#black canary smut

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), overstimulation, ffm threesomes, dub con in some of them, orgasm denial, spanking, pussy slapping, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, squirting, suggestions of anal, all characters featured are 18+ 

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗮𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗻 // 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝘆

“You’ve still got plenty to give,” Arthur commands, one elbow resting on the edge of his throne, his head tilted ever so slightly to watch the way your bouncing, albeit haphazard now, sends ripples through your thighs all the way up, “keep fucking yourself.” 

you might be able to do what he demands of you, had his free hand not been pressed to your sex, large finger pads rubbing lazily against your puffy clit. he’d been teasing you for so long, edging you for so long that your legs keep trying to give out on you, making it impossible to ride him in a smooth, skillful motion. 

instead, you jounced up and down, crying out to punctuate each time your ass smushed against his thighs, the force at which his cock barrels into you per his demands making you lightheaded. 

bracing yourself with both hands on the expanse of his shoulders, you try to ease off of him, allowing an inch or two to slide free from your body before you pause, and close your eyes tight, your breath shaky, your thighs trembling. 

“I— I need… a m—minute—“ 

“Why? Are you already too sensitive?” his fingertips press against your button, pinching it hard until your hips are jutting, hoping to escape the torture. you nod, and his brows knit together, pensive, before his hand careens upwards, grasping your waist and pulling you back down flush against his lap, filling you to point of crying out, “Very well. You can take those sixty seconds impaled on my cock. Then, you can continue.” 

your nails threaten to scrape at his skin, your eyes watering. the constant, deep throb of his girth in your belly is one of the sensations you were hoping to take a break from, but you can’t rightfully deny the Ruler of Atlantis in his own kingdom— not while you were merely a guest, an ambassador. 

“And then?” you ask, breathless, one hand sagging to feel your belly. from the inside, you felt so full that you might burst, but you smooth your palm over it and feel merely a faint lump of his shape against it. “After I’ve satisfied you, your highness?” 

“I’ll have you cum, finally.” Arthur’s brow quirks. “And after that, my queen will have her turn with you.” 

𝗯𝗮𝘁𝗺𝗮𝗻 // 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲 

“Don’t stop!” it’s you that’s begging, because Bruce has you twisted in just the right position to overwhelm you. one of his massive hands is splayed against the obsidian behind your head, keeping his upper half level and hovering over you, so as not to suffocate you, while the other pushes your right leg up at the knee. his jaw is clenched, brows furrowed, as he multitasks. keeping your legs from jutting inward at the knee and digging into his chest to attempt to push him away, and rocking his hips to give you all that you’re asking for. 

“If you’re going to take it, then you have to take it.” he grunts, authority seeping into his strained voice. “Keep your legs open.” 

you were trying, you really were. even when you reached around to grip your thighs with both hands, the second he bottomed out in your belly, you were arching off the hood of the batmobile, your body fighting to protest the sheer amount of thickness you’re being fed, and how each bulging vein scrapes against your delicate walls. your knees spur into his ribs, attempting to work their way between the two of you. 

“Keep going,” you moaned, even as your nails sank into his chest, digging through the sweat-sheened, dark patch of hair found there, “I’m going to cum again!” your palms pushed against him, you writhed, and your legs were threatening to bruise his rib cage. 

that’s why he had taken over. pushing your knee up towards your chest, he could pin you back down to the batmobile and keep you in place; his bare chest heaving only inches from your face, raining droplets of salty perspiration on to your contorted countenance. “I’m not stopping until you beg me to,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious enough. “That would defeat the whole purpose of your endurance training.” 

he always had to make it sound like he was making you a better superhero, a more important asset to the Justice League. 

was that really true, or did he just enjoy the way your cunt clenched around him? 

“Your ability to follow orders, however,” pressing his shoulder against the back of your knee, he holds you in place so he can push his now liberated palm against the hood on the other side of your head, “we’ll work on that next.” 

𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄 & 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 // 𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 & 𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗵 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 

the stinging slap against your clitoris already has you yelping, digging your nails into your own thighs as you keep them spread apart. Dinah rubs the sting into your button with her lithe fingers, whilst her other hand buries itself in Ollie’s hair, pushing his head down between your legs. the burn of his beard rubbing your most sensitive region has you squirming and panting. “We can play this game all night,” she croons, patting your swollen clit. the taps are firm and quick, nearly spanking, and you twitch each time, “Ollie can work your cunt over, tongue fuck you until you’re just about to cum…” 

and you were, you were trembling with the desire to release, since such a privilege has been withheld thus far, and your eyelids fluttered, your toes curled. every sensation they fed you was amplified by at least one hundred, due to the constant edging and soiling of your past, potential orgasms. now, within only a few seconds, and with Dinah’s soft crooning as she beats your clitoris, you’re past the realm of pleasure. so hyper sensitive that it had become torturous, and you were desperate to cum. 

“And then, we take it away.” 

Ollie came up for air, and to meet Dinah’s waiting lips, while you convulsed in disbelief as yet another climax is denied, and you snub pathetically. “P—please,” you stammer through ragged breath, “I’m so—so sensitive— it’s— too much… please…” 

Dinah moans, dragging her tongue along her lover’s lips, and gathering your taste on it before she looks at you, her ruby lips etched upwards into a smile. it was devious and lustful— you always did love when she looked at you like that. “If you want to cum that badly, you know what you have to have?” 

you nod, bashful but just needy enough to comply, “C— cock in my ass…” 

“Good girl,” Ollie mumbles, reaching around her midsection to rub Dinah’s bare sex with one hand, and yours with the other. his fingers dip into you, and you arch again, whimpering. “You must really be trying hard to hold it together.” 

“Oh, she is.” Dinah purrs, smacking your clit again. “She can’t even answer correctly, poor thing. Greedy pussy must be overloading her brain. Whose cock do you need in your ass to cum, sweetheart?” 

you’re shaking, grunting in frustrated pleasure as your hazy eyes drift to the strap on laying beside you. locked in the metal ring is a sizable, silicone dildo. your mind whirrs. 

“Y—yours,” you whimper, biting down on your lip. “I need your cock in my ass to cum, Dinah!”

𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻 // 𝗵𝗮𝗹 𝗷𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗮𝗻 

Hal will hit it from the back because he knows he can pound your sweet spots until you’re shaking. his cock has just the right curve upwards to dip into a nerve cluster when he pulls you back to meet his deep thrusting. it’s a section inside you that no one’s ever touched before him, and he bullies it relentlessly until it overloads your pleasure capacity, and you’re scrambling for something to dig your nails into, thighs trembling uncontrollably. 

“Attagirl,” he moans, tilting his head back to savor the way you quiver around him, “there goes daddy’s sweet, little vibrator.” when you babble his name, he’ll swat at your ass with his palm open, wearing a dopey grin. “That's a good spot, huh? Want me to keep hitting it right there?” when you nod, whimpering nonsensically, he uses his free hand to press into your shoulder blades, urging you to arch your back tighter, and you bury your face in the pillows you hug so tightly, muffling your mewling. “Go to town, babygirl, that feels good,” he encourages with another smack, this time, he digs his fingers in to grab a fistful of the supple flesh on your ass, “shake for me!” 

when you hear his moaning in your ear, feel the heat of his ragged breath and the pressure of his muscled torso against your back, it only sends you higher. 

you worry you may never come down. 

pinned to the mattress, tearing at the fabric of the pillows and sheets, your eyes rolling back, you manage to whimper his name, followed by a string of pathetic pleas. “T—too much— can’t.. I can’t—“ 

“You can,” he ensures, both hands running up the length of your body underneath to grope at your breasts while he rams you into the mattress. “My babygirl can. Just let me… fuck, let me give it to you. Let me fuck you ‘till you can’t think straight.” when he kisses your neck with his open mouth, he rasps out, “And when I fill you up, I’m gonna flip you over and eat my cum out of this sensitive, little pussy. Daddy’s not leaving for Oa until the AM. You’re gonna cum until you cry tonight, baby.” 

𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻 // 𝗸𝗮𝗹-𝗲𝗹 ( 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘁 ) 

you cling to him. 

you know he has you, and you won’t be going anywhere, but you still hold tightly to his shoulders, hook your legs around the smallest section of his back, burying your face in his massive chest. his herculean form engulfs you in a shadow, encasing you in his warmth; you feel microscopic underneath him. 

you hadn’t realized how intense making love to him would be; he was always so gentle when he held you, so easy when he kissed you. he treated you like you were made of glass most of the time, and he did so with a smile. 

but when he was inside you, you could feel every muscle in his superhuman body, tight and fighting the urge to ruin you. he made sounds: guttural moans in the back of his throat, as he eased you into a rhythm he thought you could handle. 

even for all his holding back, you were still struggling— your body overloaded with stimulation, from the depth he could reach, to the force behind his rutting. the swollen tip of his cock bumped nerves you didn’t even know existed, prodded at your insides, and still? still, Kal wanted to give you more pleasure. 

with one hand slipped between the two of you, he used his first and third finger to spread your netherlips, petting at your swollen clit with his middle finger.  

it was enough to have you falling apart, over and over again. whining his name, wriggling under his weight. 

“You’re doing so good.” he was murmuring, just barely louder than your whimpers, as he kisses the top of your head, but his powerful hips piston at a steady, deep pace. “If it’s too much, you can tell me. We can stop—“ 

your grip tightens. 

you didn’t want to stop, even if your body were to give out. you wanted Kal to have you in every way possible, from your heart to your soul, to your body, even if it meant the latter was broken from his power by the end of it. but you couldn’t tell him that. instead, you shook your head, back and forth, several times, whimpering desperately. 

Kal understands, and the breath of a fond chuckle leaves his lips against your head. “Okay, no stopping, understood.” 

it was when you came unraveled again, starting to blubber, leaving tears streaked across his chest, that his grip on you tightened. “I’m going to rub harder, okay? I’m going to fuck you deeper.” 

for the first time, you were apprehensive. 

how could he possibly get deeper? 

“K—Kal…” 

“I can feel you on the brink,” he coos, slowly pushing fresh inches into you. you didn’t even know he wasn’t hilt deep until you felt his other hand press against your spasming entrance; he was using it as a bumper, keeping himself from burying what remains of his length into you too soon by keeping a tight fist around his shaft. “You’re so close to the big one…” 

you’re in awe as your mind swims with the possibilities of just how many more inches of cock Kal had to offer. 

and how much of it could actually fit inside you? 

“I want to give it to you.” 

with he scrapes at your clit with the tip of his finger, harder and faster, you look up at him, bottom lip trembling, babbling, and find his chin angled down, ready to kiss your tears away. 

“Just hold on to me.” 

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵 // 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻

Barry was beaming when he could feel the soles of your feet against his shoulders, urging him back from his nest between your thighs. he’d been so diligent in the use of his tongue, swirling it over your aching clit so many times and at such an impossible speed that it felt as though he was conjuring a minuscule tornado with the velvety muscle, and siccing it on your body to assault you in a way that no other man could ever compare to. his fingers, and the way they worked you over from the inside, were just as skillful; thicker than you’d anticipated— and knuckle deep. he was tapping a button from the interior, teasing it, gauging how you react when his fingertip grazes over it. 

“Barry—“ whimpering, you push against him, “I really— I can’t cum again… without…” 

“Without…?” Barry grins wide, azure eyes alight with excitement as he pumps faster. “Squirting for me?” your eyes widened, and you felt the heat of a furious blush on your cheeks. you never should’ve told Barry it’d happened once before. 

“Barry!” you give him a shove with your foot, just barely harder than before, but he claps a hand on your thigh and pushes one foot off of him, pinning your leg to the bed, keeping it spread wide. “It’ll… make a mess…” with your hand fleeing for his golden locks, you grip them at the crown of his head, but you don’t try to pry him off of you. you merely hold on to his hair, staring down at him, panting. 

but his eyes are twinkling; mischief awash in the oceanic gems. “I’ll lick it all up. I want to taste it.” he answered simply, jamming his fingers into you somehow even faster. the pressure on your lower belly elicits a broken squeak from your lips as your head drops back against the pillows, and your grip tightens on his hair. Barry dives back in, slurping on your clit until you’re seeing triple. 

“B—Barry— the sheets—“ 

“We own a washing machine.” 

he wasn’t allowing you any excuses, nor was he giving you any time to find the strength to control the orgasm that follows shortly. even as you tried to pull his head back, to ease the intensity, your hips rock upwards, off the bed in tandem with his furious finger fucking, and you smash your sex into his face with a hapless cry of his name. you erupt, soaking his hair and face, as well as the sheets underneath you in a violent gush, and press your thighs together as tight as you can around his head. he allows this, trailing the hand that was keeping you pinned up the length of your torso to knead your breast in tender circles as he gurgles and moans. even as your vision was blurry and you were panting, you glance down at him weakly to witness the way his eyes rolled back in his head when he sipped on you. it was vulgar enough to have you whining, falling back against the bed, in exhaustive defeat. 

when Barry finally comes up for air, he’s drenched— his golden tendrils sticking to his face, and he’s sucking in as much oxygen as he possibly can, sitting back on his knees to admire the carnage he left. you were still trembling, legs falling open to either side, mewling soft and pathetic. you peek up at him, watching diamonds of your essence rolling down his chiseled cheek, and it only has your hips rocking more fervently, humping air. he smiles wider, palming at himself. there was a fat lump in his pants that was begging for treatment. “I’m so hard right now,” he purrs, and reaches for your hand with his free one, bringing it to his groin. you squeeze and rub, following the rhythm you know he likes, and he moans, watching you inch towards him on your back. you were much too weak to crawl expertly. “See what you do to me?” 

[jasonstodger]

Oliver Queen loves to share. Dinah Lance? Not so much.

The way I see it, Ollie is always willing to take the backseat and just watch. He enjoys seeing your enjoyment. When you're fucking, just the three of you, he's content to sit at the end of the bed, gripping his cock and moaning softly as he watches his two best girls writhe and moan in the sheets.

This is the way Dinah likes it: When she can control your every sound and movement from above without having to worry about an outside force ruining her plans for you. She'll use all her toys, all her tactics, to slowly tease you to orgasm, bruising your lips with her mouth and bruising your throat with her gentle but strong hands.

Even off the field, the three of you are the perfect team.

[kuramassss]

Im gonna start write fanfics with characters x reader, so im taking requests for:

DC Fem characters:

Raven

White Canary

Black Canary

Black Siren

Laurel Lance

Thea Queen

Sara Lance

Harley Quinn

CW Characters:

Supergirl

Kara Danvers

Alex Danvers

Overgirl

Red Daugher

Nia Zal

Black Canary

Black Siren

Laurel Lance

Sara Lance

Ava Sharp

Charlie

Caitlyn Snow

Killer Frost

Thea Queen

Shado

Jessie Wells

Overwatch Characters:

Ashe

Tracer

Widowmaker

D.Va

Ana Amar

Pharah

Mercy

Mei

Bridget

Junker Queen

Echo

Moira Odelion

[brokenmenswhore]

potions | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus invites his potions partner over to his family home to “help her practice”

warnings: DUBCON (MDNI 18+), choking, smut, rough sex

────── ☾ ──────

When Regulus invited you into his home to use his in-house potions lab, you were suspicious. Regulus always had a darkness to him, and as your potions partner, he was never cruel to you, but he wasn’t the type to make such a kind gesture.

You accepted, knowing you could really use the extra practice. Regulus was talented at potions, and you felt bad that you were barely any help in class. As strange as it may be, you figured some extra time would benefit you, and Regulus could teach you and thing or two, if he felt kind enough to do so.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing you through the door.

You smiled as you followed him through the house, the lighting almost as dark as his all-black outfit.

