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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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Reaper 13

This is SUPER LONG and dirty but enjoyyy it for as long as it lasts hehe.

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Warnings- possessive behavior, aggression, threats, mention of murder, stalking, illegal acts we do not Condone, knife play, impact play (slapping x spanking), daddy kink if you squint, breeding kink mention, degradation, dom/sub dynamic, dumbification if you squint, choking, bondage w belt, hair pulling.... you get the gist everything is filthy as per usual

WC- 11.3k

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Tourist attractions really weren’t Harry’s thing, especially in his own city. He thought it was all a bit underwhelming, he’d rather look at a photo and be over it. He never thought he’d ever step foot in the Victoria and Albert Museum, Kensington was no place for someone like him. Yet there he was, watching his own work of art, Bunny, read the plaques by each painting.

The way her eyes lit up this morning when he told her they’d do whatever she wanted, he didn’t have it in himself to say no. So he let her drag him along to all the sites, even going as far as taking photos with her. If she were anyone else, he would tell her to stuff it- but that smile made it worth every moment of internal suffering.

“I’m getting hungry,” Bunny whispered to him, wanting to be respectful of the environment. Her arm had snaked its way under his, her hand curling around his bicep for comfort.

Harry chuckled when he felt her squeeze at the muscle, mindlessly going to place a kiss on the top of her head. The mindless affection had become more and more common. “You okay to head back towards the hotel? The options around here are a bit shit.” Harry continued in a hushed tone, guiding the two of them towards the stairs to begin exiting. “Plus, there are a bunch of pubs back that way… can get you some of that authentic food to try.”

“Authentic food?” She raised a brow. “You mean beans on toast? Egg in the hole?” There was teasing in her tone, a giant grin on her face as he looked down at her. She was taunting him, but it was good to see her really fucking smile after these last few weeks.

A scoff sounded from his throat, eyes rolling as they continued. “Lucky you’re cute. Or I’d toss your ass into the Thames, and that is particularly unpleasant.” He retorted, lightly pinching her side to make her squeak.

“Oi! Precious cargo here.” Her hip bumped into his as they walked, looking at her fake wedding ring. Although it wasn’t real, seeing it and what it represented made her stomach flutter. Would that be a possibility? Would he ever actually propose? What ring would he actually choose? He’d probably do it somewhere very private and secret, just the two of them. Shaking herself out of that thought, she continued. “What I was saying was, yes. I’m happy to head back. Your arm must be tired from holding all of my stuff.”

It wasn’t too bad. A few bags with the very tacky and overpriced London swag, things he knew she would probably stick on a shelf and not use- but part of him felt some sort of happiness that she liked it enough to buy souvenirs. “S’fine, darling. Snow globes and tee shirts and magnets are surprisingly lightweight.”

“Right, so you don’t mind if I drag us into the gift shop?” Bunny teased and squeezed his arm, tripping over her feet a bit as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Harry had never thought he’d experience this type of relationship. It almost felt juvenile with how they clung to one another and got shy at each other's teasing ocassionally. It felt so out of character for him, but then again, it came naturally with her. He thought, if his life had been different, that maybe that’s how he was meant to be.

“Thought you said you were hungry?”

———

Pubs were a quintessential part of the British experience. You could go just about anywhere in the UK and there would always be a pub to welcome you in. Sure, the decor was a bit outdated, but Harry always thought it made them more charming. No two pubs were exactly alike. Some had different stools.

“What do you fancy? Fish and chips? Bangers and Mash? Gonna take you for a roast at the weekend.” Harry’s speech had already adjusted, his accent thicker than she’d ever heard it before. It made Bunny smile fondly, she’d never seen him in a mood like this and she was cherishing every second.

“Fancy, huh? You’re sounding incredibly British today, Mr.Davidson.” She winked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and looping them as they settled at the end of the bar. The mood was just so good today, and she was relishing it.

“Fancy, yes. Like I fancy you.” His voice was quiet, a tiny smirk on the corner of his lips as she felt her heart stutter in her chest. His hands came to hold her hips, cuffing them with his cool skin and making her shiver. Her outfit wasn’t particularly thick- which was why she had stopped to buy the coat she’d hung up when they walked in. If someone stole it, oh well. It was pretty cheap.

“You do?” She peered at him through her lashes, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Gonna make me blush. Look at you, flirty man.” Harry had been exceptionally affectionate today and it had almost taken her off guard. Like he could finally let go a bit and give her the proper boyfriend treatment, loved treatment, whatever it was called. It made her all fuzzy and hot in her stomach.

“Good. Like making y’shy.” He tugged at the ends of her hair. “Soon as a table opens up we can sit down and properly eat.” But he didn’t mind standing here. He soaked in every second of her leaning into him, playing like a proper couple on a ‘honeymoon’. He liked the feeling of the ring on that finger.

Bunny nodded along, letting her eyes wander around the dimly lit space. The place wasn’t too packed, though as the clouds drew in it seemed everyone was looking for shelter.

“Y/N? No fucking way.” A familiar voice interrupted Bunny from her train of thought. Her head snapped in the direction the voice was coming from, swallowing thickly. Fuck. Not here- not now.

“Ian?” She hadn’t seen him in years, not since he moved away for college. She had been so devastated back then. Sterling’s departure had taken a toll on her and well, Ian wasn’t man enough to tell her he too would be leaving her.

“Are you stalking me?” He joked, taking a step towards her. It seemed as though he hadn’t noticed just who she was there with.

Harry was quick to place himself between them.

Who the fuck is this? And why the fuck did he know Bunny? His jaw clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack, feeling fingers gently pressing against his arm as he looked down at the shorter man.

Was this some sort of sick joke?

“Who the fuck are you?” His words were cold, his molten relaxed nature from before cooling quickly before shattering like glass on the pavement. His eyes were sharp and hard as he looked down, feeling her peek over his arm and try and move closer but he extended it to keep her behind him.

Whoever the fuck this Ian was, he was in London. A place where she knew no one. The world couldn’t possibly be that small, and he was on edge all over again. “Are you following her?”

Oh god. Bunny stepped forward, clutching Harry’s arm in her grasp to try and chill him out. It looked bad, it definitely looked bad and she could understand his irritation, but-

“H, it’s okay-“

“No. It isn’t.” His harsh tone stung his own ears as he approached further, eyes zeroed in on him. “I’ll ask again, How the fuck did you find her here?”

“Find her?” Ian looked like he had seen a ghost. He had remembered Reaper, very very well. How could he forget all the times he’d come over and he’d be outside working on his bike? The death stare he gave was enough to have him rushing inside without turning back. He was aware of the reputation Reaper held, to say Ian was scared was an understatement.

“Dude, I swear I wasn’t trying to make any moves, just surprised she’s here— I live here man.” Ian was in a rush to finish his sentences, attempting to clear the lump forming his throat.

“Baby, you know that, remember? I was dating him before Sterling left.” Bunny peeped up from behind him, her heart beating out of her chest. The last thing she needed was for Harry to cause a scene when they were trying to lay low. While the coincidence was shocking, she knew full well Ian was too stupid to pull off what her stalker was pulling.

“Where?” Harry barked, preparing to grill the man for all he was worth. If he couldn’t tell him a way a Londoner would understand, he was worried he would do his head in right here on the bar. His stomach had already been turning at the mere mention of him dating her before, but the thought of being face to face with someone who could possibly be part of this ongoing torture of his girl? He was seething.

“Canary Wharf, a few stops on the DLR. I’m not giving you my address, sicko.”

“Sicko?” He laughed without humor. “I’m not the one following girls around. How’d you know she’d be here?” He took a step closer, the hair on the back of his neck prickled as he tried to scan the man’s face for any hint of lying.

He was scared shitless, as he should be, but Harry was thrown right back into the paranoia that he usually felt back home. The hesitation and distrust of anyone who got around her. How perfect would it be for her obsessive ex to be the one following her around?

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t, bro. I’m just as surprised as she is- t-tell him, Y/N. Please!” He was backing up slightly as Harry took another step forward, making her grab his arm and try and tug him back.

“H- Hey.” She gently dragged her fingers down his arm. “Please. It’s okay. He’s been here for a while, he left a while back. I didn’t know where he was moving to.” Trying to diffuse the situation was unnerving. She’d seen Harry get like this a few times, but she didn’t want to make a scene here. “Look at me, please. He’s not the person you think.” Meaning her stalker. She could see the cogs turning in his mind, the nervousness from how he worked his jaw, how his other hand had slipped behind him to have a hand on his gun if he needed it. They couldn’t afford to have that happen in such a public place, but it was well known that Harry, when he was Reaper mindset, didn’t care. He would take out a threat and deal with the consequences. As much as it warmed her that he was that dedicated to her safety, it wasn’t any good if he went down for taking out the wrong guy.

“Babe.” Her stern tone cut through the tension, her hand moving to squeeze over his hand tightly. This couldn’t happen. Bunny’s heart was beating out of her chest, looking between the two of them as she tried to figure out what her next move was. “Ian, you remember Harry yeah?” She began, her fingers rubbing gentle circles over the wedding band on her boyfriend’s hand. It would be hard to explain it to Ian, so she figured it was best to keep them hidden. “He brought me here to London to show me around, we’ve been together for a while now so it felt like a good time to see where he came from.”

Harry was still sizing Ian up, chest heaving slightly. Focusing on the sound of Bunny’s voice, he could still hear the faint sound of blood pumping in his ears. This guy was harmless, she had ruled him out but Harry’s brain was still on high alert.

“Anyways, we were just leaving,” Harry interjected, no longer wishing to be in this idiot's presence. He needed to be back in a safe space with his Bunny.

