulan’s dog being named Little Brother. Personally, I like the change of having her being an only child, it puts a lot of implicit pressure on her that she is the ONLY one who can make her family proud and guarantee them a future. However, I also like middle kid rep so lol

29. T/F: Gaston was more sympathetic in the original fairytale.

A: False. Gaston did not exist in the original fairytale. The antagonists were  Belle’s two wicked sisters.

30. Final Question. Which of the following was an actual original story, and NOT based on a pre-existing book, fairytale, myth, etc.?

A: Brother Bear was not based on anything pre-existing, though it did of course draw inspiration from Inuit culture. The other movies listed are Song of the South (based on the Uncle Remus stories), Bedknobs and Broomsticks (based on The Magic Bedknob; or, How to Become a Witch in Ten Easy Lessons and the following Bedknobs and Broomsticks), Fun and Fancy Free was based on Bongo and Mickey and the Beanstalk; Frankenweenie is ofc a Frankenstein adaptation but also based on an early Burton short film; and Oliver & Company was based on Oliver Twist.

[clownstolemyjokesarchived]

N I C K N A M E S;

Alastor ( specifically @hellshoard‘s ): Bambi. Because.. He’s a deer or elk rather. Now also; Ma moitié. Rubberhose calls him Poppy because it’s known for being edible and has medicinal properties. It’s a symbol of remembrance and a lively imagination.

Blitzo (specifically @hellshoard ): Tamale. Rubberhose calls him, Yarrow.

Charlie (again @hellshoard): Macintosh or Apple Mac. Rubberhose calls her, Canna as they represent desire, courage, and passion… At least, the red ones do.

Allurina ( @hellshoard ): Cake pop. Rubberhose calls her, Azalea.

Arabella ( @hellshoard ): Macaron. Rubberhose calls her, Pansy.

Angel Dust ( @angel-fxced ): Annie because they didn’t really liked being referred to as Angel Dust and so Robo Fizz asked, “Okay. What do you want me to call you then?” and that was the name they gave. Based off their real name.

Clementine ( @hannah-the-small ): Minnie or Clem, but more so Minnie as in Minnie Mouse. She reminds him of her and it’s a play off her name… Sort of.

Jevil ( @jumblemuses ): Chaton, which is kitten in French. Jevil exhibts a lot of cat-like behavior as Jevilmun and I discussed back and forth, so– yeah. Jevil is Fizzarolli’s kitten or cat. Rubberhose calls him, Catnip!

Verosika ( @hellshoard ): Fraise, which is strawberry in French… Most of these are funnily enough food related which is funny if you take in the fact Robo Fizz can’t eat and hasn’t tried half of these foods.

Millie ( @ladiesofhell‘s Mille ): Millpill, because she’s just so full of Dopamine + Serotonin + Oxytocin ekjgane it’s like taking a PILL… Even though Robo Fizz can’t do drugs STILL.

Ophelia ( @rosadiaboli ): Because… He views her as his princess. That’s the simple reason really. Funnily enough, we both didn’t realize that’s what her EX also called her as and now– WHELP.

Niffty ( @hellishlyclean‘s and @infernal-feminae‘s ): First one he calls Crème Brûlée or Doughnut. Second one he calls Noisette, which is Hazelnut in French because Niffty is his little… nut… case. There we go. Rubberhose calls her Buttercup.

Fizzarolli ( @fizzarolli‘s Fizz):  Robo Fizz calls them Finch.

Gala ( @hell-bound ): Apple baby! Because they’re based off an apple and that’s his baby~

Nerinda ( @helianthus-house ): Caramel au beurre which is butterscotch in French.

Dia ( @diadxrling ): Dia-dia, Carolina Reaper. Rubberhose calls her Amaryllis. The red amaryllis represents determination, pride and radiant beauty, just like the Greek maiden it was named after. Because of their height and sturdiness, these flowers are also associated with strength!

Claudia ( @daughterofsloth ): Névé which is basically like snow, although it is of a more particular kind than just ‘cold white stuff’. The word comes from a word in the Swiss dialect of French, and prior to that comes from the Latin word for snow, nix. Rubberhose calls her Gardenia.

Molly ( Dani’s Molly and @pinkpizzapastaspiderprincess22 ): Rubberhose calls her Camelia. Robo Fizz calls the second one Sucre while Rubberhose dubbed her Hollyhock.

Don ( @wrxthfulguard ): Fizzarolli calls him Dynamo while Rubberhose calls him Anemone because they’re a symbol of protection against evil, bad luck or ill omens!

Coco ( @blue-batty-coco ): Robo Fizz decided Biscotti fit her best. Rubberhose went with Freesia. Prefallen Mammon calls her Praeclarum, which is Remarkable.

Striker ( @strikers-saloon ): Robo Fizz went with Chain Chomp. Rubberhose is undecided for now.

Phisaya ( @phisaya ): Fizzarolli went with Vervain because it’s cute.

Vesta ( @murdxrxfcrxws ): Robo Fizz calls her Star Fire.

Missi ( @corruptedsilence ): Robo Fizz calls her Corbeau which is Raven in French.

[themaethpost]

Now Presenting: Atlas Zieragh, the artist.

Full name: (Ophelia) Atlas Zieragh.

Pronouns: They/He/She.

Age: 23 years old.

Birthday: April 5th.

Sexual orientation: Queer.

Familiar: Poppy, the hedgehog.

Personality.

Birth chart (big three): Aries Sun, Cancer Moon, Gemini Rising.

MBTI: ISFP-A.

Patron Arcana: The Sun.

Upright: success, clarity, positivity, conscious.

Reversed: negativity, depression, sadness, pessimism.

Minor Arcana: Page of Cups.

Upright: happy surprise, inner child, intuition.

Reversed: immaturity, escapism, leaving reality for fantasy.

Likes: Looking down from their balcony to all the people coming and going from Draigh’s tavern, spending more than three hours in the local library investigating magical creatures, buying big white canvases to fill out their home with art, how their hands had been permanently stained by of all the oil painting and pigments they work with, when Poppy sits on their forehead and they fall asleep together in bed, the colour yellow, cutting their own hair at 2 a.m, white wine, stealing their brother’s suspenders (Can they buy one? Yes. But it’s not the same), visiting their mom and making dinner for her.

Dislikes: Seeing their mom really tired after a long day at the hospital, when they forget to bring more logs for the fireplace so they have to go out in the middle of the night, the Maethisse forest after 9 p.m, being woken up abruptly, when their hair tangles while they’re sleeping, spilled paint on the floor, crowded places, people who disrespect animals and magical creatures, when they can get the proportions of said animals and creatures right when they’re drawing them in their investigation diaries, when strangers refer to them with feminine terms (only okay if they’re comfortable with you and the role that they play in your life).

Abilities: A wonderful archer (they’d make a great hunter but they refuse to harm any animals), speaks three languages like their brother: maethel, vesuvian and hjallen, such a talented artist, an okay flute player, they learned so they could play alongside their siblings for their mom but it’s not like it’s they favourite thing in the world, an expert flirt.

Favourite food: Scrambled eggs with spinach.

Favourite drink: Just water, please... Oh wait, you have white wine?

Favourite flower: Daffodils.

Appearance.

Height: 5’6 or 167 cm.

Weight: 145 lbs or 66 kgs.

Hair: Short, kinda frizzy, with remarkable curls that distinguishes them. They don’t like long hair on themself and frankly, they don’t pay much attention to it, they just know they have to wash it at least three times a week and that’s all.

Eyes: Big brown bambi-like eyes with long eyelashes that reflect such a kind and playful stare, they squint a lot because even if their sight is not as bad as their older brother, they still have to use glasses from time to time to rest their eyes after spending hours and hours working on a painting.

General description: They have a very proud facade, they walk with confidence everywhere they go. Their fingers are long and skinny and they adorn them with rings just like their sister. A bit of a resting bitch face, but don’t worry, they’re super friendly. Long legs with bruises on their knees from sitting on them when they’re at the library reading. Has a scar on their left forearm.

Fashion sense: Only two words would describe her sense of style perfectly and those are “light academia”. They love to be comfortable but at the same time, their strong demeanour needs to be obvious so what could be more fantastic for them than to look respectable but also soft? A wardrobe full of beige colours, whites and greens. Not a big fan of very bright fabrics and they would only wear them when Isabella needs a live mannequin to work on her projects.

A brief look into her life.

Occupation: They’re an artist, they sell their paintings and take commissions, and you know they are very talented because the Countess of Vesuvia asked for them to make an abstract piece for one of their rooms in the Palace but that doesn’t happen very often so they work with Draigh in the tavern on weekends.

Love interest: Petra Moretti.

Family and friends:

Isabella Zieragh, sister.

Thomas Zieragh, brother.

Galiere Zieragh, mother.

Anelisse Zieragh, aunt.

Federico Bianchi, father.

Anshelinah Circe, best friend.

Draigh Tolmach, close friend.

Salice Halloway, sister-in-law.

Kumagai Shuhei, bother-in-law.

Miscellaneous facts:

They’re very close to their mom, Galiere. Maybe they feel like they have to be present to make up for all of those years where they couldn’t be together as much as they would’ve liked.

They got into art at the age of five and used to gift little pieces of paper and cloth stained with different colours to their family.

Spent almost seven years of their life secretly crushing on a girl.

They love when people call them by their second name. They think it fits them very well.

Touched a poisonous frog once and had to be rushed to the emergency room, it was a close call...

[queenofgraveyards]

can one of the blurbs be h reacting to seeing ivys bump from the side for the first time when she starts showing 😔 like yeah he’s a little horn dog he loves his wife whatever whatever but i mean like 😔 omg thats my tiny baby in there 😔 in 9 months she will be here and i will hold her and love her and biggest smile and a few tears 😔 and he suggests they name her after something rly romantic probably like some street they drive on a lot or like one of the parks they go to or whatever flower he gets for ivy the most 😔 yeah 😔

omg okay you guys know I’m not a child fan or a pregnancy fan but I’ve been hanging into this all day bc it’s just so fucking CUTE and I just I don’t know what to say bc you are SO right??? like this is what bambi h will be like yes one hand he is a straight demonic horn dog who’s obsessed with getting ivy pregnant and then she is pregnant and that’s my WIFE i IMPREGNATED her!!!!!!!and the other hand is…this…my wife is growing my child inside of her she’s amazing and there’s a tiny little bump and that’s MY tiny little bump in there did you know at this stage she’s the size of a bean (or whatever it is they measure child growth in whilst in the womb) and ugh yes he’ll be counting down the months and the DAYS until he gets to meet his baby and he’s just so in awe of Ivy bc she’s really giving him a child like she’s literally have his baby!!!!!! They made a baby!!!!!! Together!!!!!! and he thinks it just so mind blowing and fantastic and magical and ivy is just so fucking tired of him being like this bc dude I vomited 3 times this morning and I can’t eat cheese for the next 7 months can you SHUT THE FUCK UP but even then it doesn’t stop him from being 🤩 and even tho she’s grumpy sometimes ivy is also 🥰🥺 bc she loves her h even tho it’s all his fault now and yes their baby names list…..romantic, pretentious, pretty and classic you name it there’s a name that fits the description and he ofc would want something that’s like the two of them together for their first born bc it’s bambi h and he is just sooooo

[officialleehadan]

Garden Escape

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Sarah! Darling, thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: Beastly Familiars

+++

Building fences was hard work, even on the best of days. There was a lot of digging holes, planting posts, and hammering nails in to secure the thick wire fencing to the wooden posts. The task was made harder by the height of the fence, which stood well over eight feet tall.

It was vital.

Faun could jump a six-foot fence from a stand. Eight feet was, hopefully, enough to keep her contained.

(I want out.)

“I’ll let you out when the fence is done,” Candice yelled at the small shed which served to contain Faun and her two babies, Bambi and Thumper. Candice planned to keep both little does as a boost to her dairy business. Of course, she had to figure out how to keep them contained first. “You ate all my roses!”

(I am in milk. I require only the best.)

Goats. Faun was all attitude, and worse, she was clever enough to figure out any lock that didn’t actively require thumbs, and some that did. She could climb fences sometimes, knock them over with enough effort, and could fit through a gap that should never allow an animal her size.

And now she had a pair of little helpers who could go through a hole the size of a grapefruit, and were just as eager to devastate Candice’s garden. They weren’t weaned yet, but they were getting started on solid food. To nobody’s surprise, their favorite food was the flowers Candice painstakingly coaxed out of the rocky soil.

(Let me out!) Faun demanded again. The door vibrated madly as she butted it hard. She probably wouldn’t knock it over, but she might break the door. Again. (I demand tribute!)

Candice rolled her eyes, hammered the last nail into place, and very seriously considered whether to let her familiar out of the barn. They had been bonded for almost five years, and Faun’s mother had been her familiar before Faun herself. Her family had been dairy farmers for a long time, but with the increased desire for goat and sheep milk cheeses, Candice did good business in milk.

She probably shouldn’t leave them locked up.

The door shook as Faun butted it again, and the wood cracked. Candice swore under her breath and yanked the gate closed before she made for the barn.

“Fine, fine,” she muttered and yanked the door open just in time to spare it more of Faun’s tender mercies. ”There go. You’re free.”

Faun pranced out of the barn like a queen and paused as she took in the shiny new fence that now surrounded her paddock. She was a beautiful goat, spotted and tawny like the deer she was named for. She had won a dozen prizes before her mother died and Candice bonded with her. Familiars, of course, weren’t allowed to compete. The paddock was something of a consolation, since Faun had loved competitions.  It should be tall enough to keep her from jumping it, curved slightly inward to keep her from climbing it. The posts were railroad ties, set in concrete.

If anything would contain her familiar, this would do it.

Of course, Faun immediately made for the gate peered at it speculatively, and then examined the lock.

Before Candice could stop her, the goat took a few steps back, shook herself once, and dove at the gate. Candice lunged for her and wasn’t quite fast enough to keep her familiar from wedging herself through the gap between gate and fence. With another firm wiggle and a spike of magic, she was through and making a beeline for the garden at top speed. Her babies bleated and charged after her.

Candice grabbed for them and got an arm under Bambi’s stomach, but missed Thumper as the little spotted kid-goat squeezed through the gap in the fence right behind her mother.

“You stay the hell out of my roses!” Candice roared after her familiar and scrabbled at the gate, one hand occupied by the wiggling baby goat. The lock was deliberately difficult in an effort to contain Faun, but now it served to slow Candice in her moment of need. “Don’t you dare!”

She got no reply, but she didn’t expect one. The gate finally opened and she set Thumper down so she could run for the garden, magic brimming on her hands. As soon as the spell was ready, she flung it out. Just in time. The shield coated the fence between the goats and the garden. Faun ran into it, shook herself, and charged it again just to be stubborn. Before she could make for the next garden over, Candice snapped the shield around her familiar and the two kids.

Goats contained, she stalked over and glared at Faun, who glared back, not the least bit sorry and absolutely inclined to go for the garden again the moment she got the chance.

“Thanks for showing me your fast way out,” she told the goat and took ahold of Faun’s collar firmly before she dispelled the shield. The babies, at least, were young enough to follow their mother. “Guess that gate isn’t as secure as the manufacturer promised. And don’t think I didn’t see you use magic. I’m gonna ward it against you.”

(I will not be contained,) Faun seethed and yanked on her collar. Unfortunately for her, Candice was not a small woman, and had been handling goats for a long time. Her attempts to escape were in vain. (I have nothing but time.)

“And I have no good reason to give you the scraps from the garden if you’re bad.”

That made an impression. Faun was very food-motivated and would do almost anything for all the thinned vegetables that were coming out of the garden this time of year.

Candice let her mull it over until they were back in the pen and set her familiar free, but not before shielding the gate to prevent the same escape from repeating itself immediately. Faun examined the gate, and then strolled over to the pile of hay in her feed trough as if that was her plan all along.

(I will stay here,) she decided imperiously between prim bites of hay and baleful glares in Candice’s direction. (For now.)

“Great,” Candice said, and knelt to examine the gate. It would be a lot of work to shield it permanently, but she didn’t see any other way around it. The gate was a weak point, and Faun knew it. “Don’t bother trying to get out again. I’ll be back soon, and if you’re not in the paddock when I get here, I’ll give the garden trimmings to the pigs.”