“I keep my potions stuff in here,” he said, pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“In your bedroom?”

“Mhm,” he responded, completely nonchalant about the fact you were in his personal space, while you felt it was a little strange. You didn’t know him too well, though you were attracted to him, and now you were only a few feet away from his bed.

He walked over to the table. “You coming?”

You swallowed and approached him, looking at the large collection of jars and ingredients spread out on the table.

“Should we maybe let your parents know I’m here? That there’s someone else in the house?”

Regulus chuckled. “The only other person here is my brother.”

“Sirius is here?”

Regulus shot you a look. You and Sirius had a weird past- you hooked up a few times at parties, you caught feelings and he didn’t, and you never spoke again. It was all ancient history, but you still tried to avoid being around him at all costs.

“Why does it matter?” Regulus asked.

“It doesn’t,” you spoke in a small voice, drifting your attention to the table, “so? What first?”

“Figured we could maybe just make sure you’re set on ingredients,” Regulus said. Everything he said was so dry, low, and monotone, and it sometimes made conversation hard.

“I think I’m comfortable with the ingredients side of things,” you told him.

“You’re not.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” you fought, “I know my own skill levels, Regulus.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He was so nonchalant about everything, reorganizing ingredients and setting up potion recipes as he spoke, as if anything he said didn’t matter.

You sighed and gave up fighting it, letting him take control and decide where to go from here. There was no point in going back and forth on the same thing over and over again.

“How about we just start with Shrinking Solution?” Regulus asked.

“Fine by me,” you answered.

Regulus backed away from the table, watching you do nothing. You looked back at him. Did he expect you to just do it?

“Well?” he said, “make the potion.”

You sighed. Sometimes he was so annoying and condescending. You looked at the unlabeled recipe and removed 7 red rose petals from a case of singular petals.

You began to drop them one-by-one in the boiling water. You looked at Regulus, who nodded at you to keep going. “How difficult,” you said sarcastically.

Remus folded his arms in front of his chest, watching you carefully.

You added five drops of essence of violet, stirring counterclockwise exactly twelve times.

“I don’t remember shrinking solution having essence of violet,” you told Regulus.

“Are you claiming my recipes are wrong?”

“No, I’m just saying.” You sighed and continued with the recipe, counting out 4 cloves and prepping canary flight feathers.

He didn’t say a word, just watching you make the potion, until you had completed the instructions.

“I also don’t remember it being pink,” you pouted, looking confused at the pot.

“I could have sworn this potion had daisy roots somewhere-“

“Would you relax?” Regulus questioned.

“Something just feels off about it,” you said, inspecting the liquid.

“Does it smell right?” he asked.

You leaned in and sniffed. The potion smelt like lavender, vanilla, freshly cut grass, and all your favorite smells.

The smell maintained throughout the smoke that you breathed in, overtaking your senses and filling your lungs. “Fuck that smells good,” you giggled.

Regulus crept behind you as silently as he could. When you stood up, he was directly behind you, your back almost banging into his torso.

You spun around to meet his gaze. “Can I help you with something?” you asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you were suddenly overtaken with adoration.

“I think I probably can,” you said, all logic going out the window as the potion took over your emotions, your focus completely on Regulus.

“Atta girl,” he tsked, gripping your waist as he looked down at you. “How you feelin’, pretty girl?”

You were overcome with intense emotion, but you fought to remain grounded in reality. “You motherfucker,” you said, letting Regulus know that you were aware he had you make the wrong potion. This was not Shrinking Solution, this was Amortentia.

“No idea what you’re referring to,” he said.

“You know,” you started, twirling his already wavy hair in your fingers, “you could have just asked if you wanted me.”

“Now could I?” he asked, intrigued and eager to hear you continue talking.

“Mhm.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Why?”

“You slept with my brother, did you not?”

Your eyes widened a bit. “And you know that how?”

“He’s my brother,” he said, holding you closer to him, his tone finally lifting to a bit lighter of a place, “and I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

You giggled. “Have not.”

“I have been,” he admitted, “had to make sure you weren’t fucking anyone who didn’t deserve you.”

“I haven’t been fucking anyone,” you told him honestly.

“I know.”

“You wanna know why?”

His gaze darkened.

You sighed, “the only person I’ve wanted to fuck is standing right in front of me.”

Regulus growled, gripping your waist even harder and pulling you even closer. “Then what did I do all this work for? Getting you over here, the Amortentia, you’re telling me I worked for it for nothing?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, amused at how much thought and planning went into getting you here. You weren’t obvious about your attraction to him, but it couldn’t be that hard to notice.

“I feel drunk on you,” you admitted.

Regulus smiled. You had never ever seen him smile before. You didn’t even know he was capable.

“You’re so pretty when you smile,” you said genuinely, a hand moving upward so you could run a thumb over his cheek.

He couldn’t help himself anymore, he crashed his lips onto yours. Your hand found it’s way to the back of his head, holding him closer. You whimpered into the kiss, desperation overtaking your body. You couldn’t help it, the scent of the potion was still filling the room, and you were consumed in Regulus.

“I want you,” you said in between kisses, eager to finally get what you wanted.

Regulus didn’t break the kiss or loosen his grip on your waist, but instead inched you closer and closer to the bed. You felt the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you jumped up, attempting to land on the mattress, but Regulus caught you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He leaned over you, your back touching the mattress as you kept your legs around Regulus. He remained standing, the small of your back at the edge of the side of the bed.

Regulus finally broke the kiss, running his hands all over your body and inspecting every single inch of you. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud that Sirius will realize what he’s missing.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Your heightened emotions won, and the more you tried to stay quiet, the more hysterical your laugh became.

Regulus slapped your thigh. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You.”

“Shut up,” Regulus demanded, kissing you to distract you from the hysterics in your brain. You melted back into him, forgetting why you were even laughing in the first place.

You were still having too much fun to let him win so easy, and you liked watching him work for it. “Make me.”

Regulus cocked his head to the side. “What did you just say?”

A giggle threatened to leave your lips. “I said make me.”

A hand suddenly squeezed around your throat, not completely cutting off your breath, but stopping your giggling.

Regulus flashed you a wicked smile. “That seemed to work, didn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you squeaked out.

Regulus moved a hand in between your bodies, cupping your heat from on top of your underwear. You inhaled sharply, desperate for any sort of friction.

Regulus tucked his fingers into the band of your underwear, collecting your wetness with his middle finger as he traced it in between your folds. A sigh of pleasure escapes your lips, and Regulus watched your face intently.

You thought he was going to continue on like this, slowly working you up until you were ready for him, but Regulus had other ideas. Without warning, he shoved two long fingers inside of you, his palm resting on your clit and circling, as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Your body responded, back arching off the bed, a hand still around your throat. You squirmed a bit, unable to stay still from the sensation.

Regulus watched your chest rise and fall as your back arched and fell, his cock hardening as he watched what he did to you.

He curled his fingers, hitting that gummy sweet spot within you, causing your walls to convulse around his fingers. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he cooed, “come for me.”

His words undid you, the coil of tension within you breaking as you came on his fingers, whines and whimpers constantly filling the room as you calmed down from your high. He pulled his fingers out of you, never breaking eye contact as he sucked your juices off of them.

Once his fingers were licked clean, he unwrapped your legs from his waist, removing his hand from your throat.

“Stay,” he commanded as he untied his pants, pushing them, along with his underwear, down enough to free his hard and swollen cock.

You let out an audible gasp at the size.

“What? Too much for you?”

“How-“ you didn’t even know what to say, “how is that gonna fit in me?”

“I think you’ll be fine, pretty girl.”

Regulus held his palm in front of your mouth. “Spit.”

You did as he said, and he used your spit to wet his cock, lining up his tip with your entrance.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Yes, Reg,” you replied.

Regulus almost showed you mercy when he heard the nickname, it just sounded so pretty coming from you, but he still didn’t. “Beg for it.”