“We don’t have to-“

“I just remembered our reservation. Let’s go.” The tone of his voice had taken her off guard, unfamiliar with the sweet one he usually held specifically for her, but she would let it go despite how it stung under her skin. He was wound up and nervous, and he had just had a scare in the one place he had seemed to key his guard down. She had to remember that. He had just been knocked over, metaphorically speaking.

“You don’t have to run off,” Ian said with a laugh, feeling a bit bolder and wanting to reclaim that stupid masculinity he had felt was stripped of him from the interaction. “I’m not going to try and steal her-“

Before he could finish, his shirt was fisted in Harry’s hand, his body whipped around and pressed to the bar as the cocky look on his face faded to fear. His eyes were dark and cold, though the anger was simmering under the surface of his skin.

“You can’t have her. She isn’t an item to be stolen. I’ve heard about your puny cock and the lack of care you’ve given my girl. Bold of you to assume she’s mentioned more than her dissatisfaction over you.” He did indeed remember this dickhead. It made him want to drag him to the back alley and use the silencer on his gun to take him out. But he was in public. So threats would have to do. “If you breathe a word of her being here, if you try to contact her, if you even look at her again tonight, I will end you. Make your life a living hell, and end it with your body sunk in the Thames.” His words were quiet, but so matter of fact that Bunny’s eyes widened. The pub noises would filter out anyone else hearing, but she could.

“I know the people from the deepest depths of the underground here. One fucking call and I’ll have your entire flat ruined, your bank account drained, and your body strung up in an abandoned building before they dispose of you. So heed this warning very, very carefully.” He got closer. “You’ll stay here, order a pint, and forget that this night and my woman has ever existed. If I hear a word of this breathed out -and I will- I’ll make good on my phone call.” Eyes traced him in disgust. “And you won’t make very good fish food, either.”

Finally, he dropped the guy and pulled Bunny with him, trying to be mindful of how hard he pulled so her shorter legs wouldn’t make her fall. But he was livid. Angry, his face blank and nostrils flared as he grits his teeth.

She decided to stay silent, following him and wrapping her arm around his, their connected fingers an anchor for the both of them. “I’m sorry.” Her voice peeped, looking up at him. “I-didn’t know he would be there. I swear I haven’t known anything since he moved.”

He froze. Why was she apologizing?

Harry could hear the sound of his teeth grinding, though it seemed he felt no pain. His focus was purely on getting her back to the hotel as safely and quietly as possible. Stupid fucking idiot had to choose this pub of all pubs in London to walk into and ruin the perfect end to the day for his perfect girl.

“S’ fine, Bun.” Harry tried his best to reassure her, though his breathing was still heavy and his mind was still racing. He was on high alert as he guided the two of them through the busy crowd of Leicester Square, no one paid much attention to them there. Only one more turn and they’d be safe in the street right by their hotel.

Bunny wasn’t sure what she was expecting as they entered the hotel and made their way up. She chose to stay quiet, her arms wiggling their way around his waist as her head rested against his chest in an attempt to soothe them both. His heart was pounding, though his muscles were noticeably less tense than they had been at the pub.

She didn’t think she’d be able to eat much now, her main concern was tending to Harry. It’d been a good while since he’d snapped back into his protective state, they’d worked so hard to get him to actually relax on this trip. She had been worried it was all for nothing.

“Talk to me.” She murmured as they entered the safety of their room, the sound of Harry double-checking the locks behind them had her eyes squeezing shut. She wished he didn’t have to go through this. If only they didn’t go to that pub.

His throat bobbed as he scanned the room again, only broken out of the trance when her hands gently grabbed his face, cradling his jaw. All she did was gentle. She treated him with a softness no one else ever had, one that he had never even thought of himself being able to have.

There was a moment he stood without a word, looking down at him as he tried to gather himself. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her or make her feel neglected like he had the time before, but it was really fucking hard to do that. His body was taught, tense and he held back tremors of both rage and fear. It was a false alarm, sure, but he had felt all the feelings he imagined surfacing from finding the son of a bitch stalker. His uneven breathing filled the room as she continued to try and soothe him, her soft and concerned gaze killing him. How the fuck was she being so good with him even after what he had done? How he had shut down?

“I was terrified.” He admitted into the silence of the room. “That it was him. I’m still not convinced he isn’t involved. I was letting myself get too relaxed. You’re in danger.” He stressed, head tilting back as he ran his hands over his face. There was obvious regret and self anger in his tone, breaking her heart just a bit more. “I was selfish for not letting my head be on a swivel. I could never forgive myself if I let you get hurt. Ever.” Hs hands peeled off his cheeks so he could look at her, the seriousness of his words bleeding through.

“I promised to protect you. Not only to your father, to your brother- but to myself. This whole thing, you and I? It isn't just sex to me, Bunny. You’re- you’re mine. In every fucking sense of the word. The one person that means anything to me and if I fuck up because I want to- I want to be selfish and just let go? I’d die. If you hurt, I hurt. I can’t ever let it happen.” He felt the intensity in his stomach rise, the feelings he had been trying to keep in check boiling over in the pot. Frothing over the edges, he couldn’t stop himself from falling for her, no matter how many times he had stirred and tried to keep the overflow at bay.

“You mean the most to me. I’ve never cared this much about a person. I felt so much rage… not only at him but at myself. I’m so angry.” He growled. “He looked at you. He touched your arm. How much fucking clearer does it have to be?” Slowly backing her up, Bunny trusting him as her back bumped against the door and her head tipped up to look up at him. Her angry knight. So passionate about protecting her. “Do I have to get you a sign to tell people you’re mine? That I’m yours and I will rip their hearts from their chest, I will slice off any finger that touches you?” His eyes blazed, Harry’s discomfort obvious. He meant every word. AS gruesome as he could be, she hadn’t seen the whole of it yet. This girl got to see the good parts of him and he was convinced that she would be the only one they were reserved for.

Bunny’s eyes searched his, trying to find some kind of sign. Sure, his emotions were on high, but he meant each word he was saying. She could feel it— never once did his words falter, his gaze never leaving hers as his fingertips delicately began to push her jacket off of her shoulders.

“Say something.” Harry breathed, his eyes too scanning hers in an attempt to anchor himself in the moment. When he was with her nothing else mattered, he didn’t have to be anyone he wasn’t. With her he was free. “I mean every word—“

“I know.” Bunny’s voice had been so quiet she wasn’t even sure if he heard it. The words she had wanted to say were hiding just under her breath, if only she felt brave she would tell him. Profess that she loved him and that she trusted him more than anyone else in this world. “I keep thinking,” She started, her sentence interrupted by the thump of her jacket falling on the floor. “You’re the only one I’d want to be here with. The only one I want…” Her words trailed off with a soft moan. God, she was sick.

Cold fingertips dragged up along her arm, Harry’s other hand finding the warmth of her lower back just under her top. He really couldn’t help himself, she was the only thing that could get him to relax.

His stomach heated with a different sort of passion. A flick of a candle, a switch of a blade, a single moan. Her soft body melted into his own as her eyes bore into his own, that calming energy sinking into his skin and melding into arousal that he couldn’t help. She was aroused by this?

Yes. She was. The woman was affected by his words, by his protective nature. Even as deprived and awful, inhumane as his version of justice could be perceived as, she was excited by it. Flattered. His face got closer to hers, bracing with his arm against the door.

“I mean it.” His words were a shaky exhale. “I mean every fucking word.” His hands slipped further under the fabric, her hot skin melting his icy interiors yet again. “Anyone touches you… anyone even thinks about stroking this perfect skin… tasting your mouth…. Harming a single hair on your head. I’d end them.” He pressed closer, fingers finding the nape of her neck. “I’d kill for you, baby. D’you know that?” Harry doubted that she would ever actually know the full extent of what he would do for her. How close she had him to being on his knees at her wish.

She nodded, their noses brushing together. Harry smiled, not a normal one but what she could consider almost feral. Hot. Her thighs trembled as she couldn’t recall anyone else who had been able to gain such a reaction from her body. Their interactions were always something she felt fully, but his intensity was ringing in her ears, throbbing through her body. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that he would.

“I almost did tonight. I meant every word. And I’ll do the same back in Vegas. I’ll find who is tracking you… I’ll send them to meet Hades myself. And then… then I’m going to take you on a proper vacation. I’m going to take you to a beach and fuck you on the sand, I’m going to fuck you on my bike, I’m going to do everything you deserve. I know I don’t deserve you. But I’m a selfish son of a bitch, Bunny. I’m mean, I fight, I do illegal shit, I’ve got blood on my hands and targets on my back, but I’m keeping you anyway.” Their breathing mingled as he tried to control himself but it was slipping.

His lips pressed against hers hard, feeling her fists on his shirt to pull him closer. It was no use.

“I will burn the entire fucking city down to make sure you’re safe. I’ve never been afraid of anything. Death, fire, pain. But I’m fucking terrified of losing you.”

Time stood still as the two of them stood barely a step into their hotel room. Harry cradled her with his arm, unable to get enough of his skin on her own. Her shivers only drove him all the more insane, he was hypnotized by the feeling she brought him, the comfort of her existence was something he felt himself continuously getting drunk on. He didn’t want to stop himself, he couldn’t. Not when every moment felt like it could be their very last.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I’ll always find you.” Bunny knew there was very little could do, but on the off chance that this fucker managed to find her she would leave as many clues for Harry as she possibly could. No way would she let some monster get in the way of this beautiful blossoming relationship. “Even if it hurts me.” She whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips. She was hungry to taste them again, it was the perfect remedy for the comedown of shock. What if she wanted it to hurt?