+++

Beastly Familiars Volume 2:

Fish Hungry

Intelligentsia 

Monster in the Closet

Bamboo Babies

Clam-Eater

Sea Monster

Barbecue Bird

Snow Pounce

Fish are Friends (Subscriber Only)

Roll in a Ball (Subscriber Only)

Garden Escape (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[healthmains]

Thumper bambi mp4

Disney Wikipedia:WikiProject Disney Template:WikiProject Disney Disney articles If you would like to participate, please visit the project page, where you can join the discussion and see a list of open tasks. He admonished Thumper and his friends to stay away from such, warning them that they would "completely lose head." Ultimately, they rejected his advice, with Thumper becoming involved with a certain " Miss Bunny." This couple would go on to have several daughters who would join their father in once again awaking Friend Owl from his sleep, this time to tell him of the birth of Bambi's children, Geno and Gurri.This article is within the scope of WikiProject Disney, a collaborative effort to improve the coverage of The Walt Disney Company and its affiliated companies on Wikipedia. When Thumper, Bambi, and their friend Flower became adults, Friend Owl lectured the three about being "twitterpated" - the term he used for romantic flings. The old bird was not happy about the interruption, responding grumpily to Thumper's intrusion with an irritated, "Oh, what now?" It seems that this may not have been the first time that the energetic little bunny woke Owl up, which fits with the fact that Thumper already knew his name. Indeed, it was Thumper who woke Owl from his slumber to inform of the birth of the Young Prince, Bambi. Thumperįriend Owl was aware of Thumper before their mutual friend Bambi was even born. Though he most certainly would have disapproved of Bambi's romantic forays, he was still gracious enough to visit Bambi's children, Geno and Gurri, shortly after their birth in the same manner that he had visited newborn Bambi, remarking that his furry friend must be proud of his children. The three failed to follow his advice, each finding for themselves a mate. Owl advised them regarding romantic matters, admonishing them to never become "twitterpatted," as he put it. After reuniting with his friend, he took it upon himself to serve as a mentor to him and his friends of roughly the same age, Thumper and Flower. īambi and Friend Owl apparently spent some time apart as Bambi was growing up, as Owl did not immediately recognize an adult Bambi. Bambi was at first afraid of the big-eyed owl, but he soon warmed up to him. He was among a group of forest animals who visited the newborn fawn and his mother at their den. Bambiįriend Owl was present in the life of his friend, Bambi, since shortly after the latter's birth. Friend Owl eventually managed to find a new mother for Bambi in the form of Mena, a childhood friend of Bambi's mother, but she proved unnecessary when the Great Prince, taking the initial advice of his feathery friend, changed his mind and decided to raise his son apparently on his own. Owl recommended that the Great Prince simply take on the responsibility of raising the fawn, but the old buck refused. The Great Prince then recruited his fowl friend to find an eligible doe to raise his now-motherless son, Bambi. When the Great Prince's mate was killed, Friend Owl was the first one to meet with him and check on him. The Great Prince trusts Owl, while Owl is more than willing to assist the stag in any ways necessary. Relationships The Great Prince of the Forestįriend Owl and the Great Prince of the Forest seem to be good friends. įriend Owl is also very intelligent, employing use of big words and even dreaming of becoming an academic leader in the forest. This fear might also be due to the carnivorous diet of many owls and, presumably, Friend Owl himself.ĭespite his initial grumpiness, Friend Owl can still be warm, friendly, and helpful, happily assisting his friends, such as the Great Prince of the Forest, in whatever tasks necessary. His testiness seems to cause a deal of respect or fear of him in the forest, as he was once able to make many animals leave from Bambi's mother's den just by glaring at them. In fact, he uses the phrase "twitterpated" to mock the concept of falling in love and urges his protegés - Bambi, Thumper, and Flower - to abstain from twitterpation. įriend Owl also has a rather cynical view of the world, viewing romantic partnerships as a dangerous thing to be avoided. Thus, his rest time coincides with the most energetic part of the day for most other creatures, leaving him prone to be awoken by his noisy neighbors. In fairness to him, he seems to only sleep during day as he was once seen coming to his home in the hollow of a tree and beginning to sleep just as most animals were waking up. He is seen to be irritated when his sleeping is interrupted by birds singing Let's Sing a Gay Little Spring Song, Thumper yelling at him, or a stag rubbing his antlers against his chosen tree. He was seen when both Bambi and his children, Geno and Gurri are born.įriend Owl is generally a stuffy old fellow who dislikes to be bothered.

[orleans-jester]

Hazel ‘Bambi’ Lake

Senior at Halloweentown High Magical Cards. Former Wallflower. Former Ugly Girl. Often underestimated. Big eyes. Coming into her Own.

She was a total mama’s girl growing up. Not that she had much choice, her father was never around, just wasn’t in the picture. His name was never mentioned. He didn’t even leave his surname behind, so she was every bit the picture, the representation, of her mother. Her nickname, Bambi, was given to her by her mother because of the big eyes, the innocent stare.

She grew up in the small town of Franklinton, Louisiana, running barefoot through the grasses, through neighbor’s lawns, but only those she was comfortable with. She was terribly shy as a child, and part of this was because of the family secret. Because of the cards. No one must know about the cards.

Idyllic. That was the word for her childhood. Up until that one fateful day. Her and her mother, on their land. No one should have been watching. The neighbors were out of town on a vacation. No one should have seen. No one should have known. Bambi’s mother was teaching her the magic. The deck of cards. It was not a deck of playing cards, no. Nor was it tarot. A beautiful collection of drawn illustrations which could be conjured out and used, but only by the Lake family. The cards felt cold in other’s hands. Did nothing at all. But in Bambi’s - she was able to blot out the sky using Cloud, cause the earth beneath her feet to tremble with Earthy, rain down cherry blossoms with Flower, and leap onto the roof using Jump. She was having the time of her life up there. Until she saw a figure approaching. It scared her. Even if it was one of mama’s friends, she grew instantly shy. Ducked behind the chimney, still holding the deck in hand. And then heard the gunshot.

She knew enough to know the sound. It was terrifying. She hid. She stayed on that rooftop for two days. Shivering against the cold of the night. Clutching those cards but not using them. It wasn’t until the neighbors came back and knocked on the door to collect the mail that they noticed the dead body hidden just behind the house and called the police. Firemen had to come and get Bambi down. They covered her mother with a sheet. If her mother had the cards, she knew then, if she wasn’t teaching Bambi how to use them at that exact minute, she could have saved herself.

Having no more living relatives, she went into the foster care system in New Orleans. She didn’t get bounced around too much, thankfully. She was quiet. She didn’t cause much trouble. She wasn’t violent. She cleaned up after herself and the other kids. Her two biggest flaws were the timid nature and - then the eating. It became the biggest constant in her life. Her mother was always  making sweet things. Fruit tarts, strawberry oatmeal bars, lemon parfaits. Nothing that any one she lived with made, so she had to settle for the store bought treats. Twinkies and cookies, donuts and pralines. She grew up - and unfortunately wide.

Magic was looked down upon in most of the foster homes. She hid it well. She kept the deck of cards in her belongings, keeping it close, with her everywhere, hidden within pockets that she sewed herself into her clothes - into jacket linings and skirt seams. No one noticed the extra bulge with the ones that she had. The Magisterium opened, but that seemed like a dumpster fire from the start. Separating kids into categories. Bambi didn’t like that. Grew anxious about being judged for which house she was in.

But then - Halloweentown. Home of the freaks. Without talking to her case worker, she applied. She met with Oogie and Barrel. She told them of their circumstances. They pretended to care. She showed her powers with the cards. She made it rain inside of the office with Rain. She made things disappear with Move. She made a copy of herself with Mirror. And Oogie saw the potential. She took over the case. She had that pull. No more foster homes. A dorm set up in the school, with her tuition paid by the estate of her mother, which she wasn’t supposed to get until she was eighteen but the lawyer acceded that for education, they could dip.

Her first year was awful. Bullies. There wasn’t a card to make her thin. She had the gap between her teeth that wasn’t bad enough to pay out so much money for braces, she had pizza face, she had the weight from eating so much, her hair wasn’t great, always so unmanageable so put up. Her clothes were thrifted, since she didn’t get much of an allowance. One boy named Declan was cruel with his sneers and his little comments and his friends calling her names. Throwing the food off of her plate and when she went to pick it up, pushing her over and saying that the game of Hungry Hungry Hippos was about to begin.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was the realization that her mother, her sweet and loving mother, hadn’t just been killed on a whim. It was a hunter. He was gone now, apparently, killed by someone but that didn’t change the fact that hunters now haunted her dreams. Something had to change. How could she ever run, ever be safe, when she was this big? Wide target. Sniper’s dream.

It began in April. Total cut out of all of the snacks. Getting salads - which did wonders for her skin. There were headaches, dizziness, but she eventually got adjusted to it. Walking every day. That was the hard part. There wasn’t anywhere to go but her dorm. Oogie let her stay during the Summer months, there was more than one orphan there, meals kept being served. Wanting her kids to be in their best shape, she’d say. The more drawn to her side. Dependant on her. So Bambi took to the track, where she was noticed by Bubbles. He saw her determination and that she was trying. So he helped. All summer. Training her daily like she was training for a marathon. Grueling. Exercise bikes, endurance, walking, running, climbing, weights, everything. Come Fall? There was a new girl.

New confidence. A new body. More energy than she had since she was a little girl. And a strong vendetta against hunters humans which Oogie fueled through her lectures and her teachings. Take them down. Kill them all. Even when humans were accepted into the school, those talks continued. Bambi was now ready to start living and stop hiding, and she had a deck of cards to help her do so.

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number) 

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

*    *    *    *    *    *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter. 

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat. 

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society. 

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’  his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room. 

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck. 

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin. 

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

 Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips. 

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had. 

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango. 

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion).  The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere. 

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it. 

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’ 

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough. 

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did. 

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother. 

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat. 

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door. 

 Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be. 

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company. 

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants,  and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.  

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel. 

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already. 

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.” 

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like. 

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy. 

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation. 

Right? 

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy. 

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table. 

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon. 

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants. 

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny. 

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could. 

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again. 

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared  trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin. 

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class. 

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go. 

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.  

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’. 

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence. 

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said. 

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement. 

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.” 

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible. 

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked. 

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited. 

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible. 

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another. 

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart. 

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent. 

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.” 

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy. 

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.” 

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully. 

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”  

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be. 

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her. 

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest  as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer. 

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning. 

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him. 

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked. 

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home. 

His home. 

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture). 

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too. 

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did. 

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number. 

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room. 

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise. 

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her. 

“Oh my god!” She said,  “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with.  She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’. 

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’. 

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm.  The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow. 

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up. 

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf. 

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.” 

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.” 

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.” 

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three. 

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said. 

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n. 

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her. 

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.” 

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck.  Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements. 

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm. 

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous. 

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing. 

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”  

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram. 

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added. 

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?” 

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma. 

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time. 

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates. 

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat. 

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store. 

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should. 

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage. 

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead. 

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance. 

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way. 

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day. 

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that. 

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning. 

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart. 

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down. 

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content. 

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.    

It’s no use. 

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true. 

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be. 

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him. 

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier. 

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin. 

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible. 

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy. 

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips. 

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay. 

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day? 

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look. 

“Back again so soon, H?” 

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop. 

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.” 

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said. 

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal. 

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and- 

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart. 

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?” 

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off. 

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove. 

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.” 

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.” 

 It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence? 

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.” 

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.” 

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out. 

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle. 

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly. 

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice. 

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like. 

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.” 

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.  

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance. 

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought. 

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).    

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling. 

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.” 

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!” 

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles. 

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!” 

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all. 

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else. 

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time, 

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.” 

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s  side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands. 

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm? 

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.” 

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose. 

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.” 

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her. 

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.” 

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum. 

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face. 

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body. 

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything. 

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers. 

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes. 

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning. 

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole. 

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum. 

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.  

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?” 

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-” 

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists. 

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?” 

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.” 

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning. 

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching. 

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?” 

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center. 

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?” 

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.” 

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent. 

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling. 

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.  

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning. 

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom. 

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.  

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds. 

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface. 

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves. 

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button. 

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like. 

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut. 

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock. 

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her. 

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself. 

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm. 

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge. 

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base. 

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum. 

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum. 

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out. 

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again. 

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body. 

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads: 

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name. 

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

[beth-march]

i’ll be your quiet afternoon crush

Summary:

Fez takes her hand. The brush of skin is something she has been anticipating for weeks, and it doesn’t disappoint her hopes - he is soft and warm, and she sprawls her free hand over her face, overwhelmed, overjoyed, never wanting this moment to end.

Or, Fez and Lexi get closer in the months after New Year’s. Filling in the gaps leading up to the couch scene.

Read on Ao3 here or under the cut:

There are rosebuds on her blouse. Little ruby blossoms.

Stardust seeps from her eyes, and the golden glitter is only faint. It embellishes, it does not envelope. Her face is painted in soft hues, rosy like reality, and dark tendrils fall astray from her braided hair. Beauty does not carry credence in his world, and yet he is struck by how beautiful she is. It is an unfamiliar recognition, but it is not quite unwelcome.

Intrigue unravels, and Fezco asks after her name.

“Lexi,” she tells him, and he likes it. The echo is crisp and sweet in his mouth.

She is curled in on herself, and the silk shrouding her frame scrunches. The flowers wobble. It is as though Lexi is trying to make herself small, and this seems like an absurd endeavour to Fez, when she is already so small.

You can take up space on this couch, he wants to tell her, because it is only a couch, and it is only him sitting on it. And so he says it, but not with so many words.

In skittish cases, a subtle touch is required. He looks at her doe eyes, her frail wrists, and he knows to think of Bambi, though he has never even seen Bambi. He approaches with caution. He knocks at the door of her little world, and the graze is tentative, but it is not in vain. A prod here, a nudge here, and she is spilling with thoughts, she is talking to him, and she is beautified by every word she speaks.

Like that, Fez is enthralled. He follows the instinct of his attraction, and loses himself in something wishful and foolish. For a while, it seems possible that this could be as simple as it feels - that he is just a boy, dazzled by a girl, and that they are sharing a special moment.

He likes her, and it is making him shy. But he pushes through, he takes the plunge.

“Yo, can I like, get your phone number or somethin’?”

She seems startled. She stares in disbelief, hands him her phone and waits for the punchline, but all he offers her is a soft smile.

“I hope to see you soon, Lexi,” he says, as he shifts away. “Have a good night.”

And up he gets, off the couch, away from the loveliest conversation he’s ever been part of, to weave his way through the crowd and smear his knuckles with blood.

He looks at Lexi on his way out. The illusion unspools. And Fez goes on. 

-

The sweater sits coiled in the place it was discarded. 

It is forest fuzz, it is emerald green, the cable knit stitching thick. It finds its way into Lexi’s arms, amidst the calamity of the party. She bundles it close to her chest, twines her arms in the threading, and tries to resonate the person who wore it with the person who shattered a glass bottle over the crown of a monster’s head.

People begin to scatter from the party, and Lexi follows suit. She has no intention of lingering, regardless of what her friends have planned. She doesn’t even check in on them; she folds Fezco’s sweater over her arm and goes home.

She stashes the sweater beneath her bed, like it’s a secret. But it isn’t, not quite. It’s less a secret, and more a mystery. Something Lexi doesn’t understand. Something that unspools worry in her heart, despite it being clear that Fez can handle himself, despite hardly knowing him.

She cannot shake the sensation that she is on the precipice of something.

When she texts him, it feels like toeing off the edge.

I hope you’re okay, she says in her message. 

This is Lexi Howard, in case that wasn’t clear, she adds, for good measure, when she remembers that he had given her his phone number, and not the other way around.

A tired frown appears, when she realises that this is not necessary. She spent most of the night with him - she knows that he won’t be confusing her with another Lexi.

She sighs, and hooks her phone onto its charger. She delves into her pillows, and tries to sleep, tries to ignore the frantic flutter of her heart, pounding against her chest.

-

Reverence seizes hold of him in the first glimpse he catches of her. 

It seems absurd, and it seems appropriate. Absurd, because this is only his second time speaking to her, and appropriate, because she shines with happiness when she greets him, and her lipstick is pristine, it glosses her grin with sweet scarlet.

