#also sooner it's done = sooner he can be free of Innit

[infinitethree]

Daz is still in the hidden room, working on the code with Innit– which is surreally nostalgic– when Aster suddenly shouts at him.

“You planned to kill me just because I didn’t buy your act?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He squints up at the traitor, needing a few moments to recalibrate to sudden conversation.

“Oh,” he says, blinking. “You were a threat. You still are, technically.”

Aster glares at him, and Daz rolls his eyes. “Save your bullshit. The more you talk, the less able I am to work on the damn code.”

Naturally, Aster is suspicious of that. “Code for what, some new sociopathic plan of yours?” Daz shoots back, “Innit and I are working on making its body, actually. Y’know, the thing you pushed for so bad?”

Suddenly, the bastard is in his personal space. He’s got one palm against his shoulder like he’s keeping him pinned back and growls, “You did something, didn’t you?”

It’s surprising to see him get so handsy. “Don’t fucking touch me–” “What did you do, asshole? We both know that you wouldn’t suddenly decide to be a decent fucking person without a reason. So– what. Did. You. Do.”

Daz’s sight is hijacked to see the past again.

Aster suddenly stops dead in his tracks in the middle of doing work in his office. He’s fumbling with his com, scrolling through the player list as fast as he can with trembling hands. His face has gone ashen and his thoughts are–

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck c’mon, c’mon you bastard, tell me you haven’t done it yet!

A shaky laugh escapes from Aster, but he only takes a moment to revel in the overwhelming sense of relief he feels. Not dead yet. Thank fuck…I might actually become religious from this.

Aster takes a sharp inhale and then quickly flicks through his com to find a specific menu, one Daz knows too well. It’s the one for activating remote stasis chambers, and thus the only way most of them can access the Council HQ.

I might kill you myself for this, though. Fuck, Daz– why do you have to be so broken…?

…Was that how Aster reacted when he saw that Daz was about to get himself killed for good?

A twinge of guilt threatens to tug at him, but he bats it away easily.

None of that would have happened if Aster stayed in his own fucking lane, after all.

He’s yanked to the future, which he knows is the future because Future-Aster is looking at Future-Daz, and he looks older.

Plus there’s the whole– sappy emotions, and the earcuff in Future-Daz’s ear.

The eventual version of himself is asleep on a couch that Daz hasn’t seen before. The room is unfamiliar, too– is this where they live?

Actually, from what he can see of a window, he sees some of those trees Aster loves so damn much. He must have remodeled the traitor’s house, then.

The weirdest part is that there’s a kid conked out on Future-Daz’s chest. She looks pretty young, maybe only four or so. Her hair is done up in pigtails and ribbons.

The ribbons are what gives it away, though. Daz knows his own handiwork, and he knows he’d be gun shy about giving anything like that to anyone, but especially to a kid.

Any kid but his own, that is.

…Shit, they have a kid? That’s so fucking weird!

Future-Aster thinks to himself, She looks just like him. I guess I’m just used to kids who are adopted; it still catches me by surprise. That’s genetics for you.

Daz is suddenly thrown back to the present again, reeling at the baffling and surreal implication that they– what, get a surrogate?

Uhhhg. Gross, on multiple levels. In no way shape or form does he want to– have any of that, and especially not with Aster!

Said bastard grips his shoulder and repeats, “I asked you a question–”

It’s not worth hiding it. He can’t effectively torment him without spilling the beans, anyway. “Made a deal with the Showrunner. I work on Innit’s body, meaning Innit can work on its body, and in exchange I see the same shit you do.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Aster scoffs and steps away. “You’re such a petty bastard.”

Even though it might prove his point, he retorts, “That’s not what you say at our wedding, you know.”

“Are you seriously going to–” Voice flipping to a mimickry of how Aster sounds, he recites, “ ‘I won’t say ‘til death do us part’. Death is too soon to let you go, so…instead? Instead, I’ll follow you through a hundred thousand lifetimes. Death, rebirth, oblivion– I don’t care. As long as you’re there, and as long as you want me…? I’ll follow you,’ ” Daz smugly tells him.

Aster glares at him with a surprising amount of venom, and then answers, “ ‘You stole my heart, but I can’t even be mad. Nothing in my life has been as good as you. Your devotion is the balm against the long, miserable, lonely years before I was with you. I can take on gods with you at my side, but without you I’m less than nothing. What I want more than anything is the die of old age in our sleep at the same as you. I love you to the point of madness; to the point of ruin.’ “

Goddamnit.

The bastard folds his arms over his chest. “You want to go low? I’ll match you. I’m not quietly putting up with your shit any more, Daz.”

He scoffs. “This’ll be fun to talk about eventually.” “Oh, I’m sure we’ll laugh and laugh over what an insufferable sociopath you used to be.” “No, I mean–”

Wait a minute.

He pauses. “...Have you seen anything big aside from the wedding and the– whatever the fuck you saw that had the suits?” “Christmas celebration, and no. Why, what did you–”

The wary question is cut off by Aster’s eyes suddenly going wide.

“Oh fuck no,” the bastard breathes. “A kid?!”

Uhhhhg, of course the Showrunner would decide to show him the damn kid.

He rolls his eyes. “Great, there goes that plan–” “To not tell me we have a goddamned child?!” “Well, evidently you adore her.” “I had fucking better, given she’s named after me!”

“Bullshit. She’s– uhg, apparently we do some shit with a surrogate–” “Then look up what ‘Azira’ means. Go on, I dare you.” Aster tells him.

He’d sound threatening if Daz wasn’t immune to him by now.

With a scoff, he pulls open one of the databases they use.

…Fuck. It means ‘a rising star’.

As he glowers at his com, Aster tells him, “I remember because it's a name related to stars. You know– my whole thing?”

“Clearly, I take pity on you and throw you a bone because I'm the biological dad.”

Aster stares at him, an odd expression on his face. “I– the rest of how fucked it is aside? That tracks. If I did love you and did decide to start a family with you, I'd rather– uhg, our kids, as gross as that feels to say– I would rather they have a shot at your freakish intelligence.”