“Please let go just for tonight… just take me how you want to.” She would do just about anything to get him back to a relaxed state again. This feral look on his face awakened something in her, he’d previously mentioned he’d been holding back. There was something about the dark breathy chuckle he let out that had her mind reeling. “I’m serious.” Bunny felt her heart rate picking up as he toyed with the delicate skin of her neck. “Please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He whispered, trying to keep that curated delicacy he had reserved for her at hand- but failing. Failing miserably.

“I do.” She whispered back, arching into him. “You’re upset. You want to prove that I’m yours?” There was danger in taunting him. The girl knew that. But she wanted him to break down, to give in to those urges again. The last time had been so, so good. She could still feel the slight ache but she wanted more. Greedy. She was so incredibly greedy for every lick and drop of affection, his real self she could get. Her hand reached for his, pulling it towards the front of her throat to collar it.

“Fuck me, Harry. Own me. Use my body, mark me, make everyone know.” She bleated, eyes wide for him. “Please?” Her lips pressed against his. “Please, please, please. Just for tonight- make me ache. You know my limits. Push them.”

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry breathed through his nose, trying so hard not to give in to her even though she was offering herself up on a silver platter. The feeling of his hand around her throat was something that’d felt natural, her kiss tempting him even more. She knew just how to get him to succumb to her desires but there was still that bit of fear.

Sure, the other night they dabbled into the territory. A few good slaps, her slipping into subspace. This, however, was a whole other beast. Harry could be truly sadistic, relentless in the way he fucked women. While his girl had proven to be the perfect slut for him, he still worried that he would lose himself. There would always be more caution in this because he cared about her, he adored her, her life meant something to him. It just made him worry a little about self control when she taunted him. Especially when he was in a mood like this. Where he knew he wouldn’t stop himself from absolutely ruining her.

“I want you to.” Bunny was confident that she could take it. The slaps yesterday were manageable, hot, even and with the right aftercare, she was positive there was nothing he could do that would truly hurt her. Harry in his feral state was terrifying, yes, but a thrill that made her sopping wet. She was the object of his desire, surely the aggression he would lay upon her would translate differently than it had with anyone before her.

“Want you to show me the real you… want to know what it’s like, I can handle it.” She had opened up for him so nicely, let him see her slip into the softest of spaces. She had hoped to see him enter his own headspace, one where they could interact together.

“God….” Harry rolled his head back on his shoulders, his erratic breathing amplified by her fingers pressing over his own, making him squeeze. It got his attention right away. Damn it all to hell. The woman had a road map to the paths to drive him wild the quickest, the buttons installed in the tips of her little fingers.

She moaned. The vibration of it stung his palm. She was serious. Her head rolling back on the door as she hated herself to him with her eyes fluttering at the feeling. She was showing him, taunting him, and Harry could feel the tether to his rational being fraying.

“You… can handle it?” His lips curled up in one of the most cruel little smirks she had ever seen. “The soft, sweet little slut can handle it? Just a bit of slapping has you slipping. You really think you can manage it? When I make a mess out of you?”

Her nod made him narrow his eyes, watching as she blinked up at him. Did she?

He tested the waters, gathering saliva under his tongue and spitting it right on her closed lips, getting a surprised gasp from her. A flinch. “Lick your lips. Clean it up.” He stood straighter, seeming to loom over her. She stood with wide eyes, looking like she was going to speak before he took his fingers from behind her and lightly smacked her cheek.

“I didn’t fucking ask you to speak. Did I?” Her head shook, a tiny whimper making him laugh before continuing on. “No, I didn’t. I know you get a little brainless when I touch you, all you can think about is cock… but I gave you instruction. Try again.” He hissed, feeling his cock throb at how quickly she let her tongue rub over her lips. Pink brushing over the glistening pair of lips wet with his spit, she slowly dragged the muscle over the pout.

“There we are. Pretty little pet does have some sense floating up there.” He cooed, thumbing the rest she couldn’t get over the rest of her chin and rubbing it into the skin.

There was a pause, his eyes softening for a moment as he checked in. “My messy baby. Are you sure you can handle it? Y’know I adore you.” He pressed a soft kiss to her wet mouth, a direct contrast to his previous actions. “You’re my girl but… I’m gonna be mean to you. You know how to get me to stop, yeah?” It had to be abundantly clear. There wouldn't be unnecessary risks of losing her trust.

Bunny nodded her head, not wanting to risk speaking and making him unnecessarily angry. Just one word, that’s all it would take for him to stop. She decided to take his word for it and behave while she was still grounded in reality, god knows what she’s getting herself into when she was drunk on him and his cock. He’d given her a taste of it last time, blown her expectations out of the water, but she was his greedy girl after all.

His actions had shaken her up just enough for wetness to start pooling in her panties. She loved seeing him in this state, it was so animalistic. He was only focused on one thing and that was pleasure— in this case, his own. She would happily give herself to him a million times over if this meant he could get it out of his system. If it was anything like before she knew she’d enjoy it.

He’d never been mean to her before, it would definitely be a new feeling. However, it was all in the name of sex. Sex makes you say all sorts of things, it’s part of its nature. It’s a connection people can’t properly put into words. Bunny was eager to explore their connection even further and prove their trust.

“That’s a good girl.” He sighed, stroking over her hair before wrapping it around his fist. “Come.”

There was no other option- but Y/N didn’t mind. She followed, relishing in the slight prickling pain on her scalp as he stayed true to his word and led her like a naughty pup over to the bed.

“You’re such a nice girl. It really is such a shock to me that you love acting like a depraved whore.” He said with a chuckle. “Y’know, I thought… the first time we saw each other again, you were so sweet looking. Grown up, not a little girl, but sweet. That big smile and sparkling pretty eyes, bouncing on your feet. And then, later in the night… you crawled up on my lap. Tried to tempt me, with your brother just feet away. That’s when I knew there had to be something with you. Something that made you dirty, just like me.”

He undid his belt with his free hand, the sound of the leather snapping out of the belt loops making her whimper. His start was intense, intently on her eyes as he released her hair. “Wrists in front of you.”

There was no second request. She did it quickly, letting herself feel the warm leather wrap snugly around her wrists and through them. There was a shot of jealousy when she realized she was not the only one he had done this to. No- Harry must have done this dozens of times because of how well he did it, but she kept her mouth shut as he secured her.

“There.” One last tug and she was secure enough to not escape, but easy enough for Harry to be able to undo it quickly. “What a fucking vision you are, darling. Look at you.” His voice aired out, walking in a circle around her. Reaching into his pocket, he steadied himself behind her. His nose brushed her neck, inhaling the scent of her. This was enough to get him drunk. The perfume, her soap, the scent that could only be her…. Biting down on the flesh in a nip to make her yelp.

“Too good. Too fucking good for me, and yet…. You let me do such filthy things to you. I wonder what everyone would think if they knew how eager you were to get my cock in your mouth. So quickly after we agreed I’d be your boyfriend… taunting me. Almost crying because I didn’t give you my cum. And now? Now you want it dripping down your thighs.”

There was a metallic slice in the air, Bunny stiffening as she felt cool metal brush her chest. The flag of his pocket knife. “If they knew you shivered in anticipation while having a knife held to you. You know how nasty you’ve got to be, darling?” He laughed, the heat of it making her shiver again. “Oh, that’s why you’re so perfect for me, little Bunny.”

She gasped as he sliced through the upper part of her top in a swift motion, using his hands to rip the rest off. “But what good is having a beautiful slut at my beck and call if she’s clothed?”

The anticipation was killing her, all her senses heightened. She’d been waiting for him to bring the knife out again, but the unexpected action had her feeling warm. There was something that washed over her, a feeling reminiscent of embarrassment but was much more pleasurable. Sitting there exposed to him, clothes cut, unable to move her hands. The danger of it all was too appealing, Harry played the part well. Though, he wasn’t playing at all.

Harry noticed her breathing pick up, the way her chest was heaving made his cock stir in his jeans. He let the blade of the knife trace down her denim-clad leg, teasing her with the sensation before the tip met the zipper. “I bet you’re soaked under these, my perfect whore. Always ready for me to stuff you.” He was debating cutting the jeans off of her but decided against it, using one hand to unbutton them and pull them down.

Harry wasted no time in slicing her panties off, a dark laugh leaving his lips at her gasp. “Always liked that move, hm? Filthy slut. Open.” He commanded, waiting for her jaw to drop down before stuffing her mouth full of her panties. “Don’t trust you to stay quiet so I think this will do.”

It was degrading, absolutely, but there was just something about the way Harry could make it feel good. The humiliation swam in her stomach pooling down to her cunt, the damp spot on the fabric pressed against her tongue.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” He ran the cold metal over her thighs, over her mound ever so carefully to get it wet before moving in front of her. His eyes were dark, tongue licking up the flat of the blade and groaning at the taste. “Yeah. You can see why I love being parked right between these gorgeous thighs. If you weren’t such a baby, you’d stop complaining about being over-sensitive and let me lick you up. But…” he tossed the knife to the side. “I think….” His hand pushed her to fall on the bed. “It’s time for a proper taste. I’ve got you gagged, bound… I can lick you up, and prepare you for my cock. How does that sound?” He turned his back towards her to the drawer beside the bed, where he had left the cleaned and unpackaged toys. “Oh, that’s right. Y’can’t reply.” The snarky reply somehow left her feeling a bit more hot. How did he manage that?

“Gonna make you so sensitive, and you’re just going to lay there and take it. You loved being my fucktoy last time, so let’s see.” Standing between her legs, he tugged her by the ankles toward the end of the bed while he ignored her muffled squeak. “Three kicks with your foot if it’s too much. Otherwise? Don’t complain.” Establishing a safe system was imperative regardless of verbal ability.