This feels like an opportunity, and Fez is determined not to waste it. Here she is, the funniest, smartest, prettiest, sweetest girl he has ever met, and he is going to do what he can to make his way back into her good graces, because there’s nothing in the world he can think that is quite so appealing as the prospect of continuing their New Years’ party. 

But he has never known a day without complication, and into his store strides its latest puppet. This time around, the mask is worn by a greying, well groomed man, who looks out of place in the store, out of place with his fingers flexed in his pocket, so that everyone knows he’s carrying a gun.

He turns out to be bluffing, which is a coward’s game. He withdraws his hand from the cotton of his jacket and places a twenty dollar bill on the counter.

Soon after, the man leaves. Fez waits to be certain, lingering outside until the car has disappeared and feels distant enough for stability. When he returns, Lexi is waiting for him. Her hands twist and fumble at the waist of her plaid pants, and if she were nervous for any other reason, he thinks he would find it very endearing.

Instead, it feels like defeat.

“Shit, Lexi,” he says, sighing. “I’m sorry you had to see that. You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says. “What about you? Are you alright?”

That takes him off guard, because he isn’t sure if he can recall being asked that before. It reminds him of how strange it had been, receiving her message on the night of the party, her well wishes. 

“Uh, yeah, for sure,” Fez answers. “You wanna tell me how you know that guy?”

The terror that had woven over Lexi’s face had been nuanced. Specific. The entire time that the man had been in the store, Fez had kept track of Lexi in the mirror hanging in the corner, tracking her stiff shoulders, her unease. It had taken effort, not to launch off the counter, when the man had leant so close to her, nose by her hair, plucking chips from the shelf as an excuse to breathe down her neck.

Trying to intimidate her. A seventeen year old girl, the picture of innocence.

It makes Fez sick.

“I’m so sorry,” Lexi blurts, which is the last thing he expects.

“Sorry? What the hell you sorry for?”

“That was Cal Jacobs. As in, Nate Jacobs’s dad,” she explains in a rush. “And I think it’s my sister’s fault that he was here. He came to our house to try and get a name, you know, for what happened to Nate - and I didn’t say a word, but Cassie is so easy to freak out, and she caved when he mentioned going to the police. It was dumb as fuck of her, he was never going to go to the police, that guy’s all talk.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Fez grumbles. “What kinda grown ass man is he, goin’ around harassing you and your sister? You ain’t had shit to do with it. Man, Lexi, I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lexi says. “I’m sorry, that my sister’s a narc, and that I just fucking stood there while Cal was interrogating you like that. I should’ve stepped in.”

“Stepped in?” Fez repeats, alarmed. “He was makin’ out like he had a fuckin’ gun. Don’t you ever go anywhere near someone you think might have a gun, alright?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I need to stand up more, you know?”

“Not with some dude acting like he was tryna shoot up the place!”

“Okay, maybe, but… I should’ve done more, to stop Cassie,” Lexi mumbles. With some effort, she meets his gaze, and there’s no mistaking the guilt interwoven in the chocolate hue. Fez feels baffled, very keen to alleviate the misplaced blame.

“There’s no point apologisin’ for shit you didn’t do,” Fez tells her, lacing his voice with conviction. “Cassie did what Cassie did, and I ain’t mad at her about it, much less you.”

“You’re not mad?” Lexi asks. He doesn’t like the surprise in her face, what it says about what she thinks of him. He isn’t the angry kind, not by nature. He wishes she knew that.

“Nah. I did that shit out in the open. I know people are gonna find out, I just don’t give a fuck. Playboy’s daddy definitely don’t scare me. All talk, like you said.”

That’s at least partially a lie. Fez doesn’t know the first thing about Cal, but any entitled man with a violent streak is worth keeping an eye on. It’s not a concern he has any intention of burdening Lexi with - particularly not when her hands are still shaking.

“That’s a relief,” she says, with a breathless little laugh.

“Come on,” Fez says, tilting his head to the doorway. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Oh, I have my bike - ”

“We’ll put it in the back. It’s gettin’ late, too late to be on your bike.”

Fez makes himself stern, and doesn’t give Lexi space to protest. He tells Ash to watch over the store, and strides out, guiding her towards his car. They pause only for her bike, which she wheels over with reluctance, something sheepish in her face.

“I do know how to drive,” she tells him.

“I ain’t hatin’ on the bike,” Fez replies. “You’ve got some sick wheels here, Howard.”

The smile she gives him retains that self conscious edge he cannot fathom. Not from her. She shouldn’t have a care in the world, and yet she carries the weight of everything on her shoulders. He wants to undo that, he wants to see her free of it.

It takes a while for her to work up the courage to speak to him.

In the car, she steals glances at him, and he sees her open her mouth more than once, as though to speak. Fez desperately hopes it’s not him. He hopes she isn’t afraid of him, that she doesn't see what he did to Nate every time she looks at him.

“You know…” she manages, after a few quiet minutes. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

“Why do I got the idea that ain’t unusual for you?” Fez asks.

“I guess it’s obvious that I’m a nervous wreck,” Lexi says, laughing.

“It’s obvious that you smart as fuck,” he corrects her. “Smart people think a lot, yeah?”

She must not be used to getting compliments. Maybe the people in her life are so used to her intelligence and kindness that they have come to take it for granted - that is the only scenario Fez can imagine where Lexi is unaware of how valuable she is.

“I guess…” she says, her scepticism flowing. 

“What you been thinking about?”

“About New Year’s,” she admits, with a shy smile. “I had a really great time, you know. Like, more fun that I can remember having in a long time.”

He should be pleased by her proclamation, but the earnestness on her face traces something hefty in his chest. How badly he wants to hold onto this, the peachy haze of speaking with this sweetheart, of feeling understood, of feeling peaceful and soft.

It is like nothing else he has ever known. He grasps the frayed pink edges with fumbling fingers, clenches with strength he’s only ever devoted to violence, and the taste is different when it’s wielded on such a gentle cause - it tastes better. It feels right.

“I really am sorry about how that shit went down,” Fez tells her, quietly.

The smile she wears dilutes, becomes somewhat solemn, but the warmth remains. 

In a similar hush, she says, “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Is that really enough for you?” Fez asks, staring at her, trying to understand.

“No,” she admits, and smiles widely, so he chuckles, too. “It’s just a feeling. It’s weird… I don’t think I’d usually trust a feeling and nothing more, but…” 

Her hands rise from her lap, and she motions between them. He feels the tug in his heart, like she’s yanking the thread that links them, the golden tie that has always existed but only made itself known on the night they met.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

The world holds its breath. For a moment, they can only stare. So much sprawls in the honey brown of her gaze, something that reminds him of hunger. The moment Fez identifies it, Lexi grows shy, and ducks her head, so he’s staring instead at the waves of her dark hair. He likes it down, he decides, even better than he likes the braided crown.

“Um, I better get going,” Lexi says, reaching for the car door.

“Can I text you?” Fez blurts, when her closest loafer hits the pavement.

Half in, half out, Lexi twists around, and nods frantically. “Yes. Please do.”

As if Fez needed any more evidence of how adorable Lexi is, she turns when she reaches her front door, and waves at him. He watches her slip through the door, and feels as relief swells inside him. Sealed away like that, he knows she’s safe.

Safe from the likes of Cal Jacobs. And safe from the likes of him.

-

Time takes on a frenzied quality. The inspiration to write strikes hot, and Lexi lets it pull her along, obeys her muse when it demands she stays up past the light of dawn, typing away at her laptop while hunched on her bed and shrouded in darkness.

It seems to happen very quickly. In whatever spare moment she can find, she writes, and writes, and writes, and soon, her play is finished. It feels momentous, but it also feels dizzying - it is very early in the morning when she shakily types out the ending, and there is an uncomfortable pulse in her head. But she can’t recall another moment where she felt so accomplished - not even her highest academic achievements can compare.

If anything, she is reminded of the way she felt on the first day she visited Fez. That had felt like a big deal, like something deliberate, an orchestration of indulgence. It was something she had wanted, something that burned within her, and she had followed the impulse while damning all of the reasons not to, shaking them all away.

She does the same thing with the play. Finds resolve, finds the vice principal, and finds very little resistance when she requests to put her show on.

What’s got you so busy? Fez texts her, when his fourth message of the afternoon goes without a response. Something in Lexi’s stomach drops - she never means to ignore him, he’s the only person she never hesitates to answer, but she hasn’t been checking her phone during the auditioning process, 

She wants to be honest with him, but she realises that she feels shy about the play. They have been texting for days, now, for weeks, and they have covered a very broad range of topics - from the complications involved in having relationships with addicts to the merits of multiple cheeses being used in a grilled cheese sandwich - so she knows that he enjoys talking to her, and about matters of varying importance. But this seems particularly ridiculous. Adolescent in the extreme. Not to mention the mortifying ordeal of having your art on display.

The stakes of all these worries feel different with Fezco. Lexi knows why, and doesn’t feel quite as horrible about it, now that she knows Faye isn’t a threat, but what’s replaced her dim guilt is an abundance of embarrassment. Nobody would ever expect them to get together, and the disparity is wearing on her. In all likelihood, Fez sees her in the same way he sees Rue, albeit in a less intense way; she’s a friend, and nothing more. She doesn’t want to expose herself to him, she wants him to stay in the mindset he has, that she’s cool, that she’s interesting, that she’s someone worth talking to.

She is doubtful that such a person would be so excited about a high school play.

Sorry! I didn’t have my phone on me, I wasn’t ignoring you deliberately, she texts back to him.

All good, he messages. But for real, what you up to?

Just a big project, Lexi answers, evasively.

Fez indulges her secrecy.

Looking forward to hearing about it, he writes, and leaves it at that.

-

Dry blood spatters the floor, on the first occasion that Lexi visits.

Any attempts Fez has made to remove the stains have been in vain. Blood is stubborn, he knows from cleaning up after Mouse, and the reminders had deterred him.

But he wishes he had persevered. He hopes Lexi won’t notice, but it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest when she does. The surprise on her face is blatant in the first second, but schooled in for the next.

“More reasons?” she asks, weakly. 

There is something tense in her smile, and Fez abhors it. For a moment, a desperate moment, all he can think to do is steer her out of the house. The crochet lace of her blouse will crease under his hands, and it will be the most he ever gets to touch her, the closest his darkness will ever encroach on her brightness.

But he is a selfish, foolish man. And he doesn’t want to lose his new little friend.

So he offers, “I can tell you, if that feeling ain’t cutting it no more.”

He will sugarcoat it, to be sure. Not because he doesn’t trust her, but because he doesn’t want her implicated in any of the less than legal activities shadowing his life. And maybe there’s a level of self preservation, too, because while the senseless instinct remains enough for him, he is well aware of the fact that it shouldn’t.

The struggle between his mind and his heart is certain to be the death of him, he thinks.

“No, it’s still well intact,” Lexi admits, laughing softly, but her cool facade is ruined by the way she closes herself up, folding her arms over her front. “But… I am curious.”

It is a tentative confession. An understatement, in all likelihood.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she adds. He can tell that she means what she says, but he can also hear the waver in the sentiment. Fez understands; she is a moral person, a logical person, and accepting things she cannot know for sure, compromising her principles, wears on her. He gets that, and he wants to reassure her.

“Cal Jacobs has been lurkin’ around our place,” Fez admits. “Ash got tired of his shit, brought him in to have it out. Shit got outta hand, ’cause Ash is just… Not thinkin’ things through, lately. But we’re alright, though, it’s only that bitch ass Jacobs’s blood on the floor.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll ever protest Jacobs blood being spilled,” Lexi mutters. “Does that mean that it’s all dealt with? Like, he’s not going to do anything about Nate?”

“Nah. We don’t gotta worry ’bout it no more.”

“That’s good,” she says. “That’s a relief.”

The smile that lights her up feels out of place. It looks wholesome, because her face is wholesome, because her feelings are wholesome. It seems unlikely that she could retain her purity in the kitchen of a drug dealer, but she does.

Fez wants to honour this about her. He wants to give her something to hold onto, to prove that her faith is not wasted on him, that when she assumes he has valid reasons, she is more than correct. He cares about what she thinks of him, he realises, and he doesn’t want it to be baseless anymore.

Lingering hesitancies about trust seem to fade away, as he considers her face, his eyes narrowing with thoughtfulness. She would never break his trust, and he knows it.

“Yo, do you remember, like at the end of the year, when Rue was havin’ one of those manic episodes, talkin’ up and down about like some type’a conspiracy theorist?”

Lexi nods. “Yeah, I was, like, her main confidante in all that. She kept calling me up at all hours of the night to talk it through.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t talk all that much to me about it, but I knew something was up with her, and I knew it was ’cause of Nate Jacobs. So I told him to stop messing with Rue, said I’d kill him if he didn’t, and that fucking bitch ass rat went to the cops.”

Outrage overcomes Lexi in an instant. The way that it takes shape on his face is strangely alluring - she wears the indignant feelings in crinkles, on a pouty mouth.

“What, so as revenge for you calling him out on his shit, for you speaking to him, he tried to destroy your entire livelihood?!” she demands.

“Shit, I guess so,” Fez says. “We lost a lot, ’cause of it. Had to get rid of all our product so the cops wouldn’t bust us, and then that put us in a bad place with our supplier… Shit was a fuckin’ mess. Scary as fuck, to be honest. I couldn’t just let that fly. A motherfucker pulls somethin’ like that, you don’t got much of a choice. You feel me?”

Somewhere towards the end, he begins to stutter. It feels like there is a lot riding on this moment, on her reaction. Fez has made himself quite vulnerable to her, and it isn’t that he doesn’t want to do this, it’s simply that he doesn’t have the freedom to do this.

There’s also the element where he is really concerned with what she might think of him, having gained this new information about him. Bitter revenge, brutal retaliation - it’s a chess game that she should never have the rules for, and he thinks he’s just handed over the instruction manual.

But the worries are in vain. Lexi’s face is unchanging, ever gracious.

“I feel you,” Lexi says softly. “But it’s more than that, now.”

More than a feeling, Fez thinks. He realises that she’s right, in more ways than one.

-

Lexi would not go so far as to call it a language barrier, but she does find that she spends a lot of time on Urban Dictionary, since she started talking to Fezco.

The tab is always open on her phone. She’s currently looking up the definition of shawty, vaguely worried about the minutiae of the familiar phrase, the possibility of a misogynistic connotation, though she knows that if it does have one, Fez wouldn’t be aware of it. Luckily, the data to the contrary is overwhelming; according to her research, Fez is either calling her an attractive young woman, or his girlfriend. 

Obviously, unfortunately, it is the former. But it still makes her smile so widely the sides of her face ache, it still makes excitement blossom beneath her breastbone.

“Will you get off the fucking phone?” Maddy demands, effectively drawing Lexi out of her reverie when she slaps her phone out of her hand. “Come and dance! Your mom is rocking it on the dance floor, I know you don’t wanna miss it!”

“Oh, god,” Lexi says, because there’s every chance that she does want to miss such a display.

Maybe it’s because Maddy and BB are so enthusiastic about Suze’s antics, or maybe it’s the knowledge that Fez thinks she’s pretty, but for whatever reason, Lexi bursts into laughter when she sees her mother attempting to twerk in the living room. Carried by something buoyant, she joins in on the fun, dancing as best she can, enjoying the silken ruffle of her patchwork blue dress as it spins around her.

The simple fun does not last. Every time she sees Cassie, Lexi’s tenseness grows, because it couldn’t be clearer that her sister is unravelling, that she has become papery thin at the edges, vulnerable to crumpling. Cassie saunters around in a tiny, bright pink bathing suit, one that Lexi doesn’t recognise, meaning it must be new, long before anyone else has changed. She twirls around in the balloons, dancing alone, completely out of it.

So, if it’s not Mom who’s embarrassing me at a party, it’s Cassie, she texts Fez.

What the fuck’s that girl doing now? Fez answers. It’s as though she’s by his side, as though he’s speaking in her ear. She can hear his amusement, and she relishes in it. He has a strange ability to reduce all of her petty sources of stress to something laughable. He has an even stranger ability to understand when she doesn’t want to laugh it off, when she needs to talk about it, and to listen steadily, to dole out wisdom under the guise of talking shit. He always undermines himself, even when he’s upending her troubles with more effectiveness than she has ever known before. 