…Huh. That's weirdly mature of him to admit.

“Granted, they'd also be at risk for inheriting your sociopathy, so maybe not. Tell me– was that genetic, or learned from your monster of a brother?”

Aaaaand there’s the loss of any goodwill that gained.

Sneering, he shoots back, “I know that about as well as you know if your stupidity is genetic.”

Aster’s gaze narrows, and he grabs a fistful of Daz’s shirt. “Careful, you don't want to piss me off.”

“Or what?”

A slow, ominous smile curls up on the bastard's lips.

“You made it so that nobody else can be an effective sparring partner for you. That means you're going to get your ass handed to you if you keep fucking around.”

He laughs in his face. “That’s your big threat?! Oh, honey…that's pathetic. You can't fully beat me up, you'll look like an asshole.”

Aster’s smile only grows. “You underestimate me, Daz. You always have.”

Is that really what he thinks?

Daz might have manipulated him, sure– but he always saw Aster as someone with potential.

That's why he extended a hand for the Council. It's why he pushed and bullied and forced Aster to grow.

Left to his own devices, he would be a fraction of the person Daz helped shape him into.

Aster, for years, held the most vital role in his plans. Daz never would have let someone he deemed unworthy control the Swords and Shields, nor hinge his last resort on them.

As little as he likes the traitor…Aster is competent, determined, and surprisingly humble.

He scoffs, “You understand me even less than before.”

With that, he forcibly removes Aster’s hand and gets up.

…Only to get hit with a dizzy spell and start going down immediately.

Aster catches him, probably without even meaning to. “Daz?”

Huh, he actually sounds worried.

Blinking dark spots from his eyes, he shoves his wrist upwards to look at his console. It takes a few tries to get it right, which he’s aware is a problem.

He struggles to focus enough to see the time, but Innit notes with surprise, it’s been sixteen hours since you ate. Were we really here for that long…?

Ohhhhh. Yeah, that’d do it.

He mumbles, distantly aware that the words aren’t coming out right, “Big pr’ject. N’t used to it. Forgot t’eat.”

He’s set down on the couch with a surprising amount of gentleness, considering they were fighting just a moment ago.

“I’ll be right back,” Aster tells him, going back through the passage he came from.

Right, sure.

Daz closes his eyes to fight the way his body is suddenly screaming at him to take care of it. He’s exhausted, starving, and sore from both the repetitive motions and not moving around much.

There’s the sound of a throat being cleared, and when he opens his eyes, two sandwiches are being held out to him.

…Huh. He didn’t actually think Aster would come back.

He grabs them and damn near inhales the food, ditto for the water he’s given.

Finally feeling a bit better now that he’s sitting and with something in his stomach, he asks Aster, “...Why?”

A long, tired sigh comes from the other Tommy, who sinks down next to him on the couch. “...I think you’re a petty, selfish bastard. But I don’t you to suffer,” Aster tells him, brow furrowed a little.

Weird.

“I still hate you for seeing in my head.” “Aren’t we even for that? I’ve explained my reasons. I reluctantly agreed once the wish was brought up; you did this all on your own our of petty spite.”

That gives him pause. “...You never mentioned it was reluctant.”

Aster stares at him in bafflement. “I was ready to refuse, but it’s a literal fucking reality warping wish– one I can hand over to anyone I want. There’s– shit, Daz, I might not have known but it was being offered by the god of time and reality. And fuck knows what else they reside over!”

He hates that he has a good point.

“I thought you jumped on the chance to pry my head open.” “I hated the idea, actually. I know you’ve secretive and I didn’t want to invade your privacy. But I assumed, stupidly, that I’d just– be told things. Like how Observers ask questions. In what fucking way was I supposed to know that I’d see things, and be in your head? I knew you’d be mad, but I, again stupidly, figured that you could recognize that the wish was worth the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

Daz knows he’s sulking as he mutters, “You could have asked me.” “Really didn’t feel like that was an option. Would you want to tell the Showrunner ‘please wait while I call up the guy you hate for permission’?”

Goddamnit.

See?! I told you he’s a good person!

“Shut up,” Daz mutters, scrubbing at his face. “I don’t need you yammering in my ear, too.”

Stop being a dick ‘cause I was proven right yet again. You always ignore me and it always fucks you over.

Aster asks, “Innit talking?” “Mhm. I’m not acting your gofer, you’ll have plenty of time to talk soon enough.”

There’s a little bit of blessed silence, and Daz feels his eyes getting heavy.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to fall asleep like this. But he’s tired, and…

And, as little as he wants to admit it, it’s nice to have someone next to him.

A small, stupid, childish part of him wants to ask Aster to stay right here so he might not be tormented by nightmares.

But also, he’d rather die than voice that tiny desire.

There’s a little disappointment as the other him starts moving, but it was inevitable.

Then he’s scooped up.

He sputters, “Wh– what the fuck?!” “Unfortunately for you, I know what you want. Even worse, I’m not enough of an asshole to refuse,” Aster tells him, just before tossing him onto the bed.

His heart hammers. “If you try anything weird–” Giving him a withering look, Aster snaps, “The fuck do you take me for? No, asshole, I’m dealing with your nightmares, insomnia, and touch starvation in one fell swoop.” The bastard undoes his shoes and flops down.

Oh hell no.

He tries to get up, but Aster yanks him back down. “I don’t trust you to get home on your own, and you’ll sleep like shit anyway. If you’re doing something nice– even if it’s for extremely fucked up reasons– I’m rewarding that by letting you actually fucking sleep for once in– what, four years or so?”

…It sucks that he can’t muster up the energy to fight this more seriously.

But, gods, real sleep sounds amazing. And his body is screaming for it, practically forcing it on him already.

So, reluctantly, he lets Aster wrap his arms around him and start messing with his hair.

“You can go back to being an insufferable asshole tomorrow. For now, just take this with a little grace.”

Daz can’t reply, because he’s already out like a light.