Bunny felt her cunt throbbing but resisted the urge to squeeze her thighs together. It wouldn’t do her any good, not when Harry was standing there looking down at her cunt as if it was his first and last meal all at once. He took his sweet time, picking up one of her legs so he could kiss and bite his way down to her core. He loved the way she reacted to him, her sensitivity made him crave her that much more. Her scent had him forgetting what he had initially planned to do, eyes zeroing in on her puffy slick folds. Harry’s hands gripped around her thighs, lowering himself till he was kneeling on the floor.

With the panties gagging her, Bunny assumed her moans would be silenced. Instead, she was met with muffled sounds that only elevated the feeling of Harry’s tongue lapping her up. It was an erotic blend, the sound of slurping and sucking making her legs twitch. He was so good at this. Creating environments built to break her down little by little.

He was relentless.

Of course that was a given, but it seemed he was even more desperate tonight to get her, to get every bit of her slick on his tongue and she couldn’t keep quiet, even with her gag. He wasn’t holding back, licking up from her entrance to her clit before spitting back down and using his hand to gently smack over her.

When she squealed, Harry’s wet mouth grinned, filthy promise written in his eyes as he smacked harder over her clit and watched her hips buck up. “Slut for pain. Like when I do that to you?” He shook his head, picking up the toy and dragging up her wet folds. “I hope that extends to some overstimulation. I want you to cry for me today. Good tears. Tears only I can ever get out of you.”

Turning it on he felt her jump, the lower setting making her squirm as he situated it right on her clit whilst his finger slipped into her cunt. “Drooling little hole you’ve got… you’re lucky you love this so much. It’s going to make it far easier for us when I’m fucking you.”

The woman’s breathing was staggered, her stomach clenching at the tension he was creating. It hurt so good, the burn paired with a deep lull of pleasure creeping throughout her body. The gentle vibration of the toy was tormenting her, if only he had turned it up even just one degree she swore it wouldn’t be as agonizing as this.

Whimpers managed to push through the fabric lodged in her mouth, her thighs twitching in his grasp. She was trying her best not to squirm, breathing heavily through her nose as she mentally coached herself through the pleasure. Her cunt squeezed around his fingers, desperate to be filled by his cock once again. He said he was being mean, there would be no point begging. She did tell him he could do what he wanted. Bunny would be good.

“What a perfect fucking whore, I can feel you squeezing me. Want more?” Harry mocked, rubbing the pads of his fingers over her precious g-spot. He was slow with the movements, coaxing more of those delicious little moans out of her. “Should’ve known you could take it— don’t you dare cum before I say so.” He didn’t want to stop touching her, he intended to flood her senses for a good while before giving her her first of many orgasms.

Harry clicked the toy up a speed, chuckling darkly at the way her body jolted. “So sensitive, so greedy…” He just about growled into her thigh, teeth sinking into the skin enough to satisfy him. The man could tell she was gone, but he didn’t want to stop it. Not when she was taking it so well, not when she so clearly wanted more.

She yelped against the fabric, body jerking as his teeth marked her. He hadn’t been joking when he had said he was going to go for it. While he’s bitten her before, this one was a claiming one. Dark and hard and a promise of more, making her drip for him.

“So-ee.” The poor attempt of ‘Sorry’ was muffled through a gag, apologizing from her jolt. His eyes glazed up at her, shaking his head but continuing his slight torture.

Harry loved to see her wet like this. To see the wet juices of her cunt coat his fingers and drip down her folds, all the way down to her ass. Soon enough it would mark the bedcover, and he couldn’t wait for that. His cock was aching, pulsing in his briefs but he was satisfying a different urge.

“Sorry? Mm… Slutty thing is sorry she can’t take a bite. What are we going to do with you?” Adding another finger, her legs twitched as her toes curled, the sloshing, wet sound of them fucking into her the music he needed to hear to his ears. “Don’t fucking cum.” He warned, pressing the vibrator harder against her clit. “Don’t do it. I know you’ve got a filthy set of holes back here, but have some self control.” He could feel it, the beginnings of clenches around his fingers and her thighs trembling as she began to protest behind the gag.

She almost did it. The pain had buzzed on to pleasure as his joined fingers curled right against a spot that had her stomach jumping, but he could tell. Immediately, her muddled moans were disrupted by a screech. His hand yanked away the toy, his fingers pulling out and the wet palm of his hand coming rough roughly onto her cunt.

“What did I say? Did I not just fucking tell you to hold it? You were going to do it anyway.” Again, his hand came down right over her clit, the sharp sting making her writhe under him. Again. And again. The stringing of slaps to her most intimate area hurt, but they felt good. So good, and Bunny could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

With a glare, Harry’s fingers pulled her spit soaked panties from her mouth and held her jaw roughly, speaking to her through a cruel smile. “Does it hurt too bad?” He cooed, shaking her head back and forth before he narrowed his eyes. “Or…Did you like that? Did my pretty little pain slut like having her cunt smacked around?” He asked, wiping his wet fingers on her cheek. Y/N was stupified, eyes wide and wet and mouth open as she tried to find the words. “Yes or no, Bunny. Use those words. Or did Daddy take them away from you so quickly?”

“Yes, I liked it, Daddy.” Bunny could feel her face heating up as she breathed out her answer. Admitting it to him always made her feel so shy, even more so than being spread out like this. Her body belonged to him, she never wanted to hide from him after the first time. But saying she liked his twisted methods of domination was another story. She used all the strength she had to hold herself up, using this opportunity to take in his expression. His face was wet—covered in her arousal, and his eyes were dark with pure lust. Primal desire, he couldn’t help himself. Every bit of her struggle to manage the immense pleasure sent him further into the headspace. He swore he could swallow her whole if she’d let him.

“Yeah? You like it, gorgeous?” Harry cooed, noticing the floaty look in her eyes. She was just as far gone as he was, he was glad she had convinced him to give in. His perfect girl, she really could take it.

“I do... I do, I love it.” She mewled, seeking his approval as she looked at him with glassy eyes and pouty lips. “Love e-everything you do to me. I want to make you happy.”

Harry felt that tiny bit of softness leak through the primitive layer, making him pet over her face softly before it melted away. She was dazed, looking like a baby deer- his helpless little Bunny. “I know you do. I could do anything I wanted and you’d thank me for it.” He sighed, shaking his head before pressing his lips to hers. A hint of softness before he had her.

“I could take this little toy….” He took the vibrator, switching it back on to a higher setting and placing it on her clit as he loomed over her shivering body, her mouth open and wet as she took uneven inhales. “And I could tape it to you. I could keep this little thing connected to your poor little clit and make you cum over and over for me until you can’t take it. And you’d thank me.”

A tear dripped down her cheek as she tried to hold back, the orgasm quickly rising as he had found the perfect spot, the perfect pace. “H-sir, sir- please let me cum, please, please, please.” She wrung her hands in the belt, the bite of the leather making her moan. “I can’t hold it, I can’t hold it, I wanna be good-“

And then, it was gone. A sob left her throat, frustration raising as Harry’s smirking face was her only vision.

“That was a cute beg. I liked it.” His smile resembled a wolf. Hunting her down, playing with his food. “Let’s try it again.”

Edging.

“No, no, no— Please!” Bunny cried, thrashing slightly in disapproval. “Please, please, please, please—“

Smack.

“Quiet,” Harry commanded, his voice stern as his hand roughly gripped her face. With furrowed brows he stared down at her, daring her to look away. “You were doing so well, what happened?” He kissed his teeth, dropping her from his grip. “If you want to cum you have to listen to me, brat.” He was testing his own patience. Hearing her beg was a weakness of his, but he wanted to prove a point.

Bunny simply nodded, bottom lip quivering for a moment. She wanted to cum so bad she could cry, the smack he placed across her cheek only fueling the fire in her core. “I’m sorry, sir.” She squeaked, blinking away her needy tears in hopes that he would touch her.

“Can I have a kiss? Please.” Her voice changed momentarily, needing him to ground her and remind her that she was doing well despite his harshness.

It was a moment of clarity, her shaky voice bleeding into a slightly unsure tone that had him softening up nearly immediately. It was good to know that his body truly could tell a difference. His fingers stroked her cheek where he had smacked, eyes gentle as he tipped her chin up and pressed their lips together for a loving kiss. “Doing so well for me. Can’t believe how well you’re taking this.” He murmured against her lips. “You’re okay?” The last thing he wanted to do was upset her seriously.

Thankfully she nodded, puckering her lips for a few more kisses which he readily gave to her before he could sense her melting back into position. “There. Good girl. Just tell me if you need me to stop, you know the safe word.” He gently tapped the tip of her nose before he let that dark mask take back over.

She was in awe of how he could do it. How he could be so loving and tender to her and then call her all the names in the book- and even more so because she loved it. Ate up every single piece of it

Without a word, he slipped his hand under her jaw to keep her eyes on him while the other flipped the vibrator back on. “You can cum this time. Then I think you’ll be nice and open for my dick. I want to see you be the pretty, needy little brat. Talk to me. Because as soon as I’m inside you, you’re not going to be able to.” He nudged their noses together. “Because you get so dumb on my cock. I love every bit of it. But someone’s got to remind you who you belong to.”

She belonged to him.

Everyone in this hotel would know that by the end of the night, Harry would make sure of it. Granting her permission to make noise, he knew there was no reason for her to hold back. He himself was tired of the muffled sounds, he wanted to hear her loud and clear.

“Thank you, sir, I-aH” Bunny’s breath hitched, relaxing into the feeling with a low whine. He had started it off deliciously slow again, though the pain from his previous torment had built up. She was sensitive.