Lexi explains about the drunkenness, the dancing, the bathing suit. Then she frowns, when she looks out the window and realises that the group has congregated in the hot tub.

Why do I feel like all of these people getting into a hot tub won’t end well? she asks Fez.

Fuckin common sense? he suggests. Does that mean you ain’t getting in the hot tub?

If you think I would ever get into such close quarters with Nate Jacobs, you’re out of your fucking mind, she writes back.

Fuckin common sense, Fez texts again, like a punchline, and Lexi grins. See, this why you the only one of them kids who’s getting into college. 

So sue her, but Lexi really likes compliments like these. Compliments that separate her from the crowd, signal her out as special. She has never felt special, and she has never begrudged not feeling special, because she’s always fallen on the polar opposite end of narcissism, and she doesn’t really enjoy attention.

At least, not on a wide scope. She finds that she enjoys Fez’s attention very, very much. It doesn’t matter to her if the rest of the world sees her for what she is - a boring girl, a bookworm, an ordinary high school student. 

But she wants him to see something more.

Later, when she’s helping her mother to comb the vomit out of Cassie’s hair, Lexi glances longingly at her phone. Once Cassie is cleaned up and tucked into bed, she will be free to call Fez, and she knows that he will be waiting for her, ready with a listening ear.

I’ll talk to you when you can get away, he has texted her.

While she’s away, she pictures him at home, on his couch. She can picture the pensiveness of his face, his hands folded on his chin. She imagines that he is keeping his phone close by. She predicts that he’ll answer on the first ring.

When her guess comes to pass, Lexi is consumed by butterflies.

-

It isn’t deliberate, this congregation in the bathroom. Lexi emerges from her stall and is surprised by what she finds - Rue, perched atop the counter, between the sinks, and Jules, leaning on the wall, her face tense. They both seem tense.

Lexi wonders about leaving them be - it’s possible that they’re fighting - but it seems weird to her that she would completely ignore them. Especially if she’s going to be standing right next to them, while she washes her hands.

“Hey, guys,” she greets, tentatively.

Their demeanours both change in an instant. Jules animates, bouncing up on her shoes with an earnest smile, and Rue slackens, crumbling back into the mirror.

“Hi, Lexi,” Jules says, with a friendly smile. “I feel like I haven’t seen you around, lately, you weren’t at the party on Friday night. What’ve you been up to, girlie?”

“Oh, I’ve just been really busy with the play and everything,” Lexi says.

“Right. Of course. The play,” Jules says. There’s a tinge to her tone, to her grin, something almost… mocking. It makes Lexi feel strangely embarrassed.

“It’s coming along really well,” she says, with a false smile. “But, um, I heard that the party was wild. Didn’t Connor Dawson, like, accidentally set fire to a pair of curtains?”

“He sure fucking did!” Jules exclaims, giggling.

“Shit, for real?” Rue asks, quirking an eyebrow.

This makes Jules frown. “Rue, you were standing right next to him… you singed a hair…”

She finds the curl in question, and indeed, the dark spiral seems blackened at the bottom. As to how Rue hasn’t noticed, Lexi has a guess, and it increases her unease. The bigger mystery is that Jules seems so oblivious to how Rue is spiralling.

“It sucks that I missed it,” Lexi says.

“What, so you could’ve prevented the fire?” Rue snorts. “Sat on a couch all night on your phone, waiting for Cassie to pay attention to you?”

It is instantaneous, the way that melancholy takes hold of her. Lexi knows that this is Rue’s sense of humour, that she’s blunt and acerbic and a little bit mean, sometimes, and she appreciates this about her, she does. And yet, when it is turned on her - as it so often is, much more frequently that she is offered anything nice - Lexi wilts.

“Rue!” Jules says, shocked.

“What? That’s all she ever does…” Rue mumbles. There is something bleary in her eyes, and Lexi realises that she’s completely out of it. She must be high. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t mean what she is saying - it only means her guard is down.

Her mother is always most candid when she’s drunk. Cassie, too. The fights revolve in Lexi’s memory, accusations of her being pathetic, boring, basic, and this latest contribution feels like enough to make her cry.

“It’s okay,” she says, but it isn’t, not at all.

For the rest of the day, Lexi moves in a blur. She can’t concentrate properly, and she doesn’t know why, because this is really among the softer of Rue’s tirades, but it has nudged something vulnerable and defeated into her chest.

When the final bell rings through the hall, it comes as a relief. Lexi makes haste with packing her bag, and when she reaches her bike, she finds that it does not take her home.

Instead, she parks it by Fez’s store, nudges it onto the corner, where she always does.

It almost feels like a risk, coming here. Clearly, she is boring enough when she is completely normal. It seems ill advised, to go to the one person who actually seems to enjoy her company, and to ruin the illusion by showing him her sadness.

She steps inside the store, and the usual happiness comes over his face.

Lexi has never been quite so sceptical of it.

“To what do I owe the honour?” Fez asks, smiling softly at her.

“It’s not an honour,” Lexi blurts, because she thinks she needs to adjust his expectations.

“’Course it is. I got Lexi Howard in my store, I oughta roll out a red carpet or some shit.”

The laughter that escapes her is jagged. It leaves her throat and leaves sores on the way out. This isn’t something she can live up to, she knows, and it scares her.

Fez notices that something is wrong, and his entire demeanour changes.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on? Oh, no, Lex, are you fuckin’ crying?” he asks, slipping off the counter so that he can get a better look at her distraught face, and it comes to mirror him in turn. “Who the fuck did this? I’ll kill them, Lexi, for real, just gimme a name.”

More sounds slip from her, caught between laughing and crying, and she shakes her head frantically. “I just, I don’t understand why you’re so nice to me,” she mumbles.

She expects him to take a moment to register her declaration, but he has an answer ready, and he doesn’t hesitate to provide it. Fez tilts his head towards her, and says frankly, “It might have somethin’ to do with the fact that you’re, like, the coolest person I’ve ever met.” 

“You’ve got to stop saying stuff like that, Fez,” Lexi mumbles, wiping her hands over her cheeks. “Even my friends know how basic I am. I have no idea why you want to hang out with me when I literally just bore everyone I’m around.”

This is when confusion comes. Something hard, something that almost reminds her of the night they met, the look he gave her as he left the New Year’s party.

It ripples through her bones.

“You put that thought the fuck outta your head, ’cause you ain’t never bored me,” Fez says, with quiet sternness. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but if it’s some shit your friends said, I get the feelin’ it’s a them problem, not a you problem. You feel?”

Lexi doesn’t, not really. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I hear the way your friends talk to you, and it ain’t right. You know it ain’t right, don’t you? Like, you there for them, you do what you can, and it ain’t like none of them girls is runnin’ to help you when you upset like this. Do they ever really thank you?”

She blinks, realises that she can’t recall such an occasion. “Um…”

“I know they don’t, and it’s not okay,” Fez says. “You deserve a whole lot fuckin’ better, for real. You deserve the world.”

It can’t feel correct, it can’t, but she wants it to, and Fez believes that it is. She can see it, plain as day in his face, and Lexi wonders about a strange possibility, that maybe he shares her fervour wholeheartedly, that every pulse of it bruises him, too.

“You really don’t think I’m this, like, pathetic little tag along?” she murmurs. “Cassie is always saying things like that to me. I try not to listen, but it’s like… It’s a lot, you know?”

“Yeah, of course. That shit’s gonna stick with you, especially with someone who matters as much as your family,” Fez says. “She probably don’t mean what she says. She probably lashin’ out, getting out feelings where she can, she might be jealous of you.”

“Cassie? Jealous of me?” Lexi repeats, flabbergasted.

“Don’t act so surprised!” Fez says, laughing. “I mean, no disrespect to your sister, but she’s a fuckin’ mess. If I was that fucked up all the time I’d probably be pissed to have a perfect sister. You stable, you sensible, you gettin’ on with your life. You ain’t falling to pieces every five minutes.”

“I mean, I just came to your store and started crying all over you…” she murmurs.

“But that’s different. That’s you and me,” he says, like it’s nothing.

“You’re right,” Lexi murmurs.

Fez smiles. “It’s wild you callin’ yourself basic, you know. The whole reason I noticed you at New Year’s is ’cause you’re so different.”

“Different how?” Lexi asks, helpless to her curiosity.

“I dunno. You dress different, you do your makeup different. You talk different. I like that,” he adds, gesturing to her dress, the crisp puffed sleeves. “You’re just real, you know? You just yourself. You dress how you want to dress, not for a reaction, like some of those other girls might. You don’t dumb yourself down, you don’t care if people know you the smartest person in the room. I think that’s the coolest shit ever.”

This time around, her startled laughter is breathlessly happy.

“Thank you, Fez,” she murmurs. “Nobody’s ever…”

“I know,” he says. “I don’t know how the fuck no one beat me to it, but I gotta say, I’m glad they didn’t.”

“Me too.”

-

The memory of his altercation with Rue lingers for days afterwards.

There’s no way to find resolution. Lexi is keeping him updated, so he knows that Rue is detoxing, that she has been spending her time writhing around in agony in every room of her house. Somehow, the thought of her in such anguish is a lot more painful than the memories of what she had said to him, how she had violated his trust. 

“I just want her sober. I don’t give a fuck about nothin’ else, not what she said, not what she did, not anything. I just don’t wanna see her like that no more,” Fez had told Lexi, on the phone, after the whirlwind of their sick friend had passed through both of their homes, and they were left to pull themselves together in the wretched aftermath.

“I feel the same way,” Lexi had said, on the verge of tears, and it still feels so fresh, so vindicating, to know just how true this statement is.

They share feelings. They are so often aligned in what they believe, and it is sincere. It is sincerity like Fez has never been granted.

It doesn’t come as much of a surprise, when Lexi shows up at his door the next day. If she feels the same way he does, it’s no wonder she found herself here. Fez feels like he’s been fighting the same urge to seek her out since he woke up this morning.

“Hey,” she says, with a sad smile. She is underdressed, compared to her usual attire, in jeans and a mauve sweatshirt, and she isn’t wearing makeup. Her hair is very curly when it is not styled, the spirals poking from the weavings of her two plaits.

Fez has never seen anyone so beautiful.

“Hi, Lexi,” he says softly. “You all good?”

The face she makes is humorous. She scrunches up her face, shrugs her shoulders, pulling them in tightly to her neck. Laughing so she doesn’t start crying, he guesses.

“I feel that,” Fez says, chuckling as well. “Man, do I fuckin’ feel that.”

Sobering, Lexi outstretches a hand, but quickly loses her nerve, letting it swivel awkwardly in the air before it finds refuge behind her back.

“I wanted to see you,” she admits. “I wanted to check that you were okay.”

“That’s mad sweet of you. I really appreciate that, Lexi,” he says, because he’s gotten less bewildered by her kindness with time, and better at finding responses, even if they feel inadequate, in the expression of what he feels.

This is a girl who cares so much about him that she has biked all across town to reach him, just so she could look him in the face while she inquired after his wellbeing.

Calling her sweet, thanking her, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Sometimes, Fez wonders what would be enough, and then can’t imagine how this will all end. 

-

Weaving the curlers into her hair feels a lot like showing her hand.

Lexi is doing this for Fez, and she isn’t even trying to deny this, anymore. She wants to look nice for him. It feels important to her, in a strangely dire way, that he might look at her and like what he sees.

It would be embarrassing, how ostentatiously she’s handling her crush, except that nobody is paying that much attention to her. There are bigger problems demanding attention, and Lexi can’t blame her mother for being distracted.

Cassie is unhinged. She stomps around the house, lost in her hysteria, and after a while, Lexi no longer feels doubtful of her mother’s taking precautions in stashing away the kitchen knives.

It is a surreal experience, crouching in the garden and winding around the leaves, trying to keep the foliage out of her hair, trying to prevent her sister’s potential suicide in such a lacklustre, last minute way - and it makes Lexi wonder, about the play, about whether or not she’s doing the right thing, whether or not she can justify this selfishness.

“It’s like the first time in my life I’m doing something for myself,” Lexi tells Fez. It still feels significant to her; it still feels like a reason to go through with it.

The conversation is somewhat familiar. They have done this more than once - she has gone to him with a problem, and he has unravelled it with her, smoothed out the kinks until the tremors in her hands are unlaced. He doesn’t seem to mind repeating himself; he tells her that people need to get their feelings hurt, sometimes, and Lexi sees such truth in that, such merit. Pain inspires growth, and goodness knows that the people in her life could make good use of growing.

It seems that growth has stretched in all the wrong directions. They’ve grown apart and not up, and when Lexi explains this to Fez, he brings up Stand By Me.

She is enthused by what he has recognised in the description of the play’s premise, so enthused that she forgets to be embarrassed about comparing her own writing to a work of such genius. It doesn’t feel exactly necessary, anymore, to make the disclaimers, to make the apologies. Fez understands her. There isn’t always a need to explain.

Rain trickles down the windows, while the movie plays out. Lexi has always loved the sound of rain on the roof, the way that it shrouds her in warmth. She snuggles into the knitted blanket Fez had offered her on his way back from setting up the movie, and steals glances at him, wondering about what it is about this movie that he likes, what it is that stands out to him. She wants to know everything, she wants him like an ache.

When it comes to an end, she’s crying, and she always cries when she watches this movie, but it hasn’t hit her like this for a long time. She knows it’s because of Fez. He’s by her side, a steady presence, and he looks at her with such warmth, such affection.

She realises that the sense of security is an unfamiliar feeling. This is a person who would stand by her, if it came to it, and this is something to be grateful for.

They sing along to the song, and Lexi knows she will remember this moment for the rest of her life. It is a rainy day, and there is a boy looking at her, seeing her, for the very first time. There’s significance in that, but it eclipses a crush, she thinks, and wonders if that makes her silly, if every girl feels that way when they are noticed for the first time.

But this scene doesn’t resemble any that she can imagine transpiring between Cassie and a boyfriend, nor even Rue and Jules. This moment is just for them. A moment to linger in the tragedy of loss, how youth is so ephemeral, and this song is so incredible.

Fez takes her hand. The brush of skin is something she has been anticipating for weeks, and it doesn’t disappoint her hopes - he is soft and warm, and she sprawls her free hand over her face, overwhelmed, overjoyed, never wanting this moment to end.

She’s giddy. She can’t stop writhing in the blanket, she can’t stop smiling. She is crying and laughing and singing, and she never would’ve imagined singing to a boy she liked like this, she never imagined being so comfortable, so happy.

His thumb traces circles into her hand, and her tears start afresh.

He drives her home in the rain, and she promises to send him her script, and he promises that he will read it through as quickly as he can. That reverent look has not left his eyes, and in the rainswept car, it is made more glassy, more blue.

Lexi wishes that she was brave enough to kiss him. The rain gives them such a good setting. It would make for a nice first kiss, romantic.

But she is too shy, yet. So she brushes her mouth against his cheek, lingers so her eyelashes fan his cheek, and pulls away with a breathless smile.

Fez looks every bit as winded as she feels. Every bit as elated.

A final giggle tears from her throat, something helpless, something jagged with tears and with turbulent emotion. He laughs, too, and the smile sticks with him, even as she leaves.

She rushes through the rain and can imagine his laughter. She turns when she reaches the door, and sees nothing but softness on his face. He lifts his hand, waving at her, and she can’t see his face clearly, through the sheen of rain on his front window, but she knows what he looks like. She knows what she looks like, holding the door, staring at him wistfully.

She waves, too, and slips back inside the door.

-

I meant what I said about you putting me in the play, he texts her, that night.

How would that even work? she responds, after a few minutes. It’s not like I could find an actor with a hope of doing you justice. There’s no one like you.

The screen glows blue in his face, displaying the message as stark truth. Fez regards the words as though they aren’t real. He blinks, waits for the words to tremble, to distort.

But they don’t. He knows they won’t, and in the confidence of what stirs between them, this treasured friendship he knows skirts something deeper, he succumbs to a foolish smile.

[tteokdoroki]

an ode to winter | dabi.

♡ pairing: dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 14.1K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: manga war arc!au, single-parent!au, unplanned pregnancy!au,  angst, fluff, smut.

♡ summary: touya todoroki had broken a lot of things, your heart, promises, your window a few times, but you swore he'd never leave your child feeling that way. but when he wants back into your life, will he take no for an answer? And do you even want to say it?