You nodded your head no in protest.

A hand grabbed your face, pushing your lips out and positioning your head so that you had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Beg. For. It.”

“P-please, Regulus I n-“

Regulus slapped your cheek, hard. You gasped at the pain, almost stunned that he did such a thing.

“Use that pretty little nickname you called me.”

“Please, Reg, I need it, p-please-“

Regulus shoved his length into you, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Regulus growled, setting a steady pace as he pumped in and out of you. He tugged at the bottom of your dress. “Off.”

You did your best to pull your dress off without interrupting his pace, struggling for a minute but eventually succeeding. Regulus leaned in and bit at your bra strap, snapping it back onto your body. He kisses the top of your breasts, shoving your nipples out of the cups, his tongue immediately sucking on one of them.

“Fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure of his mouth on your breasts and his cock splitting you open, and the scent of the potion still filled your nose, almost feeling like too much.

“Louder,” he demanded, serious when he said he would make you scream so loud that Sirius could hear you.

“Fuck, Reg!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, his pace quickening as you did so.

“Good girl,” he praised.

He sucked a sweet spot on your neck, your head rolling to the side to give him even more access.

He was slamming into you, the bed squeaking as your body rocked back and forth. Your legs were weak as they fell off the side of the bed, but Regulus didn’t want the position to change. He grabbed both of your legs, positioning them over his shoulders and fucking into you even deeper.

You squeaked and whined, not even capable of any genuine moans anymore.

“You gonna come again, huh? All over my cock?” Regulus gasped out.

“Mhm.”

“Words, pretty girl.”

“Y- yes!” you squealed, your high hitting you again as you squeezed his cock, a groan leaving Regulus’s mouth as he fucked you while you came, pace never faltering as you attempted to come down from your high.

Regulus was still chasing his own, his lips enveloping yours in a heated kiss as he snapped his hips as fast as he could until he came inside of you, erratic breaths and sighs spilling into the kiss.

“Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair that was sweat slicked and falling in front of his face.

“God, I needed that,” you said, attempting to catch your breath as Regulus laid down next to you.

Regulus didn’t respond, he just stared at the ceiling, calming himself down.

“Reg?” you asked.

“Mhm?”

“You didn’t bring me here just to fuck me and piss your brother off, right?” you asked.

Regulus turned to you. “Do you think that low of me?”

“No. I’m just curious,” you explained.

“No, I didn’t bring you here to piss my brother off,” he answered, “it’s just a massive, massive plus.” He rolled over the placed a kiss on your lips.

[cera-writes]

Remy and reader on their wedding day and night. Fluff and smut please? 😗😗😗😗😗😗

A/N: I like the way you think 🥰🥰🥰 Pairing: F!Reader x Remy "Gambit" LeBeau Tags: fluff, nfsw, sweet sweet smut

"I Do."

The air crackled with nervous anticipation, a fizzing current that danced along your spine. Sunlight streamed through the ornate French doors, casting a warm glow across the sprawling gardens of the St Louis Cathedral. It was the day. You were marrying Remy LeBeau.

A shiver, not entirely from the air-conditioned coolness of the room, rippled through you. You glanced at yourself in the antique mirror, the handcrafted lace of your wedding dress whispering against your skin. It was a vision of elegance, a stark contrast to the life you once knew. But then, so was everything about Remy.

A soft rap at the door startled you. "Come in," you called, your voice barely above a whisper.

The door creaked open, revealing Remy. He looked impossibly handsome in his tailored black suit, a crimson rosebud pinned to his lapel. His eyes, red as garnet and black as night, held a familiar warmth that sent a familiar flutter to your heart.

For a moment, you could only stare at him, speechless. He took a hesitant step forward, a sheepish grin breaking across his face. "Well, mon cheri," he drawled, his voice a barely above a caress, "you look like you swallowed a canary."

You swatted him playfully on the arm, a laugh bubbling up from your chest. "That's the most eloquent compliment I've ever gotten from a thief."

Remy chuckled, the sound rich and deep. "Only for you, cherie. Only for you." He reached out, his hand hovering over yours. "Are you ready?"

You squeezed his hand, the nervous energy dissipating into a calm certainty. "As I'll ever be."

Remy's smile softened. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Then let's go steal the show, shall we?"

The walk down the aisle was a blur. Arms linked with Remy's, you felt a thousand eyes on you, yet all that mattered was the man beside you. You glanced over at the X-Men, your friends over the years as they smiled at the two of you. Morph was bawling, tears streaming down their eyes. Even some of Remy's old Guild acquaintances had shown up and made an appearance. Remy squeezed your hand reassuringly as you reached the altar, a silent promise exchanged in a single touch.

The ceremony was beautiful, a tasteful blend of your traditions and Remy's heritage. When it came time for the vows, Remy's voice, usually smooth as butter, trembled slightly. His words, though, were heartfelt, a testament to the love that had bloomed from the most unexpected of places.

Yours were no less heartfelt, spoken with a conviction that surprised even yourself. You pledged your love, your loyalty, your entire chaotic, beautiful life to this charming thief who had stolen your heart.

You both said without a single doubt in your words, "I do," at last.

As your longtime friend Kurt Wagner declared you husband and wife, Remy took your face in his hands, his gaze intense. The kiss that followed was filled with a lifetime of unspoken emotions, a promise whispered on stolen breaths.

The reception was a whirlwind of laughter, music, and dancing. Remy, ever the charmer, regaled your friends and family with tales of your adventures, your first time ever have met each other, each embellished for maximum effect. You watched him, a smile permanently plastered on your face, your heart overflowing with a happiness you never thought possible.

Later that night, as you stood on the balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens, Remy wrapped his arms around you from behind. "So," he murmured, his voice husky, "Mrs. LeBeau. How does it feel?"

You leaned back against him, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "Like coming home, Remy. Like I finally belong."

He nuzzled your neck, his lips sending shivers down your spine. "Then welcome home, cherie. Welcome home."

As you gazed out at the star-dusted sky, hand in hand with the man you loved, you knew this was just the beginning of your grand adventure. A life together, filled with laughter, love, and perhaps the occasional heist, was a future you wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

But the night didn't stop there. Your Honeymoon awaited as Remy carried you bridal style back through the threshold.

Remy had managed to secure a beautiful hotel nestled in the heart of the French Quarter.

A slow smile spread across his face as he sat you down inside the French Chateau. He cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "Let's get you out of this dress, shall we?"

His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. You nodded, a silent agreement hanging heavy in the air. He helped you remove the dress, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours.

When you stood before him in nothing but your lingerie, the air crackled with unspoken desire and undeniable lust. He took a step back, his eyes roaming over your body, a mixture of possessiveness and reverence in his gaze.

"Ma Belle, you are absolutely stunning," he breathed, his voice thick with desire, his accent thickening.

You stepped closer, bridging the gap between you. You reached out, your fingers tracing the planes of his chest. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it was replaced by a hungry glint in his eyes.

He captured your lips in a kiss, deep and demanding. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of a lifetime of passion waiting to be explored. You surrendered to him completely, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the feel of his strong arms wrapped around you.

You then pushed Remy down onto the plush bed adorned with red rose petals. He smirked devilishly, eyes never leaving yours as he beckoned you closer.

The night stretched before you, filled with stolen moments and whispered endearments. Remy was everything you'd ever dreamt of and more - tender and passionate, playful and protective. He explored your body with a reverence that left you breathless, his touch igniting a fire within you.

"Oh gods, Remy! Don't stop, please..." you begged breathlessly as he took you inch by inch, rough and hard, needy and desperate. "F-fuck chere! T-tu te sens si b-bien," he stammered, breaths coming out in short pants. You were both reaching new heights of ecstasy with each other.

You'd made it a point early on in your relationship that if he wanted you, he'd have to bed you properly on your wedding night as traditional and outdated as that sounded. You were tired of having your heart played with in the past. But here he was now, worshipping your body like a long forgotten art. Funny how life turned out for the both of you.