[thestyleswritings]

Restoration of Faith

REQUEST: (this may be triggering, so i'd understand if you chose not to write it). first-time consensual sex. Y/N lost her virginity in a sexual assault but has been to therapy. It took her a while to be comfortable with sex, but now she decides she's finally ready to have sex with Harry for the first time. He know what happened wants to make it a positive experience for her so he's super gentle and attentive.

  "I'm... Nervous," she admits, biting her lower lip once again and truly testing his resolve. Her lips were always a key part in his fantasies. Contrary to her words, she rocks herself onto his growing length, making the pair of them shiver.

 "You don't need to be nervous, princess. This is all you. We can do whatever you want and nothing more. The ball is in your court." Harry tells her softly, though now his voice has a gruffness to it that she's only heard early in the morning.

Or

Harry meets a girl who’s been through something awful and falls deeply in love with her.

Warnings: Smut, TW // Mentions of abuse and self-harm

4k+ 

  Therapy had saved her life. She was ready and willing to admit that. After her attack, she stopped texting, calling, going out. She wouldn't make contact with anyone for anything, even her professors had thought she'd dropped off the face of the planet. She wasn't eating, she wasn't sleeping, and she wasn't showering. She also had a very nasty habit of hurting herself, even if only a little bit, just to feel something. The sting of a cut, the scorch of a lighter. It took her somewhere close to 3 months to even get out of her head and call a therapist.

 It had been another 6 months into therapy that she'd met Harry. Before he arrived in her life, she always kept the same routine to feel as if she had more control over her life, never failing to tick every box to the letter on her list of daily activities. It helped her feel like she was really in charge of her life, an exercise her therapist taught her, and consistently praised her for continuing on her own.

 The day she met Harry, everything she had structured in place for herself shifted. It started when she missed the bus she normally took to her weekly appointment, kicking herself for snoozing her alarm one too many times. She typically didn't even take advantage of the function on her phone, only she'd been feeling hazy for a few days prior and figured a moments peace couldn't hurt anyone. With a scowl on her face, she decided she'd just hoof it there and apologise profusely for her tardiness once she arrived.

 Only she never made it that day. One blasted thing after another got in her way, making it nearly impossible to get to her destination. Pavements were closed on one road, traffic being directed in a never-ending stream on another. It was maddening. She could almost feel herself unravelling towards a breakdown when a man spoke to her left, nearly causing her to jump from her skin.

 "Sorry love, was only asking if you knew another way 'round this intersection. I've got an appointment at a quarter til, and it's just about half-past now. I didn't mean to give you such a scare," the man sounded sincere, honest, apologetic. She felt the very corner of her lips raise at the notion. An honest man? Unfathomable.

 "S'alright, I'm just a bit caught up in my mind, innit?" She offered, tone teetering on cheekiness.

 "I must be too, s'why I'm on my way to therapy. Though it seems like every bloody traffic cop in London would rather I didn't make it there." The man scoffed lightheartedly, dramatically rolling his eyes for her amusement.

 "Oh, that's actually where I was headed." She offers, not exactly sure why. She didn't owe him any further explanation of her presence on the street, but here she was, still giving one. It felt nice. She hadn't so much as double taken a man since what had happened to her, but there was something so welcoming about him. So she dared to ask his name, creating an inevitable conversation. She made a note to let her therapist in on this major break in her recovery realisation.

 "'M Harry. You?" He said, glittering eyes gazing into hers.

--

 Another 6 months down the road, she felt her throat close up as her heart sank to her stomach. She and Harry had laid down a sturdy foundation together in the time leading up to then, strong as mountains. They'd quickly become the best of friends, laughing at all the same corny puns and jokes and learning every little quirk that made the other up. She knew things like how he took his coffee, and what kind of jam was his favourite. She knew where he'd grown up, who he was friends with in another life, strange dreams he had, what sort of dumb things he and his sister fought over when they were young. But she also had more intimate knowledge, things like his deepest fears regarding his family, his future, if he'll have a family of his own, his regrets. And he knew those same things about her. She trusted him by showing him what she'd done to herself when she needed to bring herself back to reality. She told him what she was ashamed of, both things she had done and what had been done to her. She spoke openly about how her purity had been snatched from her grasp, although kicking and screaming. She cried to him when she felt small. They had even told the other they were in love.

 That's what scared her half to death. She knew she loved him with the entirety of her soul, but she was afraid, almost petrified, to take her clothes off in front of him. She had a few unwelcomed touch-memories when he'd come up behind her and laid a hand on her hip innocently, or when he'd spontaneously kissed her neck and she nearly lost her mind.

 And he understood that. He couldn't imagine the kinds of trauma buried beneath her skin, the levels of paranoia that were bestowed upon her. From the nights she spent at his flat, he knew she sometimes would even jump in her sleep. It made him upset. Not because she was subconsciously jumping from his touch, but because someone made it that way. He would never forgive himself, even if the thought was beyond irrational, for not meeting her sooner. He wished more than anything to take that pain off her shoulders. To erase the searing memory she was still so harshly burdened with. Of course, he desired her physically, but he would never be able to live with himself if he made her feel pressured or uncomfortable. What kind of monster couldn't wait to be intimate with her? It kept him up some nights, but he'd never tell her that. She felt guilty enough as it was during their waking hours, he couldn't add to her burden by telling her he couldn't sleep sometimes while thinking of the horror she went through, cuddling her to his side deeper as she slept soundlessly.

 So when she went to Harry and sat on his lap, curled up like a kitten, he was a bit taken aback. He loved a cuddle and was one of the snuggliest creatures she had ever had the pleasure of meeting, but they usually only cuddled once they were in bed, where she felt the safest. He didn't dare protest, silently complying and raising a hand to get lost in her hair, petting his fingers against her scalp lightly.

 "What's on your mind, pet?" Harry rasped quietly, voice tired from the full day he'd had at work. She had been home all day, thinking of ways to break the conversation, fibbing and telling him she was skipping the day's class to stay at his flat and complete her essay, bringing her one step closer to her master's degree.

 "Just thinking. I love you, I've just been thinking about you all day." She admits softly, pressing a kiss to his neck just below his ear.  