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, ( literally 5k of it ), MANGA SPOILERS IN THE EXTENDED ENDING,  mentions of pregnancy, mentions of semi-toxic!relationships, struggling with parenting, blackmail ??,   unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, losers ), handjobs, oral sex ( female receiving ), fingering ( female receiving ),  choking, branding, squirting, spit!kink, needy touya lol <3

♡ author’s note(s): OK so this started out as a fic for my bestie @ozzy-bozzy​ but then turned into this long ass vent fic bc i do be struggling!! i’ve barely written for touya so apologies if his character is off. special thanks to @bakugous-trauma for beta reading n @doinmybesthere for the summary and beta reading and thanks for 4.7K MWAH <3

♡ masterlist | requests

the snow had fallen heavy that day, its flakes dancing along the window panes while you’d brought her into the world. you hated the cold, the way it nipped at your nose and stung at your cheeks, how it could freeze over a heart so badly that it would take years to thaw it out. you’d complained about the ice sheets that frosted your windows to the doctors, the ones on the roads too, but they’d simply wrote it off as your anxieties related to bringing kori home for the first time in such weather.

funnily enough, your daughter much resembled the cold in many ways. you’d named her ‘kori’; meaning ice, since her hair was white as the crisp blanket of winter outside and her eyes a piercing shade of aqua marine, that for a while, had no meaning written behind them except for a cool curiosity that you knew didn’t come from your side of the family. she wasn’t warm either, the first time you held her, her flesh against yours was almost a painful spark of frostbite— you expected that it was related to the lineage she came from too.

you thought that you’d resent kori when she was born; for the struggles that her new life had brought to you. you’d given birth alone and afraid, having lost friends and contact with your family due to keeping your pregnancy a secret. if they had known who caused you to end up in this situation in the first place, you were sure you’d have lost them all anyways. you hadn’t a chance to attend maternity classes due to the hours you worked in order to ensure yourself and your child’s financial security. although, prior to her arrival, dabi had told you that if you chose to give your daughter the todoroki name; you both would be looked after when the right time came.

and like a fool in love, you’d believed him, avoiding the apologetic gazes of the doctors and midwives who’d delivered your baby as you filled out her paperwork and birth certificate. one nurse even asked you if you wanted to contact endeavour for support, and you couldn’t blame her— the rumours of your child potentially being that of natsuo todoroki’s had spread fast through the hospital and it was a given, figuring his bad boy college reputation. natsuo and his ventures into the college life were no stranger to the media, so it didn’t surprise you nor the doctors to believe that this wasn’t the first time a girl had given birth alone to a todoroki child. you suspected that if there were any, enji todoroki would have paid them off.

so you let them believe what ever false truth that might have plagued the hospital walls about yourself and your daughter— not having the heart to tell them that you’d probably receive a much larger sum of money to keep hush about the child that you mothered and the child who’s father belonged to endeavour’s deceased, eldest son.

so you realised, thumb held by the chubby hand of your sweet infant girl; that you couldn’t hate her for the mistakes you’d made and the mess you’d become tangled up in— you could only promise to do your best in raising her despite the odds and difficult circumstances, you could give her the life and childhood that her father never had but most certainly deserved.

“miss yn...”

your midwife; himari enters the room, calling for you— tearing your gaze away from the hypnotising sea-foam eyes belonging to your daughter, the way she looked at you only reminding you of dabi. you’d told him once that his eyes always took you to the mediterranean sea, to which he’d laughed and mentioned you’d never seen it before. when the pair of you realised that this was true, the boy with the black hair and intoxicating stare made an oath to you, that he would take you there someday so you could bask in the warm sun and dip your toes into the clear oceans. you only hoped that this oath still remained true.

“miss yn...” himari tries again, this time stepping further into your hospital room. your thoughts had carried you so far away that you hadn’t realised how close she’d gotten as she lingered by your cot. her hands lay flat against her pale blue uniform, nails you note—neatly trimmed— and a smile that would have made you feel comfortable had you not known she’d volunteered to care for you because she too believed she’d be paid off by endeavour. you almost felt bad that she thought the silly lie was true and that she had a shot at a big time bonus but it was funny to think that no one would believe her when she eventually took to the news to claim that she cared for the next heir of the todoroki empire. “it’s says here, that kori is scheduled for feeding— i was wondering if you wanted to continue breast feeding or try pumping a bottle or two today?”

chewing on the inside of your cheek, you hum with hesitance. feeding kori was something you’d never discussed with dabi, some of the nurses had assured you that it was possible for you to do both— so that you could grow closer to your daughter and form a tight bond whilst also giving the opportunity to others to feed her when need be. there weren’t many others, but you figured that dabi might want to give bottle feeding a whirl when he finally returned from the league business. the business that had made him miss his little girl’s birth.

kori gargles from hunger in your arms, drawing your attention back to her tiny form. a stray strand of hair curls against her forehead from underneath her blankets and swaddling— the end you notice has a slight tint of red to it. the icy shell around your heart thaws. glancing back up to himari; you grin with a decision in mind. “i’d like to try breast feeding again, we can use the pump tomorrow.” you say, voice quiet.

“do you need any help getting her to latch?” your midwife asks, aiding you into a comfortable position to feed kori.

“no,” you smile after getting settled, pushing down your gown to expose your breast to your little girl. “i’ve got her, i can take care of her.”

you say the words more so to yourself than to himari, a hidden reassurance that you’re more than capable of raising your daughter on your own.

for now at least.

that winter, dabi never came home.

the snow melts, the flowers bloom and the seasons change. your daughter grows with the swift transition of the weathers too, her hair is a little longer now but the small curl of red against her forehead remains hidden and the same. her eyes open wider, still that deep shade of ocean blue, she can sit up on her own, throws toys out of her crib  and her favourite movies are bambi and bambi two. they’re the only things that she watches, which you hate, because they remind you of her. an innocent child who loses one parent and is left in the care of the emotionally closed off other.

you hadn’t realised how much you would need dabi, but still he is nowhere to be seen.

raising kori on your own proves a challenge, especially now that she’s a little bigger— it was easy after she was born; she was quiet and only made a fuss when she was hungry or needed to be changed. went down easy too, that was until her wails reared their ugly head as soon as the colder parts of winter hit. no matter what you did, the girl would cry for hours on end until her face would hurt from how scrunched it was and her fingers would turn red from the grip she had on your hands.

since her birth, you and kori had to move three times due to the noise complaints about her consistent crying throughout the day, evening and night. by the time february rolled around, you’d ended up in an apartment not so far from dabi’s old neighbourhood— it was a shitty area with high crime rates and an eerie feel to it that made you clutch your purse tighter when you walked home from the late night shifts— you had never had any intentions to raise kori in a dump like this, you wanted a better life for her than what dabi had, but your shabby two bedroom apartment in the dark side of town would be enough for now.

the rent was cheap since your current boss at the local grocers market was close friends with the building manager, but your boss was also a sleaze who thought offering you an extra 10% off of your weekly shop and an expired coupon for the coffee joint down the street would be enough to get into your pants. he was just another thing on your list that you hated about the world, about the current life you lead but you needed to keep him close to keep your rent low and a roof over your head.

besides, it had been a few days since you last saw him at work— the asshole was probably taking a few days to himself while you and your colleagues practically ran the store.

you can’t leave kori with a sitter; they never worked with her. your daughter was far too temperamental for the average person and would spend one night with her before taking their pay and quitting. the only person able to handle your beloved little girl was the old lady who lived two floors above yours, mrs. yamamoto. she was a sweet woman, widowed by fifteen years and had taken a liking to kori that one time you’d helped with her groceries when she couldn’t make it out in the february winter after your little girl was born.

it seemed kori liked mrs yamamoto as well, she was only ever quiet in the woman’s presence and you put it down to how high she had the heat up in her apartment. one time, it was up so high the power in the building went out for an entire night— which was hell for you since kori wouldn’t stop bawling. however; you appreciated the help, you’re sure that without the help of the elder woman you would have been far under the surface— drowning in regret.

but sometimes, it’s easy for the darker emotions to slip through the cracks— take a choke hold over your sanity. there would be nights where guilt would consume you and tears would flow heavily down your cheeks while your daughter slept. it was hard being alone, no one to confide in about the troubles of parenting or to reassure you that you were doing a good job at taking care of your child.

it didn’t help that winter was coming up again, kori’s first birthday fast approaching. the sudden milestone only made you wish that dabi was around more — it hurt you to know that there was possibility he’d run out on you and his responsibilities as a father but part of you believed that your lover was better. the eldest todoroki son appeared way too excited throughout your pregnancy to leave you with nothing.

despite not being able to make it to appointments due to his criminal nature, dabi had somehow manged to find the money to get you a 4D ultra sound of your baby, telling you a few odd jobs here and there allowed him to scrape the cash together. you never asked what it was that he did, afraid of what you might find in the eyes of the man that you loved so much.

why did you allow yourself to love a man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day if he hadn’t broken into your home? his seafoam eyes a glowing shade as he threatened your life through shards of broken glass and then wails of cop sirens outside. were you just as broken as he? had you not realised it yet? you could blame this whole mess on the fact that he kept coming back, but you always let him back in. dabi was a broken man who only knew blood and grit and grime and you were the girl with a chance to lead a normal life— yet you poured all of your heart and all of your soul into loving him because you were so sure that you could fix him.

and every single time you’d convinced him, convinced yourself that what you had could be normal and domestic— dabi would slip between your sheets, pinning you to your bed with your name heavy on your lips and the emotion of love painted into the turquoise flecks in his eyes. they burned with passion while his heated cock sunk between your plush thighs and welcomed him into your warmth. the moans you’d share while your skin slapped together, creating a bubble of safety where you were the only two people on the world.

dabi made promises against your swollen lips as his fingers swirled hidden messages of desire into your slick, puffy clit. he couldn’t give you the ring, the wedding or the house with the white picket fence and dog barking at the post man in the front yard— but he could give you every part of him from the good to the bad, the beautiful to the ugly and he would seal that promise with a throaty groan of ‘you are mine and i am yours...’ into your ear as you came together.

but it seemed that like all things, dabi’s promises were broken like shattered glass— never meant to be kept or eternalised. the shards cut your delicate fingers, the pain numbed as you were left to pick up the pieces and be strong for the small life you were now responsible for.

you were careful to not let the door fly in and hit the wall opposite as you unlocked it, stumbling into your two bedroom with kori’s chubby legs locked around your hips and bag full of groceries in your other hand. “look princess,” you coo down at your daughter sweetly, watching as she drools all over your staff lanyard from work. “we’re home!” bending down, you dropped the produce off by the door before heading off to your living room area, propping kori in front of her toy mat.

smiling down at her, you brush the pure white hair that curls over her cobalt eyes and kiss her freckled cheeks— heart swooning at the way kori giggles in your arms. she’d been on her best behaviour the entire week, keeping out of trouble with the staff at her daycare and mrs yamamoto in the place upstairs, so it was only right that you treat her.

“you hungry babygirl? want mommy to make your favourite, hm?” kori is barely old enough to talk aside from a few babbles and repeats of mama but that doesn’t stop you from asking.

“mmmamamamaa!!”

you press another kiss to her baby fat cheeks before heading to the kitchen to prepare her favourite dinner— spaghetti. ever since kori started eating her solids, she hadn’t been a picky eater and you noticed that her appetite much resembled dabi’s, who couldn’t afford to be fussy about any of the meals you’d made for him before he disappeared.

making the sauce is easy, a dish you’d prepared from when you were a child and used to cook with your parents— you retrieve the ingredients from the groceries and pull out the stuff you’ll need to cook them. you mince the vegetables easily like you’d been taught as your mind gets away from you.

you wish that dabi was here to enjoy the domesticity of your current life— maybe him being around would lift the dark cloud over your life. sometimes it hurt to know that he would be missing out on moments like this and you could imagine him sitting by the couch while kori played with her toys and you cooked for them both. in this world, he’d laugh at her fascination with colder toys and magnets— make a joke about how much your little girl resembles him and kiss your cheek when you served them both up their favourite meals.

tears pool in your eyes at the thought of your wish never being granted and that’s all it takes for you to slip and cut your finger while chopping up the garlic. “fuck!” you boss, dropping the knife and squeezing your hand around the wounded digit. you know that the clattering of the knife has scared kori, and from the way she looks at you, you can already tell that she’s seen you injure yourself. “god, fuck...that hurt.”

there’s a pause in time, while you rinse your cut under the tap, cold water soothing the sting before kori starts to wail like her life depends on it. in a rush, you grab a tea towel in hopes that it’ll stop the bleeding and head straight for your baby, hoping that you’ll be able to soothe her. by the time you reach kori, her eyes are red with tears and snot dribbles from her nose down to her chin while she babbles loosely all the new words she’s learned— in a whiny tone.  

“baby, don’t cry mommy’s got you,” you murmur to her, reaching out to the little girl with open arms. your heart breaks at the way her bottom lip wobbles in a watery pout. kori crawls into your arms, white mop of soft baby hair buried into the junction between your shoulder and your neck— her tiny body shakes with awful heaves and cries while her tears dampen the old hoodie of her father’s that you wear, effectively ruining the fabric. “come on honey, it’s okay! momma didn’t mean to scare you...”

she snivels in your arms, quiet for only a second while you walk around the apartment bouncing her. walking kori up and down seems to soothe her for the most part, a trick that worked when she was first born and had her horrible crying fits. “good girl, mama’s got you...” you continue to soothe her, brushing a finger under her white lashes to remove her tears. all is well for a second and it seems her tantrum has calmed, until she grabs onto your wounded finger and makes you curse in pain again.

“shit!”

“m-momma-!” kori whimpers, face creasing in pain as her cheeks start to heat up again. you fear that if you don’t do something soon she’ll bust a lung from crying.

you shake your head in an attempt to calm her down, baby sobs striking right through your body and resume bouncing her, hoping that it’ll work. “shhh kori, honey, it’s okay— mommy’s okay and so are you...” in the process of comforting her, you somehow trip over the discarded knife, sending it flying into the cabinets across from the island and making another loud noise that further spooks kori.

at this she screams bloody murder, the sound of her little chest heaving giving you a splitting headache. you were tired, tired of your daughter’s crying , working long hours with no help and raising a child all on your own. you were tired of the pain spreading through your head and your body and your heart. you needed an out or break at the very least.

you should feel guilty for what you’re about to do, heading for the nursery with a heaving baby in your grip. you can’t think of anything better to do than put kori down for a nap and hope that her crying tires her out— you do your best to pry the little girl from clinging onto your clothes and tuck her into her crib as she sniffles, quickly backing out of her room before she can call for you and make you feel even worse than you already do.

you close the door quietly behind you, somewhat sliding down it while your own sobs take over your body— shaking you violently as you hug your knees to your chest. you don’t know how long you sit there, biting your lips and holding onto in your whimpers while tears stream down the apples of your cheeks, but eventually

you find yourself drifting off with dreams of your happy family.

you jump awake a few hours later, surrounded by a thick darkness from the sky outside. the hum of the city streets helps to bring you back down to earth as you rub the sleep from your puffy eyes and blink away the exhaustion. you don’t quite remember when you’d fallen into a slumber but you figure that kori must have eventually, judging by the quietness that surrounds your apartment.

the blanket of the night allows your guilt to burn brightly in your chest— you shouldn’t have left her alone. scrambling to your feet, you stumble over to the kitchen counter and grab your phone to read the time. 11:06pm. it’s just about time that you check on your daughter, but with two steps of heading to the nursery and you’re met with foreign sound that doesn’t quite fit in with the usual creaks and squeaks of your apparent.

happy gurgles belonging to your baby creep out from underneath her bedroom door, low humming or singing to accompany her sweet sound. humming that you don’t recognise. with a pang of fear to your heart, you reach for the knife on your kitchen floor as a weapon of defence— this would go down nicely with the police. a single mother on self defence...yeah, that could work out.

the knife shakes in your hand as you approach kori’s nursery, barely steady even when you push open the door.

“...touya?”

nothing could prepare you for what you’d see after walking into that room but when your eyes fall witness to your love standing in the centre of the room with a little tuft of white hair cradled to his bare chest. the air around you tingles with warmth as if dabi has heated the place up with his quirk and your little girl curls into him as if she’s known him all her life. but she hadn’t, he hadn’t.

all at once, your heart heals just as it breaks— it’s been so long since you’ve seen the villain that you can’t help but notice all the changes in him, the way his eyes droop a little more with exhaustion and his hair dusted with a the slightest bit of white. he was noticeably thinner too, maybe from being away from a warm bed and good food for too long...so a half of you was relieved that he was home, the other— hurt and betrayed.