As the night wore on, the initial urgency gave way to a slow, sensual exploration. Remy was thrusting into you in slow deliberate thrusts. Your body fit him like a glove. "Just like that baby, god I love you, Remy...my cajun man," you kissed his lips as he made love to you.

He smiled, half proud and half completely enamored with how you were making him feel.

You learned each other's bodies in a new way, the pleasure building with each touch, each kiss.

Finally, sated and breathless, you lay curled up in his arms, the moonlight painting silver streaks across your entwined forms.

"I love you, Remy," you whispered once more, as if never getting tired of those three words, your voice thick with sleep.

He nuzzled your hair, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Je t'aime, mon cœur," he murmured. "Plus que les mots ne peuvent le dire."

You drifted off to sleep, the feeling of his love a warm blanket wrapped around you, the promise of a lifetime together a sweet dream on your lips.

You were his and he was yours.

Pour Toujours.

[bambiesfics]

⊹ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭 ⊹

warning: water-sports, extreme overstimulation, graphic depictions of lesbian smut, r!receiving finger bang, sarcastic Ellie, fluff + loving at the end.

vague description: reader has a full bladder and is trapped in Ellie William’s hatchback.

author’s note: re-upload of my fic from last blog, also don’t read this in public. It gets intense.

“Pinup paradise diner…home to… ‘The World’s Bustiest Milkshake Jars?’”

You read, with your face nosed deep into the crease of the monotoned map. You deflated back into your seat, irritated at the amount of eye-strain required to make out such small font. And let the roadmap blanket the top of your thighs.

“Is that where we’re going next?”

Ellie's eyes were intently focused on the red Honda Civic in front of her, the one she’d almost rolled her windows down to spit at, less than a minute ago. Her stacked bracelets clinked as she cracked the knuckles of each one of her boney fingers.

“Is that what it says on the map?”

You flipped back to the legend, squinting at the list of diners, drive-ins, and street trucks. The corner of her plump smile quirked, hearing you mutter,

“Jesus, how do you read this thing?”

Your squint jumped between Ellie and the page, “uhhhh…yes?—yes!”

“Then that’s where we’re going next.” She crudely cracked her pinky last. The last finger with chips of black nail polish speckled on it and a snug silver braided ring that hugged it. She settled into her seat, merging onto the left lane.

“Pinup Paradise? Really? Seems like an odd choice for a drink after going to Whopping Wrap.”

You flipped the map neatly back onto your lap as your girlfriend flicked the blinker up.

“Milkshakes after chicken wraps Ellie? Really?”

“Hey—Tommy said they have the best milkshakes this side of the state. That type of man, the fucking lumberjack he is, does not fuck around when it comes to satiating that gnarly sweet tooth.”

She muttered “He probably has cavities bigger and darker than the cracks in the Grand Canyon.”

And your tiny giggle teased a smile out of Ellie, as she half-heartedly blocked the swats you struck at her with the rolled up map.

Your girlfriend got such a fucked up kick out of busting Tommy’s balls, and he knew it too.

She flicked the signal light up higher once more and cruised right into the strip mall lane that led the car through to the drive-thru, the diner growing closer each second.

In a smooth slow crawl you and your girlfriend rolled towards ‘Pinup Paradise Diner.’

A canary yellow, vintage diner, littered with paintings of 50’s pinup models that decorated all of the glass windows.

A drive-thru swinging sign read ‘The World’s Bustiest Milkshake!’ above the order window.

You were incredibly humored, noting all the double entendres and puns that weaved through the slogans graffitied across the menu board and windows.

A young crew member poked her head out of the order window, smiling tightly before asking for both of your orders. She watched on while Ellie fished for her peeling leather wallet in the back pocket, and poked her head out of the side of the hatchback window.

“Hey, can I grab a blueberry crust milkshake? And she’ll have….” Ellie trailed off, shooting you back a look with her eyebrow raised.

“…What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have a vanilla bean milkshake please. Also could I get a bottled water, if you have that?”

“Okay, so right now we only have the 1 liter sized bottled water.. would that be alright?”

“Ah, I’m sure that’s no problem, I’ll take it. Thank youuu.” you sang, and the girl mirrored your gentle smiled. You settled back into your seat and she closed the window.

“Why’d you get water?”

Ellie observed, hastily touching up her upper and bottom lashes with mascara, in the dash mirror, before she had to put her foot on the gas.

Vain. You teased in your head.

….But so pretty.

The mascara made her already long lashes, even longer. Her dark brown eyeliner was smudged, yet the grittiness was still so attractive on her. “You should wear brown eyeliner more Els. It really brings out the green in your eyes.”

She side-eyed you suspiciously.

“Thanks?…”

And you rolled your eyes. Your girlfriend loved to pretend she was allergic to compliments unless they were talking about her earth-shattering service top abilities.

Ellie grabbed both your milkshakes. And used her teeth to rip the paper cover off her straw while passing you your drink.

She put her foot on the gas and peeled out.

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

“What question?”

“The question of what possessed you to buy an entire liter of water?”

“Because like, you know the sweet aftertaste left in your mouth after you eat something really sweet? I don’t know, but it makes my mouth feel dry.”

“Ah.” she responded.

“…that’s actually real as fuck.”

“Right?” You settled deeper into your seat. Hugging the milkshake to your chest while you stalked a few instagram stories, relaxing into the rhythmic roll of your girlfriend's beat up hatchback.

Townhouses and parked SUV’s started running on either side of the car as Ellie drove on, deeper into suburbia. You pushed yourself up to gaze out the window.

“Where are we going?”

Ellie turned right into a smaller street.

“To find a place to park. I’m tired of driving.”

“Hmm, sorry baby” you hummed as you rubbed her thigh. Your eyes lit up. “Then can I drive your ca—”

“—no. When will you stop asking?”

“When you finally let me drive it? Let me behind the wheel please.”

She scoffed, eyeing you up and down. “So I can end up with my knees touching the back of my skull? Yeah no.”

“You’re not funny Ellie.”

“And you’re the only passenger princess I’ve seen whining to do her girlfriend's job. Be a lady, damn.”

You broke down laughing, clutching your chest while Ellie bit her lip down to put a lid on her own laughter.

You shimmied close to her, your breasts squishing her upper arm.

“Then can I have some of your blueberry shake?”

She circled the straw around your mouth and made you chase it.

“uh ah-uh-hah—Ellie.” You whined.

Ellie barked a laugh at how adorable you looked, and then slotted the straw onto your puckered mouth.

“Mmm…”

“You like?”

“Yeah it’s so yummy. I should’ve gotten that instead.”

Ellie attempted to take her milkshake back, but with some struggle as you leaned further and further into her seat, pressing your front body into her arms just to keep tasting it. You were practically finished your own drink, and were now drinking half of hers. And in that moment you recalled at all the previous times your girlfriend had gripped your ass and whispered how you were a greedy little princess in your ear. Ellie was an asshole through and through.

But she spoiled you, and she loved doing it.

You eased back, and Ellie stole her milkshake back. She circled her tongue around the tip of the straw before sucking it. Wrapping her pink lips around the sticky tip your rosy lip gloss had covered seconds prior.

You dropped your empty cup in the cup holder and went to chug most of your water. It provided an indescribable amount of relief from the saccharine blanket on your tastebuds. A cool feeling that settled in you, as Ellie pulled into a grassy park parking lot.

Willow trees lined up along the curb, their weeping pose provided shade to several lots, including the one above you.

Ellie killed off the engine. She tipped her head against the headrest in relief. She flexed her fingers, stretching out the kinks, feeling the breeze run past.

Her head lolled limply to face you. “Do I really look that good in brown eyeliner?”

“Yes you really do.”

Ellie’s cheek dimpled.

“I love when you tell me stuff like that.”

“Like what? That you look pretty?”

You murmured into her shoulder, looking up at her.