 He feels a blush run over his cheeks, feels himself inflate with affection and giddiness, much like a puppy getting its belly scratched. He couldn't help the goofy smirk adorning his lips, he just felt too good not to.

 "Yeah, baby? I love you. I'm so crazy about you. You're always on my mind." He tells her, not caring how utterly lovesick he comes across at times.

 She flushes, though it comes with a tingle that travels from the top of her head to the tips of her fingertips and toes. It's almost like she can physically feel his soul in hers and she feels alive. She truly can't help but give his neck another kiss, wetter this time, and joined by several others. He shudders and she feels it, making her blood sing in her veins. She couldn't remember a time where she felt so in love, so safe and so free. She felt like she and Harry could soar the greatest heights together, the pair of them unstoppable when they were together. It was an incredible feeling.

 "What are you after, baby?" He questioned, not wanting her to stop but also wanting to see where her head was at. He didn't want her to make a rash decision if she would end up regretting it later down the line.

 Instead of answering outright, she removes her face from his throat with one last kiss. Her eyes are doe-like and Harry's heart stutters. She'd never looked more radiant or confident than in that moment. Taking her lip between her teeth, she looks down between them to catch his big hand in her smaller ones. The air thickened instantly, the pair of them seemingly holding their breath.

 "Just.. wanna be close to you. Wanna love on you, if you let me," she purrs, causing the hairs on Harry's neck to come to a stand and his tummy to flutter. She can't be implying what I think she is? He thinks to himself. It's not that she's never shown her attraction to him, he just can't believe today could be the day he's finally allowed to touch her. He's thought about it countless times, dreamt of it even, and it nearly brings a tear to his eye that she finally, finally feels comfortable and safe enough to physically show him love.

"Yeah? Show me how you wanna love on me, princess." Harry breathes, light filling his green eyes. He wants her to show him exactly what she wants, willing to go to the ends of the earth for his girl to be whatever she wanted.

 She's back to feeling shy, not really knowing how to initiate this. She knows he'd take the ropes if she were to hand them over, but they both know how important it is that she takes control at this moment. This is her choice.

She looks into his eyes and her breath stalls at the look of love he's sending her. She dives back in, kissing Harry with a fervour he's never felt from her. He can practically taste the lust dripping from her tongue onto his. Gingerly, she presses herself against his lap where he's already sporting a mainly solidly stiff prick. As silly as she feels for it, the presence of it shocks her, ripping a gasp from her puffy lips. The feeling sends her into a frenzy, pulling back with wide eyes and a rapidly rising and falling chest to meet his gaze once more.

 "Mhm, you feel it? 'S for you. Always is," Harry admits with a blush. He's no stranger to dirty talk, but he wants to take precautions with her. He doesn't know how filthy he can be without sending her back into her shell.

 "I'm... Nervous," she admits, biting her lower lip once again and truly testing his resolve. Her lips were always a key part in his fantasies. Contrary to her words, she rocks herself onto his growing length, making the pair of them shiver.

 "You don't need to be nervous, princess. This is all you. We can do whatever you want and nothing more. The ball is in your court." Harry tells her softly, though now his voice has a gruffness to it that she's only heard early in the morning.

 "I want you, in every way. Stayed home to pluck up the courage to do summat about it. And to take a very, very thorough shower that involved a lot of bending and twisting to get everything shaved." She tells him, a raspberry blush appearing beneath the skin of her cheeks. He's in awe again, of his darling girl.

 "Cheeky thing. Lied to me about why you stayed home just so you could strategise how to jump m' bones?" Harry chuckles, grabbing her waist delicately before making the motion to stand.

 "Gonna bring me to bed?" She asks breathlessly, nerves still getting the better of her. But she won't let her fears and self-doubt get in the way of another night she could've spent wrapped up in her love. Not anymore.

 The moment she feels the plush mattress beneath her, she can breathe a bit steadier. Even if they hadn't used the bed for its extra-curricular purpose, it was still a major staple in their relationship. She knew this place, and she felt safe here.

 "Take off your clothes." She instructs simply. If she were to get through to the rewarding bit of this, she had to hurry and get to it already. The build-up was the worst part. His lip curls at the command as he does what she asks. He leaves himself in nothing but his tight black boxer-briefs, kneeling on the bed before advancing. Watching and waiting to see if she would ask him to do something else.

 "Come here, please," she begs of him, reaching an arm out to grasp the back of his neck. He's awfully careful as he crawls up the bed, hovering over her much smaller body, not putting an ounce of pressure on her.

 "I love you. I love you so much. I-I wish you could've actually been my first," she begins, but he stops her.

 "I will be." He assures her, "If you didn't say yes, it wasn't your first, princess. I know I've told y'that. This is what you'll think about when you think about your first. I promise you I won't let any other thought come up." His voice breaks as he cradles her face, finally dropping his body to rest against hers. The kiss he lands to her lips shatters her and mends her at once, feeling the love and healing he put into it.

 "Please, I don't know what I'm doing yet," she mumbles against his lips, grazing her hand along his length. He draws back to look at her once before he's moving down the bed again, placing kisses to her neck and gripping the bottom of her shirt. She can faintly hear him asking to undress her through the blood rushing to her ears and she nods. She may be inexperienced, but she isn't naive. She knows exactly what he's headed down to do, and more than anything, she's excited.

 "Aw, princess, s'this all for me?" Harry coos his rhetorical question softly upon seeing how incredibly aroused she'd become, kissing the softest and squidgiest bit of her thigh; right up top.

 "You know it is," she whimpers, threading her fingers through his thick strands. Before she's even finished her sentence, her panties were pulled from her hips. She ignores the unpleasantly familiar sensation of someone that isn't her taking them off. Harry. It's Harry.

 "God princess, might be down here a while..." Harry breathes, voice drunk. She peers up at him quickly enough to catch the strong drag of his tongue against her slippery lips. The noise she makes would've made him laugh in other circumstances, a squeak, instead he grunts and grinds his hips into the mattress. He might not even make it inside her before he's tapped out.