“hey beautiful,” dabi’s timbre voice fills your entire being, stimulating your senses into a dull tingle. his lips a drawn into soft smirk as he rocks kori back and forth, your  baby’s eyes flutter with the gentle indication of sleep. “how’ya been?”

if you weren’t frozen in shock, you would have given the villain a piece of your mind. how dare he...after all this time apart from you, from his daughter...ask how you were doing? your eyes flutter to the open window behind the oldest todoroki son, as if you need to look away from him to convince yourself he’s real and he won’t disappear when you look back.

proven right by meeting the cool, chartreuse sea of his eyes— your throat runs dry as all you’d ever dreamed of saying in this moment, flees from your mind. “what are you doing here?” you say, trying to sound firm even though your voice falls through.

touya stays quiet, twirling a long finger through the small curls on his—your daughter’s head. “i was in the neighbourhood.” he mumbles, gaze tearing away from you to focus on the content infant he has in his arms.

you should feel angry, you should be screaming and kicking at dabi— forcing him out of your home with your child safe in your own arms but your body doesn’t will you to. hurt seeps through your veins at the casual aura in his tone. of course dabi would treat the situation as if it never existed and that he’d been with you the whole time. the pain of seeing him with her as if he’d been in kori’s life from the very start wraps around your heart in a poisonous grip and squeezes hard until you’re choking back a sob, letting it sit in the base of your throat.

you refuse to break in front of him.

“you need to go. you need to put her down and you need to leave.” you attempt to assert yourself in a harsh bark, almost making dabi jump. he’d never seen you like this before, but then again he hadn’t seen you in a year. he could only imagine what motherhood had done to you, especially facing it on your own. touya hesitates, kori shifting in his soft grip— one he didn’t even know that he had as a villain but you steady yourself and repeat your words. “touya, i said you need to leave.”

“why? so you can fall asleep and leave her crying on her own again?” the villain spits out, harsher than he intended. he watches your face fall and your body curl in on itself and he feels bad. dabi had promised you a lot of things since realising he loved you, and not hurting you like his father hurt his mother was one that he’d just broken. relenting, the dark haired villain eases kori from his pec and tucks her into her crib.

there’s a beat of silence and then. “i’m sorry.”

“you should be.”

“yn,” he sighs, running a hand through the light roots of his hair as he leans over his child’s crib. the young father tilts his head, scanning kori’s face while he identifies every characteristic she has from the family he’d done his best to free himself of.   “i’m sorry, it’s just— just that she was cold and crying, so i took off my shirt and held her and she warmed up and—“ dabi pauses his quiet rambling, finally looking up from the slumbering baby tucked away into powder blue silk and locks eyes with you. “and she probably has my mom’s shitty quirk. and i can’t get over how much she looks like them, how big she’s gotten.”

touya finds his shirt after admitting that, throwing on the thin white material before closing the window he came through. he moves with the swiftness that comes with his job, and it’s almost peaceful to watch. you stay plastered by the door, torn between falling right into the palm of his hand and demanding the answers that you and your daughter deserve.

it makes you feel a little sick when he gazes down at kori with pride, it makes you queasy at how easy she was to handle to him. touya todoroki doesn’t know half of what it was to raise his child...but did that make you a bad mother? was there something he shared with kori that you didn’t? dabi hadn’t known what it was to love someone other than himself until he’d met you, but you’d spent your entire life around family and friends who took care of you and made you feel cherished every day. you had all of that before you had dabi, and you’d given it all up for him.

shouldn’t you be the one to easily put your daughter down for a nap? to soothe her tears? and for him to come so briskly into your lives and take care of it all when he doesn’t even know what you’d been through, hurts most of all.

“you don’t even know her,” you start, tremble to your bottom lip as the sob in your throat builds up and threatens to burst. “you never saw her after she was born, never cut the cord, never knew her weight. you don’t know how tiny she was when she came into the world, you don’t know because you didn’t come!” with each word, stray tears manage to escape from your tired eyes, but you’re too fixated on dabi to bother to wipe them. it hurts to cry, it stings even as they stream down the apples of youth cheeks but you don’t move.

“yn, sweetness, i—“

“i know how much she weighed when she was born, four pounds and thirteen ounces. she was so tiny i was scared that she would break—“ you’re gasping now, almost choking yourself out on the pain that burns brightly in your lungs and claws its way up your throat. “i know her favourite foods, what fabrics irritate her skin, her favourite stuffed toys, how she likes to be swaddled in her blankets at night or that her curls make her face itch but they’re practically untameable.”

you start to heave, losing breath with every word and dabi does nothing but watch, keeping an eye on kori to make sure she stays sleeping as he steps towards you. “i know that i love her more than i’ve loved anything in my entire life, despite how much i suffered alone bringing her into this world. and i know that i named her kori after the ice that frosted the windows of my hospital room while i waited for... you.”

touya remains emotionless while you descend into madness, letting you cry it out. “i’ve been watching...”

you want to scream, beat his chest and blame him for how insane you’ve become. “watching isn’t enough touya, she needed you. i-i needed you.” you whimper, falling limp against the door frame as your hands move threateningly towards your hair as if you’re going to rip it out from the root. “...you couldn’t come and visit? not once i-in the eleven months that she’s been alive? not once while she’s been breaking me down and giving—“

“giving you a hard time? i tried, i took care of you from afar...i’m the one who made your boss disappear. the one who put his hands on you.” dabi sneers towards the end of his once gentle words, standing a breaths width away from you. you hate that you crave the same touch from him as he gave to kori, but you’re still so mad at him.

eventually, it all becomes too much and you succumb to the tears that wrack your exhausted body. you sway with each choked wail that tumbles from between your chapped lips and dabi surges forward to catch you after kicking the knife from earlier away, letting you sink into the warmth of his embrace. he feels like home, smells like safety and not a word is uttered as he brings you to the floor and cradles you like he did with his daughter.

dabi doesn’t need to say sorry when he shows you through how close he holds you to his heart.

when you finally calm down, dabi lifts you bridal style to your bathroom and draws you a bath with the salts and lavender extract from the cupboard above the sink. neither of you speak except for when he softly offers to help you undress— to which you decline— and when he tells you he’s going to fix something to eat.

you knew damn well that the villain could not cook, he hadn’t been when he was little since endeavour took away the entirety of his childhood and you’d only taught him the basics when he was still on the run and stopped by your place from time to time. his favourite thing back then had been to watch you cook to the weird music you kept playing, hips swaying to the beat and a sparkle in your eyes— but you didn’t do that anymore, he could tell those days were long gone.

dabi orders in takeout in the end and you have half a mind to curse him out for using your money— but the day’s events have exhausted you beyond your wits end, so you eat with him in silence atop your double bed after dressing in an old shirt of his. “stay the night.” is what you tell him, scared that he’ll leave. he puts his cigarette out on your balcony. the doors usually stayed locked so kori couldn’t crawl out on her own but you opened it for him since dabi liked to smoke and you hated the ash.

he promised to quit back then, and he hadn’t now.

“i’ll stay.” dabi says, throwing the butt over the ledge and stripping his clothes as he follows you to bed. he decides not to mention he wanted to stay anyway. you peel back the covers enough for him to slip in behind you, heated arms wrapping around your waist and settling on your tummy, where he rubs small patterns into your skin. the villain’s chest is  overwhelmingly warm against your back— reminding you of the days where you would spoon and he’d wait with baited breath for kori to kick.

both of you lay together, wide awake in the dark for goodness knows how long. touya’s breath balmy against the nape of your neck and if you focused hard enough, you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. he pretends to sleep, refusing to acknowledge that his proximity to you affects him in the worst of ways— evident in how his prominent hard on presses against the swell of your ass.

rolling over, your heart skips a beat at the way your love’s eyes still manage to glow brightly in the dark— ignited by the flames of his quirk and emotions of angst from the past.

they flicker as he looks to you, pale skin illuminated by the silver moon slipping in from your balconies, scars as enticing as ever. tentatively, you reach a hand out to cup his face, not kidding the apprehension that paint his matured features even as you run your fingers down the scars on his jaw. “been a while since we’ve been like this,” is all you can muster up, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek while your free hand snakes between your bodies in an attempt to pleasure the man.

fear strikes you right in the chest, leaving you panting as dabi flips you onto your back quickly, pinning your wrists against the bed. “don’t,” he growls, almost feral in tone and in his eyes. “don’t do something you might regret in the morning.”

you lay still, staring at the man above you in an attempt to read him. doing so had always been hard, but tonight you can see every detail of his life and every part of him.  the fear of being his father and disappointing another group of people, a broken man torn between the people he loved and the life he led— you could finally see him. you wondered if it hurt him to be away from you and his child, if he ever thought of you.

you take a deep breath, fabric of the sheets fuzzy in your ears as you shake your head up at him. “i could never regret being with you,” you sigh, dabi’s gaze lowering. “i just need you...”

your proclamation is all the permission dabi needs before he ascends on your neck, almost whimpering at the taste of your skin against his tongue. you know that he’s avoiding your lips, scared that things may not feel the same if he kisses you there— as if your love might have fizzled out from the months that you’ve been apart. the villain’s mouth is hot against your skin, sharp teeth sinking into the column of your throat— it’s not hard for him to find the spots that make your back arch and body tingle, the dark haired man  would be embarrassed to admit that he had your body mapped out in his brain. you were all that he thought about in the months between then and now.

you miss his lips, but you fear that if you push your love to far he’ll clam up and withdraw from you completely. you can’t lose him while you have him now. in the meantime, your bodies press against one another hotly, burning while dabi paints shades of blue and purple deeper than his eyes against your flesh before lapping at each love bite with an odd tenderness people wouldn’t think he possessed at first glance. as he works, touya loses grip on your wrists, allowing them free roam across the expanse of his back.

your nails leave light tracks across his back, trailing up from his muscled back to the nape of his neck— curling in the white roots of his hair in an attempt to tug him up to your lips. “baby,” the old pet name tumbles from between them before you can catch yourself, laboured from where you’re short of breath. “please kiss me, please..”

with newly mussed hair, dabi is still for a moment before leaving one last mark at where your jaw meets your neck— wet tongue lolling over the fresh bruise while his large palm move back to cup your head. a thumb belonging to a scared hand runs over your bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh down while he watches your face for a reaction. “are you sure that’s what you want, beautiful?” the villain chuckles into the dark of the night, pink muscle running over his own lips to wet them in anticipation. “you want your man to kiss you?”

your senses go into overdrive, desperate for any kind of contact from the man above you— he feels so close and yet, a million miles away, even with his body making its way between your thighs and your chests pressing together eagerly.

“touya—“ you breathe, barely able to finish your sentence before the man himself delves deep into your mouth. his lips move with hesitance at first, sucking on yours slightly and parting for air more often than he should but you grip him by the whites of his hair firmly and tug him further into the kiss. your tongue dances along the seam of his lips, prying them open as you seek permission for entrance— dabi groans lowly as you tug on his roots and force your way into his mouth, tasting him as if it were your last time.

you swallow each of his moans that mingle softly with your own, while your tongues dance together messily— the kiss were and sloppy as if the two of you were out of practice. your worries fly out of the window from there, it’s good to know that neither of you had been with others during your time apart instead you feel like a teenager making out with their highschool crush for the very first time. dabi’s hips rut into the plush bed beneath you both and you can tell that even the slightest touches are riling him up beyond belief— it’d been almost a year since he’d felt you against him in any way and it didn’t help that you were so ready to accept him.

that you still wanted him.

whimpering at the thought, the villain pauses against your lips to catch his breath— panting softly. you can feel him pulling away, questioning if he deserves to be with you after everything he’d put you through. so, cupping dabi’s jaw, you let your free hand slip between your heated bodies and glide your fingertips along the waist band of his sweats.

“yn, i ain’t so sure about this,” dabi sighs, body twitching at the proximity of your hands to his hardness, his eyelids flutter shut and lock away his beautiful blue eyes— holding fear, insecurity and desire. “what if ya’still regret this later on?”

smiling up at him, you thumb at his cheek and work your hand deeper into his pants, past his underwear. “you’ve been away too long baby, i would regret not being with you more,” you coo up at him just as you grasp at his hardened length, watching as dabi shudders in your grip. his cock leaks hotly against your soft palm from going untouched for so long, your fingers explore him— tracing down the thick veins on the underside of his length. “let me make you feel good tonight.”

“fuck, sweetness. talk pretty with that filthy fuckin’ mouth of yours.” touya breathes heavily against your mouth, both of yours falling open in hot moans. cheekily, you run a thumb over his tip, circling the slit at the top. dabi collapses on top of you, burying his mop of salt and pepper hair into your neck as he drives his hips into your hand at his own leisurely pace. “y’better live up to those words—shit, don’t go letting me down, princess.” jade orbs finally open, heavy with lust and desire as the air around you tingles with a newfound desire to make each other feel good, settling on the planes of your marked and scratched skin.

your grip around dabi tightens while he fucks into your closed fist, wet sounds filling the room from where he leaks at his bright red tip— almost hot as his hands that dance up your sides and tenderly touch at your hips. so unsure, yet so needy. clear, thick precum guides the movement of your hand as it slides up and down your lover’s girth— he’s much bigger than you remember, swollen with an impending orgasm and dabi stutters when you reach further down his boxers to grip at weighty balls full of his seed, just about ready to burst.

he howls from deep within his chest, the noise only muffled from the drool that glides across his tongue before the villain’s wandering and scarred palms stop at your rib cage, settling just under your breasts. you don’t bother to stop pleasuring him even as his quirk ignites, blue flames burning right through your night shirt to expose your skin to the cool night air.  without even a second thought, dabi’s mouth ascends on your tits, taking one into the hot cavern while his free hand seers marks over the other.

the thought have being branded by your man makes your hips jump and your hand squeeze his cock in your grip— a reminder of what’s to come later on. his strawberry tongue rolls across your hardened nipple and you yelp in surprise with the sudden feeling of cool metal across the exposed flesh. “y-you have your tongue pierced?” you squeal as dabi repeats his actions, loving the way you arch your back into his mouth and your heart rate speeds up.

“never know when a bit of metal’s gonna come in handy, sugar tits.”

you barely have time to formulate a response before your boyfriend’s mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and marking your raw flesh like a man starved of his last meal— you don’t let up either, quickly pumping his cock as he continues to leak, painting your hand with teases of his incoming release. you’re sure that his sweatpants and the sheets below you will be stained with his arousal from how much precum oozes from his dick, slicking up your hands and creating the perfect flashlight but you don’t dare to think of anything else but the way dabi’s face twists with pleasure as he desperately thrusts himself into the softness of your palm.

his cheeks flush red, globs of drool connecting the roof of his mouth to his tongue while his eyes grow fuzzy at each step he takes closer to orgasm, the very drool from his mouth covers each of your breasts as dabi switches between them— creating a layer of wet against your supple skin that shines under the moon. you flick your wrist around him, faster, harder— giving the villain everything you’ve got to make him feel good.

“shit pretty girl, y’gonna make me...cum,” touya shakes in your grip, eyes crossing and tongue becoming lazy against your marked up chest. his salvia pools against your skin while he pants and fucks your wet hand as if it were your pretty little cunt clamping down on him. “fuck, fuck, fuck. don’t you fuckin’ stop, don’t you dare fuckin’ stop...”

he barks out the demands, but there’s a neediness to his tone and whine to his voice that makes you grin with pride, even if you’re barely there from having your nipples stimulated beyond belief. “cum for me touya, please, wanna feel you come undone for me.” you beg him, ever so slightly and it’s just enough to push the villain over the edge, sending him into an earth shattering orgasm. you don’t dare to stop as you jerk him off, guiding down from his high as his cock twitches from release and paints your knuckles with the thick white of his seed. he mewls contendly into your breasts, slowing his hips while the world of colours dance behind his cerulean eyes.