“Yeah, makes me feel…dunno, not like a greasy loser.”

“Please, as if I would ever let a greasy loser bag me.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Jesus, kill yourself.”

She maintained eye contact with you, green eyes jumping between your own. Reflecting the amber beauty of the sun in its sparkle. She gave you a soft smile, you gave Ellie one back. A truce to the constant teasing. And Ellie took it as an invitation to dip her head down, and pull your lips into a kiss. One she’d been yearning to do since she’d first reversed both of you out of your driveway.

Ellie chased the kiss into the back seat. She gripped the fat of your hips to inch you slowly off of the center console and towards the back. She followed, kicking her loose driver’s seat forward with the sole of her sneakers. The slide adjusting rail had seen better days, and had been owned by better people than the currently horny, blunt, ungraceful young lesbian who had an avid penchant for violence, that owned it that day.

Ellie teased her hand up from your hips to the base of your neck, to grab the back of your head as she worked her puffy lips against yours. She was hungry for your little mouth, and it was seen in the way her jaw flexed.

Ellie kissed you with a remarkably intense eroticism.

Her hands ran down over the fabric of your milkmaid top before ripping the holes away from the buttons to let your tits spill out right into her hands. Each nipple immediately kissed the waiting pads of her thumbs, as they moved to greedily massage the sensitive head. Grazing each of your puffy tender domes over and over. “Fuck, need to suck these heavy tits baby.”

Ellie’s lips made their way down your chest. She suckled some swollen red marks into the skin, before making her way lower. Coming eye to eye with your nipples.

“Can you please squeeze your boobies together?”

You took your palms and pushed them together. Ellie's whiny sigh sent heat pooling in your tummy. She leaned in, licking a greedy stripe across both nipples, tickling their head with the tip of her tongue, tonguing the flesh around both areolas. And suckling your nipples intermittently then popping off them. Leaving both of them so puffed out.

Your squeaks filled the expanse of her small car, and her aroused groans joined to match.

She shoved her fingers in the waistband of your tiny denim shorts and tugged at them. They budged, but barely, so you helped your girlfriend. You lifted your ass off the seat and slid your shorts and thong down your thighs, before Ellie slid them the rest of the way off your ankles and threw them in the front seat.

The soft breeze blew past your cunt. Exposing the warm skin to a cooler environment.

“S-should we be doing this in a park?” you squeeked.

Ellie kissed her answer on your lips “there’s” *smooch* “no one” *smooch* “here.” As she shoved her hand down to palm the fat of your vagina. Feeling your pussy fill up her fingers. Ellie curled a middle finger into your tight hole, it barely wanted to split apart to accommodate her finger. But she marveled at how hungrily it sucked her in. She pumped shallowly before adding in her ring finger.

Her chrome ring grazed the swelling mound inside your hole; your g-spot. And it pulled a pathetic mewl out of you. She curled her wrist up, ligament appearing. And pumped harder. Enjoying your shaking thighs in the air.

Your brain was melting into mush. And all you managed were barely coherent babbles.

“…feels ss-s'good” your eyes were rolled backwards.

“God bunny…” Ellie marveled, “your pretty pussy’s so greedy.”

Ellie’s teeth dug into her lip “How did I bag you?”

All you could muster were delirious squeak noises in response as you tugged on the base of her ponytail.

“Look-look down” Ellie’s fingers grasped your chin, pulling your eyes away from her flushed aroused face and towards your own shiny pussy. “L-look at how you’re swallowing my fingers.”

Ellie’s forehead knocked against yours.

“Hey…c-can you squeeze for me?”

You never disobeyed her instructions, not when you both were like this. Nodding limply, you clamped around Ellie’s fingers, a choked moan escaped you. And a deep, throaty groan escaped her. Feeling how tightly you suckled in her fingers, how badly you wanted her there, made a warm heat throb between Ellie’s legs and left her boxers sticking to her sloppy cunt. Ellie could almost cry that she couldn’t bully a cock inside you, just to feel that desperate clamp around her cock.

Her ring pushed into your plump inner walls over and over, and dragged a new delicious zing of pleasure through the ribbed inner walls. Puffy, swollen, and sloppy with slick.

Ellie had a newfound resistance in her thrusting, the clamping, warm grip of your puffed out walls were holding her fingers still. But she kept pumping, like a suction cup being stuck on and popped off.

You were assaulted with thrilling pleasure from your walls clamping, chasing the press of her jewelry. And from your girlfriends frenzied, desperate thrusting. Ellie was just as hazy brained as you.

It was a costly mistake. All of the fluttering was stimulating your pelvic muscles. Which stimulated the other tiny hole snuggled in your pussy. The familiar pressure of a full bladder pressed behind the teeny hole of your urethra. Your squeaks came out strained. You scooted into different positions on the seat, trying to ebb away the pressure.

The shifting positions only made it worse as your tummy squished from movement, and as Ellie pumped upwards.

She jack hammered her fingertips against the puffy roof of your warm cunt. Her feverish ministrations put so much pressure on your bladder. You choked out a breathy plea.

Your hands skated up your girlfriend's torso, past her exposed waist and pebbled nipples that strained against her t-shirt, and finally towards her square shoulders in an attempt to push her back.

She needed off.

“I gotta…uhn… I gotta.” you whimpered.

“What was that?” Ellie sighed.

“I-ah!” The thrust felt so good.

You were whiny “th-think I needa pee.”

“I’m fucking you so good it’s got you confusing cumming for peeing? Y’so adorable it’s insane.” Ellie kissed your lips, picking up her pace.

She took the hand she’d used to squeeze and pinch your tits and brought it down to press on your lower tummy, as she thrust up.

Oh.

“Nnnnhnhn no! ph-please ewwie.. can’t—hold it.” You babbled the same desperate plea incoherently, but with a mouth nearly paralyzed from the incessant abuse of your hole Ellie was doing, you were left whiny and gulping, babbling tiny sentences at a time.

Sweat pricked at your skin, an orgasm was fucked into your vagina, and a full bladder pressed at your urethra. You didn’t know what to do as the mounting climax forced against your urethra left you with a desperate need for release, in the car.

Ellie’s lips kissed your jaw, snuggling against your head.

“You wanna let it out, big girl? Make a big mess f’me. We can clean it all up later, I promise.”

“nuh—ah Ellie no no…aghh! ”

Your urethra let out a thin light spurtle. Settling into the space between you two as more slick gushed out of your hole. You sobbed through your orgasm, from the joint pleasure of climax combined with relief from pressure pressing against your urethra. Ellie kept fingering you through each tiny pump of liquid that squirted from your urethra and through each contraction of its sloppy wet vagina, as slick spilled out of you and ran past your bare ass, onto her leather seats. With each aggressive thrust of Ellie’s fingers—fuck in—pull out—came out spurt after spurt, from each hole. She slowed down once you fell back into the seat softly; boneless and glass-eyed. Like an abused rag doll.

You both caught your breaths, Ellie from the aggressive thump and heat in her pussy. And you from your ‘accident’.

Ellie watched as the looming embarrassment creeped every so slowly onto your face, as the orgasm slowly ebbed away. She placed shaky kisses on top of your head. Cupping the back of it in support.

Sure, maybe her car wasn’t the best time to explore that kink. Seeing as the bottom half of her shirt and her belt was wet.

But she wasn’t going to let her girlfriend curl in on herself in shame, just because of her body’s natural reaction. Especially one that Ellie practically fucked out of you.

If not for the small space of the car she might’ve pulled you into her lap, to kiss away the upset creases between your brows. But she could do nothing more than hover above your trembling body, and caress your squished tummy with her free hand, until the shaking eased.

She was breathless. “You did so good, baby.”

You shoved your face into the crook of Ellie’s neck. The sweet cologne on the collar of her shirt calmed you down, with its medley of gourmands, lavender and florals.