“Just wanna cum, wanna show you how good you make me feel.” Bunny’s hands instinctually went to cup her tits but forgot about her bound wrists. She cursed him in her head, quickly losing herself in the pleasure as he turned the toy up another speed.

“Please slap my tits, want you to bite me again— I wanna cum for you over and over and over like you said, sir.” She was gone, far gone. “I’m your good girl, I promise.”

Harry loved this. He loved every bit of it.

This woman called to every single part of him, making him feel slightly feral as she spoke. This was his best friend’s little sister, the woman he was supposed to protect, and yet she was here telling him to slap her tits, bite her, to make her cum. It was wrong in many senses of the word but Harry had found that part of that made it feel even better.

He growled under his breath, doing exactly as he wanted. “That’s what I wanted.” He chuckled, slapping her bare breast before pinching her nipple. The noise that came from her swollen mouth was unlike what he’d heard before, but it continued when he pulled on it. It was visible in her face, she was wrecked already and he wanted to get her there. Make her babble again, her shaking legs struggling to stay open as he leaned down to bite right on the swell of her breast.

Bunny let out another desperate mewl, the bite hurting so fucking good she was close to seeing stars. “Please, please, I’m a good girl. I’m a good girl for you, I’m yours, keep biting me- M’gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna….” Her frantic squeaks were paired with a dark noise from Harry’s throat, moving to her neck to bite down on the soft curve of her shoulder. As soon as his teeth dug in, she lost it.

The vibrations, the pain of them, his fingers twisting and pinching her breast, the perfect mixture to make her cum. A wail left her plushy mouth as Harry rutted slightly against her thigh, pulling his teeth away to watch her face scrunch in pleasure.

She could feel pins and needles in her legs, crying as she came. The work up to the orgasm, the restraint, his closeness, she was greedy and got one of her wishes.

Bunny sighed in satisfaction, her body convulsing as she rode out the orgasm. “Fuck! Ah-“ She hissed, finally feeling the buzzing of the vibrator on her clit. It seemed that Harry wasn’t satisfied with just the one. “It hurts, Daddy.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him to turn it off though.

“Shh, give it a few moments, pet…” Harry mumbled against her skin, knowing if she waited long enough the pain would turn to pleasure. It took a few more moments and whines from her till he felt her hips buck up against the toy. “That’s it, give me another one like the greedy little whore you are.” He let his mouth move back down to her chest, sucking at the skin before finding another perfect patch to bite.

Her skin was so warm and smooth against him, though he was starting to get annoyed at the layers he still had on. He hadn’t even bothered to rid himself of his clothes, getting carried away in the moment. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of her either.

“Can I? Fuck— can I cum again? It feels so good, can I, can I, can I—“ Bunny’s breathing was picking up again, eyes squeezing shut as if that would stop the quickly building climax from ripping through her. “I can’t hold it, please say yes, please—”

Pulling off her nipple, his hand smacked against her breast before he barked out the order.

“Cum.”

She felt like she wasn’t in her own body, on her way out. Halfway in. She was hot, sweat on her brow as she shuddered under him. It was fuzzy, her eyes clenching shut as her mouth opened in a silent screech.

Harry loved watching her cum. How her body arched, how she shook, her jaw clenching and her chest heaving. He was going to make sure he could keep this vision exclusively his for the rest of his life.

“That’s it, that’s my fucking girl.” He praised, laughing in disbelief as he felt her gush a little on his hand that held the toy. Messy, wet, everything he had been going for. He knew when it was starting to get too much, her squirm and whine signaling him for the right moment to stop. Pulling it off, he tossed it to the side and pressed their lips together, peppering filthy praises between the kisses.

“My fucking girl. So pretty when you cum for me. You drive me crazy. I’m so obsessed with you.” He panted, pulling back and taking her bound hands, and untying the belt off of her wrists. They looked a little irritated, making him take a second to stroke over them and bring them together to kiss the irritated skin. “M’not sorry, precious. You loved it.”

He was quick to dispose of the rest of his clothes, kicking them whenever they landed. He just wanted her. She was boneless on the bed, his gorgeous woman, panting as she looked at him with wet cheeks and clenched thighs he had to pry back open.

“C’mon,Baby. Up.” He lifted her towards the top of the bed. settling her onto the pillows, her hair haloed across the linen pillowcases, her bitten lips plump and dark, cheeks wet with her tears from the pleasure. His angelic picture with a frame sent from hell.

“You can touch me now, but I need to be inside of you.”

“I want you,“ Bunny’s hands immediately flew up to his hair, tugging at the roots with vigor. She had been itching to do it since the minute his tongue swiped over her clit, her grip so tight she swore her knuckles were white. “Inside. Right now.” She was still breathless, lifting her head to connect their lips once again.

She loved to kiss him. She would be happy just kissing him forever, but why would she want to when he could fuck her like this? “You’re so hot,” She whined against him, “please put your cock in me. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Bunny let one of her hands trail down his back, nails digging into the skin to inflict a bit of pain and emphasize her words. She needed his cock. “Call me greedy, I don’t care, I want it so bad— I wanna make a mess all over you. Want to feel you,” She trailed off, her eyes glazed over with desire. Her hand moved to grab his, placing it over the softest part of her belly. “Here.”

He had definitely broken her a bit. That shy, soft spoken spirit with a hint of tease had gone full blown need, showing her hand as she broke, egging him for it. Whining. She liked to be manhandled, she liked how regardless of his rough actions he took time to praise and check in and it drove her mad.

His hand flexed on her stomach, a fire flaring through his body. His Bunny begging him for it, not a hint of hesitation- it did something for him. A new wick lit inside, engulfing the rest of him in flames. It triggered a thought. One that would have repulsed him had it been quite literally anyone else…but the girl under him had a way of making him completely and utterly ruin any walls he had up. Rubble on the pavement.

He obliged, settling between her legs and brushing the dripping, ruddy tip of his engorged cock through her slick and puffy lips. It was so easy to get wet enough, wasting little time as he began to push in.

“Then take it.” He whispered, sliding his hand under her neck to hold her there. Right at the nape, eyes watching as hers watered at the stretch. “You want me in your belly, baby? Want to be full of me?” Lips brushed hers. “You are such a needy, desperate little bitch. Y’know that? I adore every part of it. Makes me even more glad that you’re mine… but…” he hissed as she welcomed him in, finding his home deep seated in her cunt with his balls up against her ass. “When you do things like that, makes me want to breed you.” Their mingled breathing paused as Bunny’s caught in her throat. “Ought t’knock you up. Keep you full….. because you’re mine. You know it… but the world should know too, shouldn’t it? Should know *exactly* who you belong to.”

Y/N whined, wide eyed looking at him as her body reacted to the ultra possessive claim. He’s always been a domineering man, but something about such a permanent claim had them both hot. It would be the worst timing, but her legs tightened around him to keep him close.

“Please.” The bleated word hit his lips. “I- yes. Yes. I want it, I want you in my belly. Please do it.”

Harry snickered at her pleading, feeling his cock grow impossibly heavy inside her. She was begging for his load, to have his child. Part of him knew she was just spacey, but he decided he’d let himself imagine she truly meant it for the moment. Would hurt right?

“Asking so nicely, like a good little slut.” He purred, the same feral smile returning to his face. His hips pulled back only to snap back inside her with a guttural moan leaving his throat. “Fucking love your cunt,” He set a slow pace for himself, wanting to meld his cock into every part of her walls. “Think I could spend days inside of you and still never get enough…. And you’re squeezing me so tight, you still aren’t satisfied?”

“No, too slow.” Bunny breathed, at her wit's end. Feeling full of him wasn’t cutting it in this state, she was feigning. Her hips bucked up on her own, her back arching to lean further into him. Her bratty self wasn’t taking too well to this position. He was still going easy on her. “Don’t tease me anymore, know you want to fuck me stupid. Make me hurt. Show me how you want it.”

What she hadn’t expected, though, was the sting in her scalp as he gripped her hair and kept her face still as he filled her to the brim, stopping the thrusts.

No. No, she needed more.

“I think you forget who’s in charge here.” He snarled. “No matter how good your cunt is, I’m the one who owns it. Making demands?” He laughed through his nose. “I’ll do as I damn well please.” His cock pulled back out to the tip before slamming back in, making the bed lurch and hit the wall.

She swore she saw stars, a scream leaving her lips as he repeated it again. Deep, so fucking deep that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“Where did my good whore go? I love that beg but-“ he gave another devastating thrust, making her pant, nails digging into his back roughly. “You turned into a brat. Lucky I need to empty my balls and you’ve got a perfect hole for it, or I’d take it away from you.”

Her grip was strong enough to break skin, nails clawing down the length of his back with primal need.

Harry groaned at the feeling, the burn adding to his arousal. He liked the pain she was inflicting upon him but needed to be closer, deeper.

Without much of a warning, he pulled out and flipped her around, slamming back into her with such force the bed frame smacked against the wall again.

“No more words, Princess? Already gone dumb on my cock?” Harry couldn’t stop his hips from pistoning in and out of her with force. The feeling of her milking him was far too good, he’d teased himself enough and it was time to give in. “Take it. Every, last, bit.” His voice grew dark, pushing himself up off of her so he could take in his view.

Beautiful supple skin ready to be marked in any way he pleased. Her ass was something he couldn’t resist. “Wanted to plug you up today, make you squirm till you begged for me to fill both of your holes.” Thwack. Harry paused to admire the trace left over on her skin. “I couldn’t wait. I knew you couldn’t either— filthy little slut. You’re dripping f’me.” He smirked, placing another heavy handed smack on the opposite cheek.

She didn’t know how good it would feel.