“here with me yet?” you murmur to him, grasping his wild locks to tilt his head up towards your face— dabi looks so blissed out but the smirk on his raw and bitten lips tells you the night is far from over.

pressing a searing kiss to your sternum, your boyfriend’s pierced tongue makes yet another appearance as he trails the muscle down your soft tummy— biting your navel as he goes. “never left gorgeous, but don’t you fucking dare think for a second that this is over, y’got that?” he sits up quickly, grabbing hold of your doughy thighs and using them to pull you down the bed. the pads of his fingers start to burn marks into your skin, dancing along your legs and stopping just above the waistband of your underwear. “gotta stretch this cunt open before i give you my cock, remind you of who the fuck you belong to.”

spreading your thighs nice and wide, you release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding as dabi’s hands finally come into contact with your slit, prodding at your slick folds from over your panties. lowering his face between your open legs, your boyfriend hums in satisfaction as he peels your sticky panties away from your pussy. “why, babydoll, you’re so fucking wet down here. this can’t all be for me, can it?” touya teases you, hot breath fanning against your unused sex while his fingers play with the string of your slick that coats them. “y’must’ve missed your man badly for your lil cunt to look this fucked up, s’pecially when i haven’t even touched’ya yet.”

you shiver and nod weakly, willing to say or do anything to feel more of your boyfriend against you. “s’all for you dabi, o-only you could get me this wet, n-no one else could take your place...” you mewl, hips bucking into the air while the man himself watches you grow needier and needier, hormones expelled into the air. dabi grins, leaning into your core once more to press his nose into your wetness, sniffing your spiked panties like the dirty man he is— only to then lay his pierced tongue flat against your folds, tracing your hole with the muscle while his nose bumps at your clothed clit.

“saved this all for me, huh? you’re so loyal, sweetness. waiting for me all this time…” he kitten licks at your cunt until you’re writhing amongst the already solid sheets, forcing his spit into your hole from over the thin fabric of your panties, creating a more prominent outline of your puffy lower lips as your thighs quieter around his head. they threaten to close as he works on you through your underwear— teasing and prodding at your sex to see if you respond the same way to his touches as you used to.

you force your shaking through his black and white locks, grabbing hold of his roots in an attempt to pull dabi back to your heat when he lifts his head from between your thighs— pushing your lips into a pout. “no, no no, baby, please— need you to eat my cunt, want your mouth on me, please!” you cry out, but you’re quickly pacified by his scarred hand which cups your pussy— seat of his hand grinding into your clit.

“god, if i had known you were still this eager to fuck me i woulda come home a long time ago, babydoll.” he chuckles, licking up your inner thigh and biting down on the plush flesh. “need’ta get rid of these though, they’re getting in my way.” the villain gestures to your panties, making you watch as his quirk burns it’s way through the silky material until it’s nothing but ash against your sheets. you gasp as soon as your cute little pussy is exposed to the cool air, missing the warmth of touya’s pink tongue against it. “better.” he sneers, eyes bright and glowing in the dark with a new sense of feral desire.

thick digits press into your tight hole at the same time touya takes to sucking on your swollen clit, forcing their way up your velvet walls in search for your pleasure spot. dabi chuckles against your sticky folds as you begin to whine, hips rolling up into your lover’s face while his tongue draws rough patterns onto your bud. you’ve missed him, missed this. the nights where the villain dabi would sneak into your home, becoming your touya todoroki between the four walls that you shared— where you would spend nights seeing stars by his hand or his cock and he would make you his over and over again. the memories have you clamping down on his digits like there’s no tomorrow, greedily sucking them in as he strokes at the walls of your sex and makes your whole body shake.

touya works hard at pleasuring you, apologising for his absence through slurping the juices from your folds only for you to gush and paint his scarred chin with more of your nectar. the way you taste makes him dizzy, he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs and never miss the outside world like he did before tonight. he wants to be good for you, make you feel good too and it’s not enough to feel the ecstasy roll off of your heavenly body in waves— he wants all of you, mind, body and soul to belong to him.

you can barely breathe, leaking with every swipe of his tongue against you and every twist of his fingers inside of you. you can feel everything at once, the euphoria crackling across your brain, high on the way touya makes you feel. “god, t-touya, don’ stop...feel so fucking good…” you heave in a drawn out moan, barely able to tell what’s up and what’s down as the villain pulls his fingers from your slick hole and replaces them with his tongue ( only after they’ve pushed down on your g-spot over and over again ).

“you’re not the one giving orders, sweet stuff, oh no.” dabi reminds you sloppily, looking like a child with no table manners as your nectar smears across his face. for his own satisfaction, he delivers a harsh smack to your pussy, watching as your entire body jolts and jumps up the bed. “your cunt is mine and i’ll do what i want with it, show you how much i missed it.”

his possessive words almost set you off, the knot in your stomach growing tighter with every pinch of your nub and every swirl on his tongue inside your walls, committing every ridge to memory. your body burns and you’re not sure if it’s from dabi pressing against you so hotly or because of the desire that fuels the fire inside you.

“yours, yours, yours!” you chant like a mantra, high pitched and whiny— your voice mixing with the crude sounds of your own pathetic cunt, that grows louder when dabi spits on your clit to add to your wetness. he lets it drip between your folds, fingers to busy with stimulating you to catch it before it slides between your lower cheeks, opting to use his tongue on you instead.

“ya’like that don’t you? missed your whinin’ pretty girl, fuck, even missed making you a fucking mess.” you keen into his touch, babbling incoherent praises to the man between your legs as he spreads you wider by the ass with one hand and forces his fingers back into your cunt with the other. his fingers curl into a come hither motion, repeatedly pressing down on your spongy spot as he sloppily makes out with your puffy nub— taking only one, two, three strokes to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull and your orgasm to wash over you.

your body convulses, shaking as you’re hit hard by your release— juices gushing all over your lover’s face even as he refuses to let up. “t-touya no...no no...can-can’t,” you whinge, tears clumping in your lashes. dabi spreads your lips again, using three digits instead of two to continue stimulating your clit until another release builds up inside your lower belly— clear liquid gushing out of your abused pussy and staining the sheets below.

he hums proudly, pressing a lasting kiss to your fluttering hole before reaching up to your lips to do the same, barely allowing you the time to catch your breath— chest heaving while you come down from your high. “so pretty when you squirt for me like that, sweetness,” dabi moans into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him. but as soon as he comes, he’s gone— rolling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips so your ass sits in the air for him. “gonna take my cock now, kay?”

“kay,” you mumble into the sheets, brain too  fuzzy to resist as the villain manhandles you the way he wants.

after shoving down his sweatpants, the eldest todoroki grips the peachy soft flesh of your ass— smacking it a few times with his heat activated palms to watch the flesh jiggle and his handprint sink into the skin. you lean back, watching over your shoulder as his cock stands at full attention, hard from seeing you come undone on his fingers and tongue. it burns bright red at the tip, another fat glob of precum making it shine and making you dribble with anticipation. “y’such a fuckin’ slut, my beautiful slut… hungry for my cock even after i’ve wrecked your lil pussy so bad,” dabi says with a cocky lilt to his voice, the very tone making your hole clench around nothing. he taps his sticky cockhead against your slit, running it up and down your cunt three or four times— groaning as it slides between your cheeks. the sensation causes your back to arch as you wail, fingers gripping the bed covers so tight that you almost cause them to tear. “don’t you worry baby, ‘m gonna make up for lost time, you don’t have to miss me anymore.”

there’s a double meaning to his words that you don’t ask him to elaborate on, too caught up in the way he teases your hole as he dips his length in— only to pull it right back out. “don’t tease, need you badly,” you plead, earning yourself another harsh spank to your raw ass cheeks.

“shut the fuck up and let me fuck you,” the words are harsh against his tongue, but dabi utters them softly as he relents to his wishes. his cerulean gaze flutters down to where your bodies begin to join, his large hand gripping his length before he starts to push into your dribbling entrance. “god, you’re s’fuckin’ tight, you might as well be a virgin.” pussy spasming at his words, you leak against touya’s cock, creating a lewd squelching sound as he pushes more of himself into you. the weight of dabi’s thick girth causes painful, yet delicious burn which he eases by rubbing soothing circles into your clit once more. “been s’long, i outta fuck you open again, huh?”

“uhuh, take me again touya. make me yours, all over again.” you slur over the spit drowning your tongue, eyes fluttering shut when the villain’s hips surge forward his dick brushes against your cervix. his rough, calloused palm grabs your neck from behind, forcing you down into the sheets while he bottoms out inside of you and pushes the last of his cock past your entrance. the two of you groan in unison, touya sitting heavy inside of your walls before you muster up the energy to say. “move.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, whilst dabi was enjoying the feeling of being engulfed by your soft, warm insides— cock twitching in relief from time to time— he finds it within him to pull back from your selfish cunt to thrust into you with all his might. the force pulls a broken squeal from between your bitten and bruised lips, your hips pushing back against dabi to keep him inside of you. the pair of you move in sync, bodies dancing in a sensual grind between lovers that moulds your cunt into the shape of your boyfriend once more. “oh fuck yeah baby, oooh, missed your cunny s’bad…” dabi yowls loudly, listening for the squashy sounds of your sexes moving against one another. “christ, you like when i talk about your pathetic little pussy like this?”

you bite down on your lower lip, embarrassed by your own bleats of pleasure when he degrades you like this. annoyed by your lack of answer, touya grabs onto your hips and pulls you off of his cock, only to slam them back into you seconds later. his pace is unforgiving and relentless from there, forcing your body up the bed with every thrust into your core. “yes! like it, love it, missed your cock so bad touya!” you cry, holding onto the sheets for dear life as his dick drags along your pleasure spots and his hands burn marks into your ass and hips.

weakly, you attempt to match his thrusts. circling the meat of your ass back onto dabi and squeezing around the head of his girth every time it plunges into your sopping pussy. your arousals mix as he pounds away at your hole, a thick string hanging between your bodies and dribbling down your inner thighs, tainting innocent skin. the wet noise reverberates across the room, creating a passionate symphony with dabi’s deep, pitiful moans.

even though it had been a while since the two of you had been intimate like this, dabi still knew all the ways to get your body going. he took you from behind but still let his marred hands wonder and explore the planes of your skin, pinching here and there, marking your body as his to use and his alone. there’s love hidden beneath his rough touches, little signs that he missed having you so close to him— having you split open on his cock while you dripped on his pelvis and ruined your bedsheets, was his own way of unleashing his pent up emotions of love, anger and despair onto you and you wanted it. you wanted his good and his bad while he fucked you like his life depended on it, balls deep inside the pussy of the woman he loved was where he was most vulnerable with you.

“s-shit, sweetness, you’re such a pretty mess, so fucked up on my cock, can feel you clamping around me like my greedy bitch should.” you’re stuffed so full, clenching every time touya drives his cock deeper into your gummy cunt, head prodding at the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. he’s losing his mind at how you choke out his iron hot girth, clear liquid seeping down your thighs at every thrust. “you’re my beautiful brain dead baby, letting me fuck you like this, yeah? missed you baby, missed this,” despite his words, touya is no better than you, mind hazy with thoughts of you creaming around him because of how good he’s made you feel. him, and no one else. you saved yourself for him after all these months, the least he could do was bring you to cloud nine.

he does so by angling his thrusts up to meet your pleasure spot every time, howling your name in the way he knows you like just to feel your hot cunny spew more of your juices out against his tummy. “missed you, thought about this for months,” you lament, elbows that kept you up finally giving out as your body tiredly collapses into the sheets— dabi’s balls still clapping against your ass. he follows you down into bed covers, chest pressing hotly against your back as the jackhammers into you from behind. “thought about your fat cock in my tight pussy, t-touched myself to you...made being alone worth it, made waiting for you to come home worth it. ‘cause i get to see your beautiful face when you fuck me…” you barely register what you’re saying, babbling incorrectly while the temperature of your body rises with your level of arousal.

behind you, touya’s cheeks burn with a new feeling. deep down, all he wanted was to be validated as a lover to you, he’d always been deemed as the bad guy incapable of feeling anything for anyone other than himself. but you, you had proved him wrong so many times and he still found your words hard to believe. yet, it felt good to know how much you loved him. snaking a hand down to your face, the villain squishes your cheeks together and brings you up to his own face despite the arch to your back— he keeps up his sinful pace, your lower cheeks bouncing with every push and pull of his length while he drips a globule of his saliva into your pouting mouth. “shut up,” he grunts harshly, although love is written across his cobalt eyes.

you smile up at him dopily, keeping eye contact with him as you swallow gratefully. “anything for you,” his hands slip from your squashed cheeks to your throat, cupping it as he holds you against him. more arousal pools in your lower stomach, turned on by the thrill of him being able to end your life right then and there, all it would take would be one flame but you know more than anything that dabi loves you and would never hurt you. “i love you, touya todoroki. i a-always will.”

your admission makes dabi’s heart stop in his chest, heated pants tickling your ear as he continues to take you and claim your body as his. with newfound vigor, he links his free hand with yours that lays against the bed and rams his cock into your core as hard and as fast as he can, determined to make you cum. “i—oh fuck, i love you too, sweetness…” the arsonist can feel the way your cunt flutters around his girth at his confession, tears building up in your eyes once more. god, you were so pretty like this, arched for him perfectly in the moon, stars illuminating every curve and dip on your body— showing off the stretch marks from where you’d carried his child. everything about you turned him on in the best possible ways and everything about you that turned him on, also turned out to be everything he loved about you.

your stupid big heart, your stupid big eyes when you say that you love him, your stupid smile when he used to kiss you and hold you and even now when he fucked you. touya todoroki was in love and in the worst possible way but he couldn’t say he regretted a single moment of it, not when you stayed true to him after all these months of being apart. you raised his child and you loved him all the same and a part of him is grateful that you never turned your back on him like everyone else he’s ever loved.

so the least he could do is make love to you, push his creamy cock into the depth of your core while kissing down your spine to watch you shudder oh so cutely. it’s messy and sloppy and the pair of you should feel nasty for the stench of sex in the air, lingering against your skin. but you don’t, how could you? not when love and adoration tingles in the air as well, it’s messy because of the unadulterated emotions you feel for one another— deep in vulnerability is where dabi grinds his cock slowly into you, hitting all the right places that make you scream his name into the night. makes him mumble incoherent praises against your bruised neck and squished cheeks as he lewdly licks a stripe up the column of your neck to behind your ear.

you gush around him and he grunts with ecstasy into your ear, tightening that knot in your stomach as you both step closer to your highs. “you like the way i fill this cunt up, huh? yeah? when i hold you like this, when i fuck you like this?” dabi mutters to you lewdly, holding onto his sanity by a thin thread as his own release sneaks up on him. “tell me you like it...fuck sweetness, please.”

“i love the way you fuck me touya, fuck! only you can make me feel this good,” you moan to appease him, bouncing back against his cock while his hips begin to stutter and your eyes begin to cross. it’s true, you love belonging to him, being able to bring him such pleasure and you know he feels the same way. the villain prods at your g-spot over and over again, stealing your breath away as he pulls you up and into your chest, changing the angle of his hips to bring you to the last hurdle. “baby—ohmygod—-touya! ‘m sososo close, don’t stop...don’t stop, gonna cum, give it to me, give it to me please!” you chant, eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head back against his shoulder and search for his hand, voice rising with every octave as you get closer and closer.

“fucking cum for me sweet girl, shit, cum all over this fucking cock.” dabi manages through gritted teeth, grasping your hand while the pace of his thrusts grow inconsistent.

that’s all that you need to hear before the damn breaks and arousal floods through your entire body courses through your veins. white dances behind your eyes in flashes as your release flushes out of your pussy and drips between touya’s balls, coating them in a layer your honeyed slick. you slump against your boyfriend, not able to mutter a word as you convulse in a silent scream and squeeze both his hand and cock alike.

gently, he pushes you down to the bed and pulls his cock from your intoxicating heat— his free hand clasps around his cock, palming himself towards a swift release. “yeah, oh fuck yeah, fuckin’ love you baby,” he cums on your back and your ass, thick, potent and milky seed landing on your flushed skin before he collapses beside you and exhaustion settles in his bones.

you black out for a few minutes after, fingers still intertwined but dabi manages to slip out long enough to retrieve a washcloth that's damp and warm to clean you both up with. you wake up just as he crawls back into bed with you, kissing your hairline while he makes himself comfortable. “almost thought i’d killed you for a second,” the villain jokes, slinging a loose arm over your bare waist and pulling you to lay on his chest.