Your girlfriend had a way of grounding you. Everything about Ellie had the ability to. From her cold, icy fingers, to her soft, pine scented hair. To her woodsy cologne, always left on the collar of her shirts, ready to tranquilize your unrest.

“nuh-uh I—.”

“—So good. My good girl, doing exactly what I tell you too, c’mere.”

Ellie unplugged her fingers out from your hole and suckled the last bit of slick cream off, then swiped it on her shirt. She licked her lips. Using her now clean hand to cup the side of your jaw and draw you into a heated kiss that left both of you trembling.

You shifted positions in the seat from discomfort.

“You still need to pee s’more?”

“No.”

“Babe…”

“Maybe.”

Ellie reached over and opened your door, then hopped out from her side. Jogging over to shield your body.

You crouched in behind her, her and the car towered over you from both sides.

You pouted up at her, and she glowered down at you. Her arms crossed firmly as she looked away briefly to scan around the area. Before parking her gaze back down at you as the remaining stream from your bladder emptied itself.

“No more vanilla bean milkshakes.” you winced at the feeling of the breeze tickling your swollen labia.

“Of course. Yeah, that was the real culprit. Not the mega-giant 1 liter water bottle.”

You frowned.

Ellie’s arms dropped from their cross, and her black fingernails pinched the fat of your cheek and pulled teasingly.

She reassured you.

“Yeah sure, we’ll blame it on the vanilla bean milkshake.”

[jezebelblues]

don’t care if the sun don’t shine | h.s

summary: and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

cw: mentions of smut, fem!reader, 1950s harry, unedited.

word count: approx 17.1k

| when in doubt, 1950s harry au 😎 am not time traveler or historian so sorry if smthn is wrong. also there’s just little hints of smut sprinkled in here, wanted to try 2 give a longer piece w/o it. hope u can enjoy maybe. also too tired to edit love u (so if u see smthn horribly misspelt or wtv, no u didn’t)

April 1957, London

The rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the wide windows of Scotty McBean’s, the droplets weaving an intricate dance down the glass. Outside, the world was an impressionist’s canvas—blurred shades of grey, muted by mist and the rhythmic splash of tires through puddles. Inside, however, the café was a sanctuary. The warm amber glow of old Edison bulbs bathed everything in a golden light, casting long shadows that flickered with each movement. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint trace of damp wool coats, and the creak of wooden floors added to the atmosphere.

The coffee shop was a comforting contradiction—a place where time felt slower. The brick exterior gave way to rich oak paneling, with walls painted the color of soft sunshine. Espresso-colored floors groaned underfoot, and canary-yellow booths invited patrons to sit and forget the outside world. Old black-and-white photographs of singers—Elvis, Ella Fitzgerald—were pinned to the walls, their faces capturing fleeting moments of immortality. In the back, a narrow stairwell led to the owner’s apartment above, barely noticeable to most patrons.

In the farthest corner, away from the windows, sat Harry Styles, his back to the room, shoulders slightly hunched. He was an enigma in a leather jacket that looked as though it had traveled farther than he ever could. His head was bent over a notebook, its pages filled with hasty scrawls and incomplete lyrics. His curls, damp from the drizzle outside, fell into his eyes as he stared at the paper, his pen tracing aimless circles in the margins. The world had yet to catch up with him in this quiet pocket of London, where anonymity still hung in the air like the smell of freshly cut, wet grass.

The jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing a scratchy rendition of a jazz tune, though Harry barely registered it. The music was always there, surrounding him, but today it eluded him. The words wouldn’t come, and the rain outside seemed to pull him further into himself. With a sigh, he swirled the last of his coffee, watching the dark liquid spin lazily before he pushed the cup aside, his frustration beginning to creep in.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as YN entered, shaking the rain from her coat before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She barely glanced around the room, her focus already on her worn paperback novel, a sanctuary from the drudgery of her seamstress shifts. Scotty’s had become her escape, a place where she could lose herself for an hour or two, watching the rain smear the world outside into something distant and irrelevant.

Harry stood up abruptly, the sound of the stool scraping against the floor breaking YN’s concentration. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the figure of the man across the room. His presence was striking in a subtle way—the tousled hair, the red button-up shirt half undone, revealing tattoos that peeked out just below the collarbones. He had an air of casual disarray, like someone who hadn’t yet figured out where they were supposed to be but didn’t mind the journey. His black slacks were cuffed just above the ankle, exposing powder-blue socks and scuffed loafers.

He moved with a kind of restless energy, as though he was eager to be anywhere but here. Harry shoved his notebook into his back pocket and tossed a few bills on the table, offering a brief nod to the barista before he pushed through the door, the sound of rain enveloping him the moment he stepped outside. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind him.

From her seat by the window, YN watched as his figure disappeared into the misty street. Her gaze fell to his chair and the jacket draped over the back. The leather was worn, cracked in places, and heavy with the stories it must have carried. For a moment, she considered leaving it there, assuming he’d return. But something about the way it hung—forgotten, abandoned—made her stand up. She crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, and lifted the jacket from the chair, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Peering out the window, she saw him, just a shadow now, walking briskly down the street. The mist clung to him like a shroud, blurring the edges of his figure as he moved further away. Without thinking, she pushed through the door, the cool air biting at her cheeks as she hurried after him, the jacket clutched tightly in her arms.

“Excuse me!” she called, her voice slightly breathless as she jogged to catch up with him. “You forgot something!”

Harry stopped, turning on his heel, his brow furrowed in brief confusion. His eyes landed on the jacket in her arms, and a slow smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness in his expression. He walked back toward her, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the distant roll of thunder on a quiet evening.

For a brief moment, their hands brushed as he took the jacket from her. The leather was cold from the rain, but her touch had left a trace of warmth. He pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as if it had never left. “Can’t believe I almost left that behind,” he mused, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Must’ve been distracted.”

“No worries.” She shook her head, her smile growing a little as she handed it over. “I figured a jacket like that must belong to someone important—or at least someone who thinks they are.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Important, huh? I wouldn’t go that far.”

There was a moment of quiet as YN watched him, intrigued by the easy way he carried himself, like he was used to being on his own, used to being somewhere and nowhere all at once.

“Well, thanks again.” Harry nodded toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She chuckled breathily, stepping back slightly, ready to let him go on his way. “Just thought I’d return it before you left it behind for good.”

Before she could turn to walk away, Harry’s voice caught her attention. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “I should probably buy you a coffee as a thank you. Seems only fair.”

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned then, walking away with a casual wave, her shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. “But maybe next time.”

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the mist. A smile still lingered on his lips as he tucked his hands back into his pockets and continued on his way, the weight of the jacket a comforting reminder of the brief encounter.

And yet, as the rain continued to fall, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—someone—had just slipped through his fingers.

A week passed, and London remained draped in its usual veil of rain. The days blurred into one another as spring fought to emerge from beneath the clouds, the city waking slowly from the cold grip of winter. The air had a softness now, a kind of unspoken promise that something brighter was on the horizon, even if it wasn’t quite ready to reveal itself.

Scotty’s was much the same. The familiar hum of conversation, the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of a tune crackling through the jukebox. But today, something lingered in the atmosphere—an anticipation, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for a subtle shift.

Harry found himself back at the café, though he wasn’t sure why. The lyrics had begun to flow again, slowly at first, but with a rhythm he could almost grasp. The pages of his notebook were no longer blank, though they still felt incomplete. He had made peace with that; creation was a process, after all. He sipped his coffee, black as always, staring through the rain-streaked window at the blurred shapes of pedestrians rushing by, umbrellas bobbing like ink stains against the grey.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, though the thought of her had lingered more than he cared to admit. The girl with the kind eyes and a smile that danced at the edges of her lips. He couldn’t recall the exact shape of her face, but the impression she left—like the trace of warmth her touch had left on his jacket—remained vivid. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had shifted something in him.