 The movement of his tongue picks up each time she squeezes the handful of hair in her grasp, which is quite often, and he's loving it. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of her sweet peach now that he's had his tongue inside her. She can't describe the feeling, she just knows that she would be asking him to replicate his actions often. She tenses up as her clit makes its way into his mouth, hearing the filthy slurps and moans coming from his lips. She could finish just from the sound of him. She thrashes when she feels a finger tease the rim of her opening, subconsciously kicking at Harry's shoulder before he grabs her ankle and kisses it.

 "I's me, princess. S' just me. Let me make you feel good, sweet girl." His voice calms her immensely, shaking her head and focusing back on him. He's so good to her, it feels like karma's personal apology to her.

 "Sorry," she says sheepishly. She knew it would happen, she just hoped she hadn't ruined the mood. As if she ever could.

 No more words are spoken as she feels his finger back at her hole, lips leaving kisses to her lower tummy. He slides it in further than the rim this time, sucking her clit into his mouth to alleviate any discomfort she may have felt. He thrusts his finger in steadily, not too hard but definitely not as soft as he'd been at first. She appreciates him attempting to keep some normalcy.

 "Wait- Oh! Feels good, really good. Wanna feel you now, please-Please!" She nearly surrenders to her pleasure when he adds another finger, curling them right up against her spongy wall.

 "Gonna make you come first, princess." He tells her, not bothering to break away from her clit. The vibrations in combination with his unrelenting fingers send her spiralling over that edge she'd wanted to fall over with him. Her moans are strangled as she reaches her orgasm, the sound bringing Harry to a pile of mush below her, still working her through it.

 "Mmm," she tries to form words as he hovers back over her, but she can't seem to find any. She's overcome with a multitude of emotions that she suddenly can't convey. She feels loved, she feels proud, she feels safe and she feels clean.

 "Can pick this back up tomorrow, my love. You seem sedated." He jokes, kissing her lips and leaving behind a lingering taste of herself. She shakes her head, grabbing at his hips and pulling them down to her own.

 "Want it now," she breathes, kissing his neck where she knows he's the most sensitive. And who is he to argue with that? He's about to stand to get an emergency condom he keeps in his closet before she clears her throat. His attention is back on her immediately, looking for any signs of hesitation.

 "M' on the pill," she mutters shyly and Harry's jaw drops. He gets to have her and she'll be bare? This day could not get any better.

 "God, you're perfect. I love you," he reminds her, peppering kisses to every inch of her face possible before reaching down to take her hands and guide them to his pants. "You do this bit. You've waited long enough," Harry encourages her, slipping both their fingers into the band before letting go of hers.

 When she yanks them down, she's floored. That's what I've been missing? She thinks. It's thick and tall, standing between them with a certain strength and glory. He doesn't miss the look in her eye, but he doesn't call her out on it. He has all the time in the world to tease her about her awe of his cock another day.

  "Sure you want to do this?" Harry checks for the hundredth time. She kisses his nose and nods before taking a deep breath.

 "I'd never regret this. I'd regret if we didn't." She assures him, gripping his torso in one hand as to brace herself. He nods, knowing her word is final.

 He's gentle as he strokes himself and even gentler as he lines his cock up with her delicate little hole. He cannot believe he's about to have sex with the love of his life. He can't believe how lucky he is to be her first. Her real first. The first lover to have her this way, the only man who gets to say she's his.

 The initial push causes a sting to shoot through her lower half, throwing her mind to the last time she'd felt it, but she powers through. It's Harry. It's her lover. The man she trusts with her entire life. She hears his breath hitch instantly, only having pushed the tip and a bit more in. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, indulging in the feel of his girl before opening them to check on her.

 "You okay, beloved?" He asks, voice beyond strained. When she gives him a nod, he pushes more of himself into her until she's hitting his side. His head snaps to the side, expecting a look of fear or pain, but to his utter surprise, he sees a look of pure bliss. He knows he's up against her spot, feeling the rough patch massage his tip. He uses this knowledge to his advantage, bottoming out at this angle, catching the spot the entire time he glides in and sending her into a frenzy of sorts. Her legs instantly locking onto his hips, giving him little leeway to do much else but fuck into her right onto her spot. She clenches around him as he pulls back, almost like she didn't want him to move his hips away from hers for even a moment.

 "Feels, god! Feel so good, angel. My sweet baby, yeah? Feel good for you?" Harry rambles, nipping the skin of her neck to distract himself from blowing his load right then.

 She's a mess, physically unable to stay put for more than one thrust. She never thought she'd be doing this, never thought she'd even make it through the year last year. The fact that it's her Harry just pushing her further and further into space.

 "Mhm, so good. What, what are you doing? S' really nice. Does it always-?" She's a moaning mess as she replies, feeling a particularly solid strike at her beloved spot that she didn't know existed until now. He chuckles at the unintended compliment to his performance.

 "Feel this good? Nah, s' because we're in love," Harry begins, but the feeling was too overwhelming, causing the word 'love' to come out as if he'd been hit in the stomach with a steel baseball bat. As if the spoken emotional intimacy turned him on to a point he couldn't stop himself from coming. He couldn't help it as the feeling travelled from deep in his belly, shooting out all the love he could produce, spilling into his princess.

 "Mm, fuck Harry, I'm about to-" She moans at the feeling of his warmth spreading inside her and he cuts her off with the rapid movement of his nimble fingers down to her clit, still pistoning his hips into her, prick softening but still effective as she came.

 Harry collapsed on top of her, wrapping an arm around her back to press their bodies even closer. He was still inside of her and she could feel the spurts still going as she came down.

 "I'm so sorry... I literally couldn't stop myself from-" Harry begins, but she laughs. Laughs like she hadn't laughed in a year. A genuine laugh that drew tears from her eyes and an ache to form in her belly. His cheeks and ears grew red as she continued to laugh, thinking she was laughing at his premature end.

 "Hey, it happens to a lot of guys! And I got you off again, don't make fun of me," he pouts, beginning to retract his arm from around her before she grabs a hold of it.

 "Not laughing at you, doughnut. I love you so much, and you did get me off again. I'm laughing because I feel, I don't know. Clean." She admits, kissing his temple.