There had been a feeling. With how he had smacked her before, how he had held her a bit rough. She knew that she liked pain and liked to see him in a darker, dominant headspace- but she hadn’t expected to feel the stinging prickles on her cheek and have it travel down to her cunt, showing clearly now as he fucked into her. His smacks had made her moan, the garbled noise fueling him further. His fingers brushed over her hot skin gently and massaged the flesh as his cock pounded into her. A contrast to the heavy thrusts stealing her breath and the slamming of the headboard into the wall behind them.

“Fu-uck. I can’t- I….” She choked on her words as he shifted, one leg over her hip while he stayed between his thighs with the other one. Her ass was spread open with his hand, thumb pressing into her hole as she squealed and thrashed under him.

It was too much. Both her holes being filled, the jostling of her body, being tossed around with her face in the sheets, she came without permission. Screaming muffled into the fabric as her face was stained with sweat and tears, noises punched out of her as he didn’t let up.

If anything? It spurred him on.

The steady sound of the headboard smacking against the wall kept the two of them anchored in reality. They paid no mind to the slow cracking in the bed frame, instead, Harry found himself sinking deeper into a new headspace.

“Greedy girl,“ He growled lowly, his voice settling in the thick air of the room. The smell of sin was enough for him to feel high. “Can’t wait for permission?” Another smack reverberated throughout the room. “You‘ll give me another.” He demanded.

Bunny opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Unable to form a single sentence, she screamed while writhing beneath him. Everything felt fuzzy, her vision blurry, her body completely open. His words made her cunt clench, surprising herself with how much she could take. Her body was begging for more. Her head turned so she could catch her breath, attempting to stabilize herself with her grip on the sheets and mattress. It was no use.

“Knew you’d shut up.” Harry was feral. “Keep screaming, slut. This is exactly what you wanted wasn’t it?”

It was, it was exactly what the both of them wanted- and they wouldn’t be stopping.

Not until it was 3 in the morning, the bed had broken, and their muscles ached.

And a hole in the wall from the bed frame- but that would be a problem for when they woke up. So would Harry’s raised and bleeding scratch marks, the bruising on Y/N’s hips and wrists, the lack of voice she was going to have from screaming when he hit it just right- but that was tomorrow’s problem. Right now, it was time to relish in their unfiltered, unadulterated passion.

Who knew when they’d get this opportunity again?

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scribbleseas · 4 months ago

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Straight Laced, Chapter VIII: To Be A Keen Observer…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself, besides thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much for sticking with me. I’m sorry about that last cliffhanger. (Kind of.)

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 10, 1895

The British Museum

The Yard. The press. Throngs of pedestrians fleeing from the museum to catch a glimpse of the chaos. Flashing lenses immortalizing Maisie Stannard’s bleeding body, craning necks, overlapping questions.

“Lord Phantomhive, Lord Phantomhive, who’dunnit?” someone demanded, sick comedy in their voice.

Now the public knew. They no longer had the benefit of a quiet investigation.

The Same Night, Hours Later

Ciel’s Estate

The evening’s fiasco was practically the worst-case scenario for any crime scene, Ciel thought, staring into the lively orange licks of flames in his fireplace. The contained inferno crackled, demolishing the kindling Finny packed inside moments before their return.

The fall night was brisk, the draft blowing against his window, causing balding tree branches to scream.

Finally left alone, the Earl of Phantomhive loosened his tie, slouched behind his desk, and allowed his fingers to knit in his dark hair. He released a frustrated groan he’d long been holding, spat out a curse he’d long bit down in the face of the curious public. They wanted to construct a story that would attempt to broadcast Ciel’s shock, but he would never give them the satisfaction of witnesssing a Phantomhive plan go awry.

Still, the predicament was an embarrassment. He wanted the killer to be William, but the suspect never truly felt proper—even as he watched the Yard escorted the man in handcuffs. He’d merely convinced himself William was completely guilty because it was the most convenient solution, and that was worse than a confident response being wrong.

Ciel’s eye strained from analyzing the list of guests from the gala. The names and titles were forged into his brain, and yet, how could he stop? Another person was dead because of his shortsightedness. It was a smear on his name and reputation, one far worse than courting a prima ballerina.

At the end of the day, he should have known better. It was too convenient for the killer to be William. Ciel doubted he had much of a capacity to kill—not the intellect, not the bravado, and not the motive.

Was he a violent criminal who took what he felt he deserved no matter who he hurt? Certainly. But was he intelligent enough to poison a young woman slowly using dimethylmercury? To lure a young woman to a bridge and dispose of her in the river beneath? Not to Ciel. He had to be missing a significant part of this investigation. What could he be missing? Who could he be ignoring?

Someone had to have known William’s crimes against members of his company, and plotted to frame him. The death had to be connected to the rest of them—too convenient to be a coincidence. Y/n knew her. They were both part of the same company— rivals, even. All of the dancers were a part of this company, at one point in their short-lived careers. Even the victims who were working somewhere new during their time of death or the last day they were seen, worked under William at one point in time.

Y/n said that the incidents all seem to take place on Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Days where the full company rehearsed The Nutcracker in full, and Natasha was occupied with costume fittings. The company was in its last two weeks of playing Swan Lake and now it was preparing to welcome the holiday season with the festive ballet. It always had a popular run, causing it to start at the end of November until the weekend after Christmas.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, either. Ciel thought it incriminated William because it ensured that his company— including his wife — would be at their most distracted. Perhaps, the real killer assumed Ciel would draw that conclusion. They would have needed to break into William’s South Hampton home to plant the weapon used to kill Janet Fischer, as well. It seemed that estate was the only property William left unkept.

“I’ve brought your tea, my Lord,” Sebastian said, his habit of breaking Ciel’s focus entirely too common. The Earl knew better than to be startled by his demon butler. After all, the being was at the mercy of his orders. They both knew the terms of their contract intimately well: Sebastian obeyed all of Ciel’s commands and once they apprehend those responsible for the deaths of the previous Phantomhive heads, Sebastian could consume his soul.

“How damned am I, Sebastian?” Ciel asked, half pressing for what the butler made of tonight’s accident and half assessing the damage dealt between him and Y/n, given that the butler had just delivered her a night snack. She was never one to hide her feelings, surely giving Sebastian an earful about how Ciel managed to offend her. Uncovering just what had sent Y/n into her tirade beckoned at Ciel more than he liked, distracting him even more than the investigation was. The prima ballerina was so nonchalant about her promiscuity; could their relations have truly meant that much to her?

Did she feel an inescapable sense of dread and thrill around him, too? A spark so addicting that all she could do was be near him? Just like a good sip of that sweet wine she adored.

“What are you referring to?” While the butler poured a cup of tea, he lifted an eyebrow at the Earl, questioning him. A knowing smile pulled at his lips.

“Don’t you play dumb. You know whom I speak of.” The irritation in Ciel’s voice filled the room.

Sebastian merely chuckled at him. “How do you think making an enemy out of the Norfolk duchy by refusing his only daughter would end for you, sir?” His question was anything but accusatory— amused at most. Curious to get an idea of Ciel’s honest priorities: the wise match, Caroline and her presumptuous mother, or the correct match. The prima ballerina. His prima ballerina, as they worked so hard to make the public believe.

Except, they didn’t understand how much Ciel was just as much her Earl of Phantomhive.

All there was in polite society was Gwen, insisting she and Caroline come to his estate for tea. A meeting he was far from in the position to reject, out of respect to the current Duke of Norfolk. Ciel should have put a formal end to the slow beginnings of courtship he’d hinted to Caroline. At the time, he felt there was nothing to end, since nothing had really begun.

Had the Norfolk line not been in jeopardy, Ciel doubted Gwen would have continued to pursue him for Caroline with such insistence, especially after he announced his courtship of Y/n. Without a male heir, the duchy needed to secure its new duke by marrying Caroline to a suitable noble. The position had been attractive at the time, but now, Ciel hardly felt the appeal. Instead, he intended to tell Y/n that Gwen invited herself to the estate for tea after she forced him to share a cordial dance with her daughter, but Y/n fled the ballroom before he could.

“I could withstand it. And if I could not, you would see me through,” Ciel insisted, turning his gaze back down to the names on his newest list of names— a compilation of suspects with motivation to either kill company ballerina Maise Stannard or the wife of a plagiarizing artist with a legion of enemies. “Unless something changed in our contract within the last seven-some years?” Ciel prompted, scowling at the supernatural being.

The side of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Of course not,” he confirmed, “though I may not be able to shield you from the wrath of a woman scorned. Those dangers are entirely different from one another, you’ll come to understand.”

Such reflecting over his personal life was a painful waste of effort. He needed to prioritize his thoughts. Another person died, dammit.

The distinction between company ballerina Maisie and wife of conman Maisie was critical because it decided whether the serial killer was bold enough to kill in front of a high-end gala lined with security or if one of Stannard’s enemies was sending him a message.

Ciel’s eyebrows knit together, unsure if Sebastian was referring to Y/n or Caroline. He cared significantly more about the former. Though, it was only fair to note that Y/n never made her intentions clear enough to be shunned in the first place. She was enigmatic, and beautiful with a puzzling charm— Ciel would’ve had to be daft to ignore that about her. But that didn’t translate to wanting him beyond physical companionship… at least it hadn’t until she confronted him.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder: didn’t Y/n know better? Didn’t she understand that she was deserving of someone who could love unconditionally. In what world could he? Ciel couldn’t even promise never to lie to her.

All relationships and promises in Ciel’s life were conditional. He was a self-serving man—the remnants of the disturbed boy who returned to the land of the living seven years ago with a ravenous demon counting the days to the end of their contract. If Ciel couldn’t even promise to never lie to Y/n—how could she expect him to love her? Did she love him?