“you couldn’t, even if you tried.” you counter sleepily, drawing star shapes on your boyfriend’s naked stomach. a comfortable silence sweeps over the room, despite the thoughts that linger on your mind. looking up at dabi, you notice him drifting off but still can’t help the words that slip from your lips. “why didn’t you ever come back?”

you feel dabi’s chest rise and fall with a deep sigh, fingers coming up to scratch at your scalp— something that used to help you to sleep when you were together before. “i was figuring out a way to get out of the league, to be with you and kori.” he says after some time, catching your eye as you give him a confused look. “shigaraki doesn’t know about her, i never told him. but i knew from the moment we found out about her, i didn’t want her to be a part of the life i’m involved in and knowing how the league works, they’d find a way to make use of her.”

you stay quiet, not knowing what to do with the new information and dabi’s reasoning for staying away for so long. on one hand you were grateful to him for keeping your daughter quiet and safe but part of you still wished he’d given you a sign to let you know it’d all be okay. grabbing your chin, he forces you to look up at him—passionate flames burning in his eyes. “i need you to trust me on this one sweetness, i promise nothin’ will happen to you nor kori. so long as i’m around.”

“pinky promise?” you ask him sweetly, feeling the truth to his words.

you hold up your pinky to the villain’s face, smiling through exhaustion as he rolls his eyes down at you. “pinky promise, babydoll. now get some shut eye, kay?” touya links your pinky with his, scoffing when you make him kiss them.

“g’night, touya.”

“sleep well, babydoll.”

the bed is cold when you wake up the next morning.

the panic sets in quickly, speeding up with the chirping of birds from your balcony outside. you shouldn’t be tearing up over the childishness of a pinky promise. he always made you promises but never actually kept the and as quickly as dabi had waltzed back into your life, he had left you alone and in the cold once more.

gathering yourself together, you stumble out of your bed— avoiding any mirrors that may show the cascade of marks dabi had left against your skin from the previous night. you feel embarrassed and ashamed that you let him back into your life so easily, especially now that you had kori to think about. tears start to well in your tired and puffy eyes as you head to the kitchen, thinking that a mug of coffee will calm you down before you prep your daughter for the day.

but as you wander out of your room, the familiar sound of your baby girl’s laugher drifts through the air— seemingly coming from the kitchen.  the sweet melody calls out to you and suddenly your casual stride to the kitchen becomes a brisk walk so you can reach her faster. “kori? baby? did you climb out of your crib again—?” you call out to her, stopping in your tracks when you round the corner.

dabi stands in the middle of your kitchen, still shirtless, with kori balanced on his hip— in one hand he holds a small blue flame, which you’re sure he believes is safe enough for kori to play with while the other steadies your baby girl while she claps and squeals. a first. you’re not too sure when the last time you’d seen her happy was, but you figure her father’s presence had something to do with it.

“i was going to make you breakfast, but the little shit woke up and i didn’t have enough free hands to make you a grilled cheese.” touya smirks over at you, diminishing his flame to grasp kori’s hand and use it to wave at you. she squeals happily, curls bouncing and eyes lighting up in a similar way to her father’s. your heart melts at the sight of them being together, seeing the mannerisms that they share and how joyous they seem. they both grinned the same way, shared the little twitch in their noses and even their sneezes. kori todoroki was an exact replica of touya todoroki, right down to the tiny red curl she had lost in her white locks.

“you know, i thought you’d left,” you make your way across to the island where dabi sets his daughter down and check her temperature— just in case her sudden change in mood is down to any sickness. “the bed was cold when i woke up.”

“didn’t i make you a promise last night, sweetness? i’m not going anywhere,” the arsonist reminds you, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you wipe at kori’s pudgy baby cheeks and give her the once over again. “if you’re checking the kid’s temperature, she's usually pretty cold because of my mom’s quirk. something ice related will be coming through, but she must’ve inherited your strong constitution. guess she has a normal body temp when i’m around ‘cause it balances her out.” while dabi explains the inner workings of kori’s incoming quirk, she claps and babbles excitedly from her place on the island— making a game out of throwing her toys off of it. all of dabi’s logic makes sense and you seem a little more relieved knowing how to take care of her from here.

picking her up, along with her stray toys, you set your baby down by her playmat again and switch on some baby-safe cartoons while you fix yourself and dabi some coffee, kissing all over kori’s face beforehand. he had whined when you pulled away the first time to give your daughter some attention, it was almost comical how the big bad villain had pouted then. “i wonder if there’s anything of mine she inherited or if it’s all you and todoroki genetics.”

“well, her pretty smile certainly didn’t come from me, babydoll.” dabi muses with a light chuckle, arms trapping you against his chest once more as you continue to make you both some much needed caffeine. the coffee machine whirrs as you sway together in the early morning sunshine, warmth from the sun brushing against your skin and touya’s hair tickling your neck before he presses kisses over your fading love bites while kori’s annoying shows play in the background. everything feels complete and at peace. you feel like a real family. “i could get used to this, this life with you.”

you spin in dabi’s arms, cupping his cheeks and taking in his face for the millionth time in the last twelve hours. “then stay, or at least visit some more now that you’re back. you may not feel it, but kori and i need you. everything has always been better when you’ve been around touya… and i mean that. stay.” you stare at him with pleading eyes, standing on your tiptoes to stare him down and communicate just how much you needed him here with you both.

and for once in his life, touya todoroki feels the most loved he’s ever really felt. here in this shitty two bedroom apartment with his angelic little girl and his beautiful girlfriend during the winter season— touya knows this is right where he needs to be. “i’ll stay, for as long as you’ll fuckin’ have me.”

“forever, then?” you ask, eyes lowering to your boyfriend’s lips.

“forever it is, babydoll.” the villain nods, following your gaze before leaning down to capture your lips with a promise written into your sweet kiss.

extended ending

you thought that the best kind of weather was when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds but the air around you was still as cold as a december’s day. the breeze is enough to make your nose run just a little, but occasionally the warmth of the sun’s rays radiates across your skin like a warm blanket, balancing it out.

it was the kind of weather where people didn’t know how to dress, some wore mismatched shorts and jerseys whilst others were decked out in scarves up to their cheeks and sandals where their toes flopped out. it was the kind of weather that reminded you of dabi and kori, they were your warmth and your cold, they balanced each other out and made your family whole.

kori sits on your right hip as you push the car door closed and wave goodbye to an accomplice of your boyfriend’s— your driver for the evening. your little girl’s curls are combed back into two even pigtails, dark blue bows in each one while the red lock of her hair ( now, much longer ) curls against her forehead stubbornly. she looks so pretty, all fancied up a dress that dabi had chosen for her on this particular occasion, the lace irritated her only slightly but the decapitated endeavour plushie her father had gifted her served nicely as a distraction.

you bounce her once, cooing down at your baby before you look to the hospital in front of you— a look of determination in your eye. ever since the night touya had visited you and swore to stay, he’d kept his word to the best of his abilities. being a villain was still a major factor in your relationship, he came when he could stayed if his job permitted it— taking care of your daughter when your shifts were long and even going as far as to learn his and kori’s favourite recipes to cook on the nights where you couldn’t or you didn’t fancy take out.

in the last few weeks his visits had become slightly more scarce with shigaraki becoming more and more demanding, but touya’s plan to leave the league was slowly coming to fruition along with endeavour and the hero society which had both carved a life of struggle for the three of you.

your boyfriend being busy had given you more time to reconnect with the friends you had lost over the last year, meeting up with those from college, mina and tsuyu ( who’d simply thought you’d gone off the radar ) for kori’s first birthday. they absolutely loved her and your sweet girl loved all the attention she was getting. you even had the chance to reunite with your parents, who were more remorseful that you felt you couldn’t come to them for help than the fact that you’d gotten pregnant during college.

of course, they all asked who the father was and you simply told them that he had died ( which was half true ), using the excuse that you were embarrassed to be widowed and with a child at your young age.

shaking your head, you enter the hospital and recite the words that touya had made you practice the night before. you were here by endeavours orders and needed to see mrs.todoroki. your lover had used some sort of hack to put you on the list of visitors for his mother but one look at kori was all the guards and staff needed to let you through. a few nights prior to today, dabi had asked you to do one thing for him before it all went down, kissing your knuckles over some sushi take out.

so despite your nerves, you would go through with this for him, especially if it meant your family could be together. some guards escort yourself and kori to rei todoroki’s room, leaving you with a curt nod and slightly more polite wave to your daughter. the room itself is slightly bleak, a chair and some blue cushioned sofas positioned in an L-shape parallel to the blanketed bed. there’s a tv in the top left corner which and a set of draws underneath where a clear vase sits— containing blooming blue flowers.

rei looks up when you enter, grey eyes flashing with confusion despite the blank look on her face as kori babbles happily in your arms. “who are you?” she whispers, hands retreating from her flowers and  folding neatly in her lap.

“oh! i’m yn, your son’s fiancé and this,” you beam kindly, further entering the room and being sure to lock the doors behind you. you nod your head down to your daughter who waves around her endeavour plushy— paying no mind to the situation unfolding. “this is our daughter, your granddaughter...kori todoroki! she’s just turned one and daddy thought it was about time she met you, isn’t that right pretty girl?”

“dada!!!”

rei blinks and you smile again. “she’s a daddy’s girl,” you explain and lift your hand to snow the small sapphire engagement ring on your ring finger. touya had proposed last night as well, certain your plan would work out. “and quite frankly, so am i! how can i not be when your son treats me so well.”

nodding slowly, the wife of endeavour looks down at her hands which you note, nervously fiddle with a stray petal. “so, natsu and you—?” you can see her trying to work it out, curiosity written across her features. you could see why the woman might think kori was natuso’s child— they looked a lot like each other just by first glance but rei was missing an important feature. the colour of kori’s eyes.

“oh no, your other son. the eldest one.” you correct her with a sinister shake of your head. swiftly crossing the room to set your daughter down in rei’s lap. you watch with an evil air of satisfaction as rei todoroki freezes with fear, as the mistakes her family paid out to touya suddenly come to the forefront of her mind. she wobbles with kori still in her grip and you shoot her a dark glare— reaching over to fix her flowers in their vase. “touya picked these out, always said that you loved them. such a pretty shade of blue, no wonder why they’re your favourites, right?”

“please leave.” she looks up at you pleadingly, shaking like a leaf in the breeze outside. oh how you wish your fiancé was here to see this but he had more important things to do.

rolling your eyes, you grab the remote to switch on the tv— pinching kori’s nose affectionately to make her laugh again. “come sit with me rei, let’s watch some tv to help you calm down.”

the woman nods weakly, barely moving an inch as you take a seat beside her with a smile. you skip channels a few times, pride swelling up in your chest when you finally land on the right one, touya’s broadcast flashing across the screen. he sits leisurely in a chair, shirtless with all of his beautiful scars on display— a painful reminder of his childhood and what he’d become. “i, touya  todoroki, was born as the eldest son of endeavour. today i’ve killed over 30 innocent people until now, some to protect my family. my daughter, who i have not been able to see due to my father. i would like to let everyone know why i’d end up committing such a hideous act.” he speaks such calmness and clarity, and you can’t help but feel emotional at how he stands in front of the world.

kori grins, leaping up at the sight of her father on the screen and claps her hands. “dada!! dada!! lookie s’daddy!!” she squeals while rei struggles to breathe, panic set in her eyes.

you put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, offering her a sweet grin in an attempt to calm her before the oncoming storm. “keep watching, mrs.todoroki, touya said we’d be one big, happy family after this.” the words are sugar coated and sickly sweet, carrying the dark meaning across to your fiancé’s mother.

looking away, your heart swells while touya tears down the hero society and spills the truth for all of japan to see. you were grateful to the man he’d become— loyal to you, to your daughter and the dreams that you had. the satisfaction of seeing the real villains of the world fall was much greater than any hush money enji todoroki could ever offer.

fin.

— TAGLIST:

@husband-to-tomura-shigaraki @grace-todoroki @toshiuwu  @whet-ones-write​

[stetervault]

Hiii! Been delving into Steter now, in the year of our lord 2021, even though I never really did when I was active in the fandom years ago and I was wondering if you'd have some longfic recs for the ship? Like, fics that are Classics(TM)? But happy endings! And I'm not super into those in which Stiles is still underage 😬 do u have any recs? Thanks!

Welcome to the Steter fandom! I definitely have some long fics to rec, some of them are super old lol, and I'll stick to ones around 20k or over, and most of them are finished. And hmm, considering the ship, and a lot of fics like to start off in season 1 where Stiles is still technically a teenager, I'll try to limit these to ones with Stiles being at least 16/17 before anything starts happening, and only 18+ if there's explicit content. I hope that's okay.

drowning in the sea of you by Corpium

Beacon Hills was perfect for Stiles growing up, but now, with werewolves, hunters, and an anxious best friend running around, it's turning into a place too chaotic for an empath like Stiles to handle alone. And pain killers can only go so far.

Wake Me Up by ToAStranger

Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

Tremors by Corpium

(Stiles has a taste for him now. All Peter needs to do is wait.)

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Bite Down by EclipseWing

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter's heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels... sharply curious.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

Stiles Stilinski, Disaster Chef by Guede

The zombie apocalypse forces Stiles to learn how to cook.

The Will by Guede

We are gathered here today for the reading of Gerard Argent’s will.

On the Importance of Lunar Influences in Gardening by Guede

“Oh, it’s you again,” Stiles sighs. He puts down his basket and drops the bunch of onions into it, and then dusts off his hands. “Can’t you get your own strawberries? I mean, I have it on good authority that wild strawberries? They’re a thing. They exist. They’re out there.”

“But Stiles,” says the werewolf dangling by one foot from the tree, sticky red smears around his mouth and all over his fingers. “Your berries are so juicy, so ripe. Those ones in the woods are mere passing indulgences compared to the royal feast you have in your garden.”

Genii loci Stiles and his father run a community garden, and it’s all good, except for the werewolf who keeps sneaking over the fence to raid Stiles’ strawberry patch (and the hunter who’s constantly hanging around his father).

Runes and all kinds of things by FeelingsDusk (WIP)

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.

OR

The things in the Argent's basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can't seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn't mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn't mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride's uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn't like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter's just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia.

"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you."

Bone Deep by ShippersList

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Soothing the Burn by Therapeutic_Steter (WIP)

Peter is burnt out and breaking down. Stiles notices and offers him solace, along with the one thing he wants most: Pack.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks. “Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is. “He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her. The camps……aren’t camps. Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven't spoken to in over five years.)

Uncle Peter Doesn't Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (WIP)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16. “Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,” ‘Bambi’. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous. Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

-

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn't been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski...her uncle's boyfriend.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he's captured. Stiles's first thought is, "I won't die here."

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire (WIP)

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

A Curious Magic by Triangulum

Overall, Stiles is very well-known in the supernatural community. It’d be hard not to be, not with how his reputation has grown like wildfire. He knows and is on good terms with nearly all the fae that reside in the preserve, the asrai that live deep in the lake, the Ito pack, the vampire couple that lives over in Beacon Valley (they buy an ethically-sourced food supply from Stiles), as well as almost every other supernatural entity in the area. But Talia Hale doesn’t like him, and a werewolf pack tends to do what their alpha tells them to.

So it’s a definite surprise when the wards at the edge of his property trip, the tingling down his spine telling him it’s a werewolf, the lack of burning sensation letting him know there’s no hostile intent. Stiles, in his office in the second floor turret, sets down the amulet he’s packing up for Marin and moves to the large window overlooking the front of his property. He’s expecting to see an Ito packmember, even though they nearly always call in advance, and is surprised to see a man that he recognizes as Talia’s brother, Peter.

Light in the Dark by cywscross

It still surprises Stiles sometimes, how easily he’s adapted. Seven months in a world filled with train tracks and soul-sucking fae, and it feels like he’s never known anything else.

~~

Or, the one where diverting the Ghost Riders from Beacon Hills to prey on a different town only succeeded in setting them free.

Vengeance Looks Good On You, Sweetheart by cywscross

Just because Scott refuses to see the Argents for what they truly are - prejudiced serial killers sitting proudly on a mountain of innocent corpses - doesn't mean Stiles will. It's about time someone did something about the Argent Empire anyway, and what a coincidence - summer vacation is just around the corner.

--

Or, the one where Gerard Argent kidnapped the wrong fucking person to torture. Stiles has never subscribed to the policy of forgiving and forgetting anyway, not when razing the problem to the ground and salting the earth for good measure has always been a far better solution in the long run.

He doesn't expect to have company.