 "After that? Should feel right sticky, I know I do," Harry gests, leaving her a kiss to her own temple before pulling out slowly. She gasps at the hollow feeling, but she has an inkling he may not mind filling her right back up whenever she wanted.

 "You know what I mean." She rolls her eyes, allowing his arms to encompass her.

 "I know, baby. I'm glad you found the strength in yourself to do this. And not just because you let me shag ya." Harry hums, kissing the crown of her head.

 "You're an idiot," she teases. She couldn't be more in love if she tried.

"'M your idiot."

 And yeah, maybe the idiot had a point.

-- 

Thank you for reading! This was a little difficult to write for personal reasons, but I hope this piece was alright! Please share your feedback/thoughts!

[padds3]

She will (II)

Simon Minter x reader imagine 

1260 words

Part I

Requested:  Could you pretty please write a part 2 of she will? Maybe where he apologizes to her? I really loved it ❤️

Hope you like it!

P.S: I have given Y/N’s friends names because it was messy otherways. Hope you don’t mind. 

xx

“Maybe this is all for good”

Alice says, in a thoughtful voice. Alice, Y/N and Danielle are sitting at the latter’s house. Dani is sitting on the bed, with Y/N’s head resting on her lap, tired of crying. Alice is sitting in a chair, opposite to them.

“I can’t see how” Y/N replies. Although it’s been a couple of days, she still sounds profoundly sad.

“Well, it’s better now than… I mean, better now than after the baby”

“Alice” Dani calls her as a warning. It is obviously a very touchy subject.

“What I mean is” Alice continues, trying to amend her sentence “if he was going to run out, the sooner the better”

Any of the girls reply, the only noise that can be heard is Y/N’s sobs, again.

“Thanks, Alice, you’re amazing comforting people!” Dani states, ironically.

“I’m sorry! I’m just trying to be pragmatic!”

Before Dani can answer back, the noise of the bell interrupts them.

“I’ll go see who is it” says Dani, standing off the bed “don’t mess up”

She walks towards the door, trying to figure out who can be. They aren’t expecting anyone; her parents are out for the weekend and practically nobody knows the bad news so it shouldn’t be any other of their friends…

When she opens the door, she can’t believe her eyes. What the hell is he doing here?

“Emmm… hello” He awkwardly says. He doesn’t even have time to add anything else before he feels the hard slap right in his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I know she’s here”

Simon doesn’t dare looking her in the eyes. He’s always been a bit intimidated when with Y/N’s friend, Dani. She’s too grumpy for his liking, and she just slapped him, for fucks sake!

“And you think I’m letting you see her after what you’ve done?”

“Emmm… yeah?”

“Wrong answer, Minter. Bye”

She tries to close the door right in front of his face, but he blocks it just before she shuts it down.

“Wait!”

“Why should I?”

She is still trying to close the door, fighting the boy with all her strength. She doesn’t want him near Y/N ever again. He’s hurt her much more than anyone before, he’s proven he can’t take care her, not gonna talk about another full dependent human being. Simon was never her favourite person, not even close, but after leaving Y/N she fully hates him.

“I need to talk to her”

“Give me a fucking good reason I should let you in, ‘cause I swear I can’t find any”

He stops pulling for a second and falls silent.

“That’s what I though” Dani says, before he can react “Bye” She tries to close the door again, but in the final inch Simon manages to react and blocks it again.

“I love her” He blatantly says, just to receive a sarcastic laugh coming as an answer.

“You love her? Oh, yeah, sure you do. That why you left her, innit?”

“It was a mistake”

“Of course it was”

“I know, okay? I just want to apologize!”

“Too late”

“Dani… I know we’ve never been friends...”

“Not even close” she interrupts.

“I know, but I do really love Y/N. I’ve never felt this way before, I swear, and I want to take care of her and treat her as she deserves. And I know I’ve been an arsehole this past few days”

“Yes, you have” she interrupts again

“I know, I know, but I need to let her know that I am sorry and that it is not gonna happen ever again, ‘cause I love her. I fully love her. Please, Dani, let me in”

Simon is definitely not expecting to hear what he hears next.

“Okay”

Dani opens the door. She can’t even believe what she’s doing, she’s surprising herself step by step. Why is she allowing him inside her house? Like, he’s an idiot. But what he said was sweet and… fuck. They both walk into Dani’s room, where the other two are waiting for them.

“Who was it?” Alice asks, way before they have managed into the room. Dani doesn’t answer and just walks in, closely follow by the blond one.

“Oh Neil” Alice whispers

Simon scratches the back part of his neck. He’s actually really, really nervous. Y/N hasn’t looked at him yet. He’s quite scared of how she’s gonna react. Would she let him talk or would she reject him from second one? Josh seemed very confident in her forgiving him, but he wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

“Hi…” He finally says. Y/N quickly moves her head towards him. Her expression shows disbelief and pain, so much pain. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah” Her voice cracks and that makes Simon shudder.

“Privately?”

“Sure” “No way”

Y/N and Dani answer at the same time.

“She’s going to tell us anyway” Dani adds, quickly, but Y/N is already standing, moving towards the door after giving Simon a look as a signal to follow her. He does straightaway, and they both walk towards the living room. Y/N sits in one of the sofas without hesitation, Simon, on the opposite, stands in front of her awkwardly.

“So…” He starts.

“You can sit if you want” she interrupts him. She’s not looking at him, and that makes him feel really insecure. It’s easy to read emotion in Y/N’s eyes, at least it is for him, but if she isn’t even looking at him…  He finally sits, and takes his time looking around. She looks tired, as him, or maybe even more. She looks kinda dead. It’s not just her physical appearance, is the way she’s moving and how she’s sitting. Simon hates himself for that, it’s so painful to see her like that…

“Are you going to say anything?” She says, after a good five minutes of silence.

“Yeah” He clears his throat before he continues. His heart is pounding so hard he can’t barely hear himself “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know I’ve been an idiot, the worst kind of idiot, but I am sorry. I regret it so much, and I love you”

He wants to add much more things but he notices she’s crying and that fucking breaks his heart.