There was no loving him. Not without letting it destroy her life. They both knew that. And yet… he had already given into his passionate whims with her. He’d already decided to throw his reservations to the wind, the last of his resilience shattering like glass when she broke into sobs caused by him.

“I thought I was protecting her,” Ciel replied simply, taking a drink out of his hot tea. He welcomed the scorching burn as it traveled down his tongue. The warmth filled in his empty chest. ”I did not scorn her.”

It didn’t matter if she loved him, nor did it matter how he felt about her. The consequences of anything more than a partnership between them would be immeasurable no matter what, but he was more than equipped to handle them.

Could Ciel justify trapping a ballerina in a life where the rest of society would remind her that she was an outsider every day? Gwen and Caroline were the least destructive instance of the social persecution Y/n would face for climbing the social ladder so ambitiously as the rest of the world would see it.

When the world looked at Y/n, they didn’t see her natural aptitude for investigation, her intelligence. Her humor. They saw the misdeeds put upon her by forces much greater than herself. They saw the reckless apathy that was placed on all ballerinas, and assumed that it was their own fault.

No one would see the regard in Y/n that Ciel took so long to notice. They misread her. And they would never care to read her properly until it was too late.

Until she condemned them in a tearful diatribe across the street from the British Museum. That spirit was what convinced Ciel that she had the potential to feasibly manage. If such was the life she truly desired for herself.

“Go get another history on Maisie Stannard,” Ciel ordered Sebastian, wanting to be left alone again. He felt the demon attempting to dissect him, and it was suffocating. Sebastian hadn’t even deigned to reply, merely looking at him with unconcealed amusement. He liked watching Ciel wrestle with such foreign conflict, provoking him for sport to further insult the injury— there was nothing insightful he wished to add.

“Yes, my Lord.” After a disingenuous bow, the demon was gone.

November 11, 1895, The Next Morning

Y/n’s Rehearsal Studio

“No,” Y/n’s irritated voice snapped the moment Ciel opened the door of his own estate’s practice room and let himself inside.

Rehearsal studio, rather.

He released a sigh that he’d been holding from the moment Mey-Rin told him that Y/n would be absent from their breakfast table. He knew she would make a childish effort to avoid him, but in all honesty, he lacked the time and the patience to entertain it.

Y/n sat in the middle of the room in a nude leotard, her legs fanned open on either side of her. Her back was straight and elongated, forming a perfect line with her neck. It looked effortless. All of her movements looked light and easy, despite the rage that her pursed lips and creased forehead displayed.

She didn’t need to turn around to look at him. Instead, she ignored his image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror’s reflection in front of them. Ciel had to read her expression from the glass, since she purposely kept her back to him.

Ciel caught the variety of materials sitting between her spread legs, several pairs of newly broken in pointe shoes in a row, scissors, adhesive, and a needle and yarn for sewing. They were the same items Y/n used to break in and darn new pairs of pointe shoes for balance and comfort. Ciel knew this routine well— it cost him hundreds of pounds a week to purchase Y/n five or six new pairs weekly.

“Y/n, we have much to discuss. Skipping meals with me will not put an end to the investigation… nor our personal differences,” Ciel told her, carefully stepping closer with the caution a soldier would in a minefield. He supposed a rehearsal studio was just that for Y/n: a battleground.

“All I wanted was a few hours away from you and your investigation. You cannot even give me that?” Y/n corrected coldly, giving the shoe in her hand a hearty smack against the expensive flooring to further break it in. Apparently, all ballerinas had to make their own custom alteration rituals to break in their shoes the exact way they needed it. Y/n liked to eviscerate her shoes’ insoles and shave down the bottoms, stretch the shoe, repair it with adhesive, and darn the flat bit of it.

His investigation? So now it was only his?

“It is not a crime for a ballerina to break in her shoes—I hardly have time as it is, and Nutcracker opens next week,” she continued, still refusing to look at him. She seemed satisfied with the amount of pressure she put on the shoe and squeezed adhesive into its stretched interior.

Of course she wouldn’t look at him. Ciel embarrassed her because he let his preconceived notions about her professions blind him to the extent of her feelings. Ballerinas like Y/n were not inherently promiscuous, and he, despite having one functioning eye, missed that she felt more for him than lust. In what world does a principal dancer fall for a jaded Earl, anyhow?

And he was somehow even more blindsided by his own intricate feelings for her. It was most likely too late. And that was for the best, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be, but the guilty discomfort that sat in his stomach insisted otherwise. It was simply too late.

“The last time I checked, a certain prima ballerina always insisted it was our investigation,” Ciel replied, watching Y/n’s eyes roll in response.

“Clearly, she did not know what she was talking about,” Y/n put her sewing materials and pointe shoes to the side once she was satisfied with the layers of adhesive applied. She continued facing the mirror, spreading into a center split and pushing her torso to the floor in a deep stretch. “Being wrong about so many things makes a person a true lavette, no?” Her stretching position muffled her voice somewhat, but the vitriol was clear to him.

She was comparing her intellect to a dish towel? Honestly? Ciel fought the urge to reflect the prima ballerina’s scornful eye roll to her.

After all, she purposefully referencing both their investigation and their personal matters— enough to show Ciel that there was little to be achieved with the stubborn ballerina at that time. The blows were too fresh.

“What is there for us to discuss, anyhow? That guest list will take ages to sift through, and Sebastian’s interview notes…” Y/n rolled her shoulders back and sat back up only to inhale and bring her torso back to the floor. Her arms stretched in front of her, showing off the sculpted muscle she forged through dance.

Her leotard clung to the trained muscles down her back and arms, causing Ciel’s mouth to run dry as he adjusted his trousers. (Unintentionally recalling her body’s warmth and strength under his fingertips did little to help.)

That realization caused Ciel to moisten his lips, quietly thankful that Y/n was pointedly averting her gaze from him. She would’ve caught and translated that pensive— scandalous — look in seconds, and rightfully called him out for it.

“I want to visit William today,” Ciel managed, barely maintaining his stable tone in the face of his straying thoughts. “The Yard said the bullet found in Maisie was consistent with his Winchester collection. And I still dislike that the Southampton house is William’s only unstaffed possession.” It was all too convenient. Too connected— down to the murders matching the company’s rehearsal schedule.

Even the gala was on a Nutcracker rehearsal evening: a night where it was guaranteed Natasha Wood had her hands full and the company was half alive after such a rigorous day.

“That sounds like the perfect plan, Lord Phantomhive,” Y/n answered bitterly, extending an arm over her head while she leaned to the side. She still had her legs parted in a center split.

Lord Phantomhive was a gut punch. It took all of his composure to hide his crawling discomfort. That had to be the first time he recoiled from the weight of his surname.

To her, he was Ciel. She had seen to it— demanded it, even.

“You can handle that on your own. He will not talk with me there, surely,” she added, her bored tone causing his fingers to curl into a frustrated fist at his side. Finally catching her stare, he noticed that her eyes were bleary as if she had been crying. Even her lips seemed bitten.

Ciel had to ignore the striking urge in his body that begged him to kiss her. Now that he knew her prowess, the way she moved her lips with the same elegance she did the rest of her body, it made her allure all the more intense. So much so that they forced Ciel to skip several heavy seconds before replying to her poor excuse for not wanting to be in the same room with him. He had been occupied with admiring her.

“I would prefer—” he started to object, only for Y/n to interrupt.

“Please see yourself out. I must rehearse, I am running on borrowed time as it is. The last Swan Lake showing is tonight,” Y/n said expectantly, assuming Ciel didn’t know her performance schedule. He merely happened to have committed it to memory.

Y/n rose to her feet. She was already wearing an older pair of pointe shoes, suggesting that she had been practicing before deciding to break in new shoes.

Having risen from the center of the floor, she took graceful steps closer to the mirror, fully turning her back to him as she put herself in the starting position for the Sugar Plum Fairy Variation. After putting in hours of labor as her unpaid pianist, Ciel could recognize those soft, exaggerated steps anywhere.

His stomach only twisted into a tighter knot, offended that Y/n would prefer to rehearse in complete silence than in his piano playing. After all, she once told him that she couldn’t keep time without it.

In unexpected surrender, Ciel closed the door behind him, softly letting the knob click back into place.

It was simply too late.

The Same Day, Hours Later

Scotland Yard’s London Headquarters

Even for a man living in a holding cell, William Wood did not look well. His facial hair, what was formerly a tasteful goatee, was now untamed and slightly overgrown. Deep exhaustion carved bags under his eyes. His sudden fall from grace seemed to age him years, even though it was only a week or two since Ciel made the arrest.

“They told me you’d be coming to see me today,” William grunted, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t formally charged yet, but Ciel and the Yard agreed that the threat of allowing an arrested serial killer to remain free before his sentencing was too great to risk. Ciel also needed easy access to William in the event they were wrong.

The criminal’s gray eyes attempted to bore into Ciel’s soul, but really, they were tired. Unfocused. Desperate. He reminded him of a cornered tiger— too proud to submit, but too exhausted to finish the fight.

“Yes… I have questions that demand answers. From you.” Ciel answered carefully. He exchanged a look with the officers guarding the door, silently urging them to clear their throats and seeing themselves out, guarding from the outside of the room. William’s holding cell sat in an isolated room from the rest of the headquarters. The basement was fortified with cement, making the area drafty and dark.

He wouldn’t reveal the news that there was another murdered ballerina, but there were other means to extract the information the situation required.

A condescending smirk twitched at William’s lips, unsurprised. “And you expect me to talk? To you?” He asked, his jubilant tone dripping with malice. “You’ve ruined my life, my wife’s…our livelihood.”

“No one forced you to cheat on your wife. Or assault defenseless young women. Or murder them in cold blood,” Ciel snapped, raising his tone. Natasha, from what Y/n said, was running the entirety of the company without William in the first place. She didn’t need him— he was a pathetic excuse for an heir to a business. That had to be clearer to her than anyone.

Only now, he made her work infinitely more complicated. Especially since the body of Maisie Stannard was plastered all over the front pages of most newspapers that morning, each depicting the mysterious murder that occurred near one of the side entrances of The British Museum.

“You don’t talk about my wife to me,” William’s fingers curled into fists at his sides as he took a step closer to the cell’s bars that separated them. His complexion was shades lighter. “I never killed anyone, either,” he was sure to remind Ciel.

“You will answer my questions, one way or another. How much of your blood gets spilled depends entirely on you, William,” Ciel replied, appreciating the cell wall that separated them. One of them was vulnerable, and it was certainly not him. It would never be.

The Earl pressed the nose of his Nanget Revolver into William’s hip, sliding the nose of the weapon between the bars. He smiled at the defeat that fought the stubborn ferocity in William’s colorless irises, placidly putting the weapon back into his jacket pocket just as smoothly as he’d taken it out.

“Do we have an understanding here?” Ciel asked impatiently. “I am only interested in the truth.”

It was exhilarating to watch the desperate fire extinguish in William’s face, the fighting militance in his shoulders dissipate. His fists unfurled as he sighed, coming to terms with his defeat. He was just smart enough to understand that concept— a lesson Ciel and Y/n fought hard to teach him.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” the former businessman crossed his arms, ignoring the weapon that Ciel threatened him with.

“Your Southampton house,” Ciel started, “why is it unstaffed? When was the last time you were there, before you instructed Y/n Y/l/n to meet you there?”

“I told Natasha I sold it, but it’s been my family’s for generations. I used the place for… meetings I didn’t want her to know about,” William sighed, choosing his words cautiously. “That time with…Y/n… was the first time I’ve been there since my trip to France. So I haven’t been since the end of September. Do I get to know why you’re asking?” He asked sarcastically.

The last time Janet was seen was September 27th.

“When did you leave, William?” Ciel asked with a newfound sense of urgency overriding his frustrations with the man. His mouth was dry, his heartbeat picking up. “Do you know the exact day you departed?”

William shrugged, either not noticing Ciel’s pique or not caring. “September 28th, probably? Early morning.”

Is that enough time to murder a woman— she was projected to have died late that night — hide the murder weapon in Southampton, and return to the London ports by dawn to leave the country? It wasn’t.

”Did anyone have access to your property? Anyone?”

“No one should have. I only… asked my wife to dispose of hers, after I told her I sold the property,” William frowned. It seemed it was only dawning on the careless man that his wife might have lied to him, curious as to the lack of official documentation from the sale, any shift in finances, given the major role in managing their company, according to Y/n.

“She wouldn’t… think I still use the property…” he mumbled the afterthought slowly with disbelief.

The more Ciel asked of William, the more of him and Natasha he understood. They fell in love because she transferred from a ballet school in Russia and starred in a company production of Sleeping Beauty. William was still learning how to run the company, one of the investments out of a larger corporation, but he fell in love with Natasha, the prima ballerina, at the time.

Natasha overworked herself in the role, causing a hip injury to end her professional career only a year into it. And that was two years ago. Now she was the company’s director—nothing like the inspired dancer she once was, William insisted.

He lost sight of his love for the young ingenue because the injury killed her. What was left was a completely different woman. Tired, bitter, frustrated from what she lost...only for her marriage to slowly decline the more she lost herself.

Opportunity, motive…was there a means? It was now of the utmost importance that Ciel found the answer to that question. No matter how Y/n would feel about his investigating Natasha, her mentor. Ciel trusted his instinct—the tugging in the pit of his stomach. The alarm that he felt.

How could he not have seen it sooner? He needed to leave. He needed to stop her before she left for her performance.

It took a frenzied carriage ride through the crowded London streets, but Sebastian’s demonic carriage driving managed to put Ciel in front of his manor just as Y/n was leaving for the opera house. He was always chasing after her, it seemed, but he didn’t care.

For her, he would. She would, for him. Or before he broke her heart, she might have. He was too late, in that regard, but he could stop her here and now.

“Y/n, stop, this is important!” Ciel stumbled out of his carriage, having stepped out of it before Sebastian could stop entirely. He had to intercept her.

The ballerina scoffed at the nerve of him, begging her to stop in her tracks and hear him out for the second instance in a row. At the same time, Ciel demanded that Finny keep Y/n’s carriage stationery for the moment through a brief look, causing his gardener’s superhuman grip to tighten on the horses’ reins. He gave Ciel a resolute nod, his jaw firm.

“What? Is this chasing a daily occurrence?” Y/n quipped bitterly, just as Ciel expected her to. “You have never cared to attend one of my performances before,” she accused, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Her hand fell still on the carriage door’s handle, frowning at him.

“I have reason to suspect that Natasha is—“ he started gravely, pronouncing his words carefully. He knew what Y/n would say, but he could only prove this theory with her help. If Ciel was right, one misstep could make them the adversaries of one incredibly violent, envious, and dangerous criminal who played the role of a wistful, wise mentor. And played it well.

Immediately, Y/n’s face reddened, defensive. “Stop,” she insisted, her voice hoarse. She turned the handle on the carriage door, causing Ciel to reach out and grab it himself, his hand engulfing hers.

He needed her to approach this logically.

Y/n’s face jerked to look at him, her hand attempting to move with the same speed, but Ciel’s grip kept hers stagnant. She gave their hands a long, hard look.

“You have no idea what Natasha has done for so many of us, how little I would have without her. She would never do this to any of us,” Y/n’s voice wavered.

And what has she done for you? She allows men to abuse you. She encourages you to skip nourishment to maintain some shallow aesthetic. She hasn’t reported any of these missing cases to any of you—

“—She does not know about them!” Y/n interrupted, wide eyed, tears threatening to fall. He had said that out loud. “I would not have this opportunity without her. I have known her for years. You, I have known for? A month? You care about me as much as she does? At all?”

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n,” Ciel replied, trying to keep his voice measured, in spite of his pounding heart. He could feel his pulse racing.

“You do not.”

“I do.”

“Then you show it by dancing with another woman in front of me? By inviting her to your home where I live as a guest the night after we were intimate?” Y/n asked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ciel’s stomach sank. That was what had caused her outburst at the party: Gwen had lied to her. He didn’t invite the duchess; the duchess had invited herself.

His crime was failing to properly refuse her at the gala. Ciel intended to send his regrets the following day by insisting he had an overseas meeting.

“I did not invite the duchess and her daughter. Gwen seems to have lied to you,” he said, the force behind his words extinguishing. “I realized… that… I don’t want my marriage to be a business venture. I don’t want Caroline to be my Countess—I’ve hardly ever spoken to her! I would want…” he let his next word hang in the air. It filled the few centimeters that separated them.

You.

“I need to leave now or I will be late,” Y/n’s free hand wiped away another tear that escaped her tired eyes. “This is my last Swan Lake performance, Ciel. Please.”

She didn’t believe him. And he didn’t blame her. He had warned her about himself a long time ago.

Every instinct in Ciel refused, but he released the hand that he held stagnant on the carriage door handle. “Fine. You may,” he sighed, exchanging the same look with Finny. Y/n opened the carriage and sat inside, closing the door in his face. Again.

“Sebastian, this is an order. You will protect her as you would myself. Now go. Stay out of sight unless the situation demands it.”

In the meantime, Ciel could escort himself to the performance. He had a chance. No way in hell would he let himself squander it.

The Same Evening

The Royal Opera House

For the entirety of his life, Ciel was a keen observer. He could see through a liar’s carefully constructed facade by a glance, the bravado and charismatic grace that Y/n enlisted to maintain her confidence. The Phantomhive empire was as prosperous as it was because of his ability to read and interpret those around him… and manipulate them accordingly.

Now, all of his expert focus fell on the prima ballerina, just as blazing and intense as the spotlight that illuminated her.

Until this point, Ciel avoided attending Y/n’s performances because they knew they were spellbinding. He was more than aware of her talents—even watching her mumble through her moves as she rehearsed was enchanting. He had pointedly refused to allow himself the indulgence necessary to freely watch the woman act in front of an audience, encapsulating a character through mood and movement when he had grown so accustomed to admiring her individualism.

Rather than tell her so, he’d only insinuated that he was too occupied to attend these performances, despite her frequent invitations. Selfishly, he used to prefer her subdued look of disappointment than run the risk of her noticing the way he fell for her. Without meaning to. In fact, while actively trying not to.

Her raw pain was clear as she depicted Odette grieving the prince’s betrayal, having fallen for Odile’s impersonation of her. It wasn’t unlike her face moments before she stepped in the carriage in order to fulfill this very performance, or even her expression in the studio, or in front of the museum the night before. She channeled her hurt into her work—just as he did. She evolved with each step, every twist, in spite of him. Because of everything he put her through.

The bouquet in his tightening grip crinkled, the decorative paper around it crumbling from the frustration he let out on it. Ciel could hardly hear it over the orchestra in the pit, the assortment of musicians and their quality instruments masterfully recreating Tchaikovsky. But that wasn’t the most impressive aspect of the show— that recognition belonged to Y/n entirely.

He had to correct this gnawing worry in his stomach. The feeling that he was, once again, on the brink of being too late.

The moment the curtain drew after the company’s final bows, Ciel sprang from his seat.

He wouldn’t be too late. At the very least, he owed Y/n that.