“No… Y/N, please, don’t cry” He wants to hold her tight, but he’s unsure. She’s crying because of him “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N, please…”

She looks at him, between tears, and at that point Simon feels that anything has hurt him like this before. Ever. It is physical already. There’s so much pain on those eyes…

“I’m sorry…” He repeats, and he doesn’t realize but he’s crying. It’s the first time he has ever cried because of a girl, but fuck, it hurts too much to notice.

“Are you gonna leave me again?” She asks. He can’t barely understand her because she hasn’t stopped crying.

“Never, I promise. I’m sorry, Y/N, please forgive me, please”

She doesn’t reply, but she throws herself into him. They end up crying, intertwined in a messy hug until she falls asleep. He watches her sleep for a while; she seems calm, she seems in peace, and that gives him much more relieve than he though a person would ever give him.

Half an hour after that, or maybe more, Alice and Dani come into the room.

“You don’t deserve her” Dani states, before they leave again.

“I know”

He finally closes his eyes and lets his body rest, hoping when he wakes up, all this is nothing but a nightmare.

As always, feel free to send requests!

Also, if you notice some mistakes or wrong expressions, please let me know. I’m not english native so some of them maybe just a translation from my language ones.

Thank you for reading!

[candidlytaron]

Chapter five: πέντε

A/N: Sorry I was late kdsfsdjf I was hella exhausted last night, but here you go.

You take me to the bottom of the ocean You take me to the dephts of your beautiful eyes I'm on top of the world Flying

—Hedley • Top Of The World

• • •

THE DANCE

ISLA

    This is the first taping with just Heather and Howell scenes, so naturally the only actors that will be left in the set is Taron and Isla. George is hanging out in Isla's dressing room, comforting Isla because she overthinks how it's going to go down now that she's going to be all alone in the set with Taron, potentially forcing her to socialize with him. She wanted this to happen, but now that it seems to begin, she's getting too scared by the minute. She doesn't have that many friends, hence, she has no clue how to socialize. Isla is like a magnet-she attracts people on her circle and they are the ones who start up a conversation with her, and Isla fears that it isn't going to turn out that way with Taron because she feels he is not that type of person, contrary to what he has shown way back during the trial for the casts, but that was until Taron and West clicked and are now best buddies.

    George gets up with his bag strap draped down his left arm, grazing his index finger and thumb up and down it. Isla looks at him wearily, her mouth curved into a frown. Her heart starts to beat fast at the thought that she has no one to hide behind to when the going gets tough. For the first time, she has no one to fall back on and someone to give her moral support and cheer on her to talk to her crush—that is, by the way, getting a little too stronger. Which is bad, she thought, because there's no way in hell she's going to have a chance with Taron. It was way different back then when she only ever sees him in her laptop or phone screen. Now she sees him often in real life-she's working with him. It turned from celebrity crush to an actual crush, and now everything feels weird. Actually falling for someone isn't really her forte. It's been a while since she actually fell in love (Freshman year, college. After that break-up, no one else followed). Now, she doesn't know what she's capable of.

    "Please stay," Isla grabs George's hand and grips on it tight, stopping George on his tracks. "Please. I guess maybe for an hour during the filming. I just need to calm down right now and you're the only one who knows how to put my emotions in control. Worst case scenario is that I vomit on him out of nervousness. Do you want that to happen?"

    George shakes his head. "I don't, but I'm sorry, Isla but I've got a meeting to attend to. It's business-related stuff. Pretty boring, innit? But I still have to go. It's three hours from now and that's not too long when you add up the travel time and the horrible traffic." Then he glances at his watch. "Time is running out, Isle. I've got to go." He kisses her on both cheeks and leave before Isla could even say a word to stop him. Isla's now left with her mouth hanging open, as if she just can't believe what George has done.

    Basically, she's on her own now, and it makes her nervous just by thinking about it. Alone in the set with Taron was something that she had fantasized about, and just having a casual conversation. Being friends. Falling for each other, but gradually. But refreshing the memory of her imagination, she cringes. The reality is too far off from it and it saddens her, at the same time, relieves her. She doesn't think she knows how she will react if Taron ever announces in the near future that he fancies her. But then again, it's all too good to be true. It's all filed in Isla Constantine's Delusional Imagination box.

    She props her feet up the couch so she's lying down. She grabs the book from the coffee table beside it, entitled Top Ten, where the story revolves around two best friends that fell for each other, and their top ten moments of high school-Isla still hasn't reached the end of the book, that's why the arrangement of the chapters (or the list, actually) has got her confused. Luckily, she isn't desperate enough to think that it too, someday, will be her future with George. Yuck, she cringes again just by the thought of it. George Alanis, I love him, but wasting nearly ten years of friendship with him by getting in a relationship already sounds like a bad idea, she justifies.

    She is already on the part called The Dad Thing, and she's getting too drawn into the story that she doesn't notice the arrival of somebody by her dressing room doorstep. So he clears his throat, making Isla snap back and even dropping her book to look at who is leaning sideways on the door frame. "Oh hi Taron," she smiles coyly, picking up the dropped book and placing it back on the coffee table. "What are you doing here?"

    "I'm sorry if I scared you. You were too focused on your book. I just need a little bit of help on practicing the script. I don't mean to interrupt your me-time, but I feel like I'll be better at acting out this scene if I were to rehearse with a partner, and you're the only one I have here."

    Of course Isla doesn't mind, but she's still nervous despite the fact that they have already filmed a couple of scenes together. She's still scared of getting judged by Taron internally since she tends to undermine herself-Taron might have been acting all his life, and she only began at eighteen.

    And how on earth did he know about her me-time?

    She nods in response and Taron makes his way in the room, his copy of the script in his hands. He sits beside an intimidated Isla and she clears her throat, starting the conversation. "Where shall we start?" She asks in a shy manner. Like she doesn't even want to speak at all. She feels like every word she tells Taron is one step closer to something embarrassing happening and she hates every bit of the paranoia. If possible, she just wants Taron to do all the talking, but of course, she has to respond too.

    "Scene fourteen."

    It feels like lightning struck Isla. Scene fourteen is a very romantic scene that involves slow dancing, and even—hot damn—kissing. No wonder why Taron's going to need a partner in order to rehearse. Her heart is already beating so fast and butterflies begin to linger in her stomach that it starts to hurt her.

    "Is it...are you okay?"

    "Huh?" Isla is rang off her thoughts. "But of course. Let's practice."

    Isla doesn't notice that on Taron's other hand is a pill speaker. This boy must really like to get in the mood. Now she feels even more awkward and scared than before because this means that they are actually going to slow dance. She's actually going to slow dance with the Taron Egerton. Although, she needs to erase every affection towards him for a second, because if she's too drawn to him, it might get weird, and that's one of the worst case scenario in her head. What she needs to do is to start treating him like a usual co-star. The way she treated every other leading man she had that everyone considered as heartrob. Like it's no big deal. It doesn't hurt to stay professional at a time like this.

    However, distracting her off the initial thought was the fact that she has no idea how slow dances work. Sure, she has slow-danced with George before, but because he felt bad Isla never got the chance to slow dance with anyone, but that was a long time ago, so Isla has completely forgotten what George has taught her way back since after that, she never did it anymore.

    Taron walks towards her, grabs her by the waist and draws her closer to him, which, Isla admits got her feeling some type of way, her head starts to reel. This is like a dream come true for her. The only flaw is that it happened a little sooner than she expected. Also, it was part of her imagination that they'd slow dance when they're already a couple—and in the living room at 2 am, because in this scenario she's already living with him. She places her hand on his broad shoulders and one hand holding his. But she finds herself shaking her head and breaking away from him after a few seconds of their bodies pressed together.

    "Is there something wrong?"

    Isla drops back down the couch and looks him in the eye—something that she never thought that she can actually do—and Taron just looks at her confused and a bit embarrassed. His cheeks are blushing a bit but it's noticeable enough for Isla because of his complexion. She just shrugs in reply.

    "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable-"

    "Oh my god, absolutely not. You didn't. It's just that, I don't have any idea how to slow dance. I only did it once back in high school with George and have completely forgotten what he taught me. And I'm scared I might step on your foot or something."

    Taron just shrugs, and Isla feels some relief by it. "All right then," he says with a smile. "I'll teach you. It's really not that difficult."

    This isn't some type of fantasy Isla has mentally filed on her mind any longer. It's actually happening. Sooner than she expected, but it's happening.

    They go back to the previous position, with Taron's hand on Isla's hips and holding her hand with his free one. He draws her closer to him, and once again, this sends shock in her entire body.

    "Just follow my lead, yeah?"

    Isla's looking longingly at his green eyes, and at this point her heart is beating against her chest as she tries her very best not to hyperventilate. Treat him like a regular co-star, she keeps repeating in her mind. If she freaks out, George won't be here to catch her anymore. She has to remain stronger than her feelings on her own.

    They take slow steps side to side, Taron looks down to her and smirks. "You're getting the hang of it," he says, but still Isla is not convinced. She still thinks that she sucked at this and she hated it. "You're doing great, don't worry," he continues, perhaps hinting out Isla's nervousness just by the look on her face she's unconscious about.

    About ten minutes of music-less slow dancing passes, Isla now actually thinks that she's finally got it. She nods at Taron as a sign and he quickly understood.

    "Ready for the music?"

    Isla gasps. This may only be a practice, but life looks so much like a fairytale at this very moment, pretty much like that scene in Cinderella when she was dancing with Prince Chaming.

    Before Taron can even say something else, Isla immediately interrupts. "Of course."

    Taron pulls away from Isla, which kind of stings her because she wants their hand to remain interlaced with each other, but he had to pull away. He had to play the music.

    And speaking of music, she has no idea what Taron is going to play, but she's pretty certain it's going to get her in the mood. After all, she's dancing with Taron.

    "This is going to be so generic, and I apologise. I don't know what the real music is going to be. But, we need to practice."

    She presses her mouth together, forming a straight line, still anxious. Now, Isla wonders if Taron is as nervous as she is at the moment. I bet not, she thinks. Because I'm just a normal co-star for him.

    The music begins to play, and it's Stephen Bishop's It Might Be You. Isla's stomach begins to turn—this is one of the most romantic songs out there, and it's being played as she slow dances with her crush. A dream. She looks up to Taron, and he smiles coyly at her as they dance in circles to the music. Isla's trying her very best not to ruin the moment and step on Taron's foot, so as much as possible, she takes small steps. She wants to look down at her shoes, badly, but their bodies are pressed together so she can't, so them being this close to each other annoys her as much as it delights her.

    She never wanted this dance to end, but unfortunately, it is stopped by someone knocking on Isla's dressing room door, interrupting the entire moment and causing them to awkwardly break away from each other. It was Vincent.

    "Show time, you two. Come on."

    Isla curses under her breath, and the director immediately shots his gaze at her. Isla scrambles up in her brain, trying to think of an excuse.

    "What was that?"

    "Ow!" Isla sits down, clutching on her thighs. This is where her acting skills comes in handy. Taron tends to her and sits beside her. "I think I just had a cramp."

    "Isla, I am so sorry," Taron says, very sincerely. "Do you want me to call the nurse or something—?"

    "No, I'm good," Isla grins, and she tries to make it look as if she's feigning her pain. "I'm okay now. It's not your fault, don't you worry."

    "Were you two just slow dancing?" asks the director.

    "Yeah, I really needed to rehearse that scene. It was making me very nervous but Isle really helped out." Isle, oh my god. Isla's heart flutters every single time he calls her by that nickname, though Christopher and George do. There's something with the way he says it.

    Vincent looks at them like he can hint out something ulterior. "All right. Head outside. Time is running out."

    Both Isla and Taron nod at each other and Vincent leaves before them.

    "Were you just pretending to be hurt just so you'll have an excuse for swearing all of a sudden?"

     Isla smiles cheekily. "Yes, now shush." She grabs Taron's hand, pulling him gently away from her dressing room and out to the set.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER SIX