Across the room, the door chimed softly, admitting a gust of cool, damp air as it opened. Harry didn’t look up at first, too lost in the quiet cadence of his thoughts. But then, a familiar voice, muffled by the bustle, drifted over the sound of rain and soft rock n roll. His gaze lifted almost involuntarily, and there she was—her coat still damp from the street, strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she unwound her scarf and shook off the cold.

YN moved to her usual seat by the window, her eyes flicking to the rain-soaked cityscape beyond, unaware of the gaze that had settled on her. She seemed tired, as if the week had worn her down, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she sat, her worn paperback already in hand. The café felt like a different place with her in it—warmer somehow, despite the chill from outside.

He hesitated. There was no reason for him to approach her. She had her book, her own sanctuary. But something tugged at him, a quiet nudge that whispered of unfinished business. He didn’t believe in fate, not really, but perhaps in coincidences that demanded attention.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood, his leather jacket creaking softly as he slung it over his shoulders. He crossed the café in a few strides, the wooden floors groaning beneath his weight, and paused at her table, casting a shadow over the page of her book.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, as if he, too, was wary of disturbing the delicate balance of the moment.

YN glanced up, startled at first, but recognition quickly softened her expression. Her eyes flicked to the jacket—the same one she had returned to him just days ago—and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, if it isn’t mr. forget-me-nots.” She grinned, closing her book and gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead.”

He sat, the silence between them stretching out in an oddly comfortable way. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no rush.

“I never did buy you that coffee,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually in his lap. “Thought I might owe you one.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the ambient music, smooth and warm. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

He motioned to the barista, ordering two coffees without asking her preference. Somehow, he sensed they would drink the same. The brief exchange felt easy, natural, as if they were old acquaintances rather than strangers bound by a single, fleeting encounter.

“So,” she said after a pause, studying him with a curious glint in her eye, “you still distracted?”

“Always.” Harry replied with a grin, running a hand through his damp curls. “Though less so, lately.”

The coffees arrived, and they both reached for their cups at the same time, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the touch lingered a moment longer, neither of them pulling away too quickly.

For a while, they talked about nothing—music, the rain, the oddities of London in spring. She told him about a film she’d seen at the Odeon, describing the way the characters had seemed to glow against the shadows of post-war England, and he listened with an attentiveness that surprised even him. He didn’t talk much about his music—he didn’t need to. The conversation flowed around it, like a river bending around an unseen stone.

The light in the café shifted as the afternoon stretched into evening, the golden glow deepening, casting their features in warm, soft hues. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a slick sheen on the streets outside, reflecting the world like a forgotten dream.

As they finished their second cups of coffee, Harry glanced out the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur into streaks of color. “Do you come here often?” he asked, the question simply, but laced with more than casual curiosity.

YN smiled, folding her hands around her empty cup. “When I can. It’s nice to escape for a bit, to be somewhere where the world slows down, even if just for an hour.”

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Silence settled between them again, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things. The day was fading, and yet neither of them seemed eager to leave, as if this small corner of the world—this small moment—was theirs to hold for a little longer.

“Maybe I’ll see you again.” She mumbled softly, though it stood more of a question. Her eyes caught his for a lingering moment before she stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she turned to leave, her steps quiet against the floor.

The bell above the door chimed as she walked out into the fading light, her figure disappearing once again into the misty streets. This time, Harry didn’t feel like anything had slipped away. Instead, there was a quiet certainty that hung in the air, like the last note of a song, waiting to be played again.

Another week later, the rain returned, draping the city in its familiar haze, washing the streets in muted shades of silver and grey. The city hummed beneath its damp blanket, alive with the quiet energy of a world that never truly stopped moving. The coffee shop was once again a refuge, its amber light glowing through the mist like a beacon for those seeking warmth and a momentary escape from the relentless rhythm of the outside.

Harry found himself at his usual spot, though this time there was less of the restless energy that had consumed him in previous weeks. He still wore the same jacket—weathered and worn, but it had grown more comfortable on his shoulders, like it had settled into him, just as he had begun to settle into the slow, steady rhythm of the café. His notebook lay open on the table, but today, he wasn’t scribbling hurried lyrics or fragments of thought. He was simply sitting, watching the rain trickle down the glass, feeling the weight of time slow around him.

He hadn’t seen her again since their last meeting, but the memory of their conversation lingered in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t quite forget. There had been something unspoken between them, something delicate and unfinished, and though they had parted ways without exchanging names, without exchanging promises, there was an unshakable feeling that their story wasn’t over.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, and Harry’s gaze flicked up instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. There she was.

She stood in the doorway, shaking the rain from her hair, her coat damp and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the space between them thick with the unspoken familiarity that had formed in their brief encounters. She smiled—soft and almost tentative—as if she, too, was unsure of what came next but willing to find out.

Without hesitation, YN made her way toward him, and Harry, unable to help himself, stood up as she approached. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, her presence shifting the air in the room, drawing his attention in a way that felt effortless and natural.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, her fingers tugging lightly at the edges of her scarf.

“Not at all.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the soft sounds of Scotty’s filling the comfortable silence between them. Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting everything in a shimmering, dreamlike quality.

“Seems we keep running into each other,” YN said, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“London’s smaller than it looks.” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting with a quiet amusement. “Or maybe we just keep ending up in the same places.”

Their coffees arrived soon after, and for a while, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sip and the comfortable pauses that stretched between them. They talked about everything and nothing—books, music, the rain, the way the city seemed to transform under its misty veil. Harry found himself listening more than he spoke, captivated by the way she described the world around her, as if she saw it through a lens just slightly different from his own.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” YN said after a moment, her fingers tracing absentminded circles around the rim of her cup, “that some places just hold memories? Like they’re waiting for something to happen, or maybe they already have, and we’re just walking through it.”

He considered her words, though they were random—watching the way the light flickered across her face, casting delicate shadows that danced with each subtle movement. “Yeah.” He murmured, nodding. “I get that. Sometimes I think the city’s like that. Full of moments we’ll never really understand, but we’re part of them anyway.”

She looked at him then, her gaze holding his for a beat longer than usual, something unspoken passing between them. The rain outside seemed to soften, the world outside the window fading into a blur of greys and soft edges, leaving only the two of them in this small, golden-lit corner of the café.

“Do you come here to write?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to the notebook resting on the table between them.

Harry glanced down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. When the words come.”

“And when they don’t?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tone gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

“When they don’t..” He paused, “I just sit here and pretend like they will.” He said with a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit and watch the world go by.”

She nodded, understanding the sentiment in a way that didn’t need further explanation. They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The café seemed to breathe around them, the soft murmur of conversations, the faint clink of dishes being cleared away, the rain that had begun to fall harder now, tapping insistently against the window.

“So,” Harry said after a while, his voice soft but playful, “are we going to keep pretending we don’t know each other’s names? Or is this going to be a thing?”

YN’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling. “I kind of liked the mystery,” she teased. “But I suppose we’ve gone long enough, haven’t we?”

He grinned, extending his hand across the table. “Harry.”

She took his hand, her grip firm and warm, her smile never wavering. “YN.”

There it was—a name, a simple exchange that felt like the opening of a door they had both been circling around for days. Harry’s fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before they let go, and with it, the air between them seemed to shift, something unspoken settling into place.

“I suppose now we can talk about more interesting things.” YN chuckled, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something more open, more curious.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and full of quiet promise. “I think we’ve got time for that.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows of Scotty’s with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Inside, the café seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations fading into a soft murmur in the background. It was as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only the golden warmth of their table, the soft glow from the Edison bulbs overhead casting a flickering light over their faces.

Harry rested his chin on his hand, his eyes tracing her features as she spoke, but this time, he wasn’t just listening to her words. He was watching the way her lips curved when she smiled, the faint crease at the corner of her eyes when something amused her. She had a way of speaking that was unhurried, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid of silences. He liked that. It made the conversation feel richer, like they were both taking their time to truly settle into it.

“So,” YN grinned, leaning forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with a new kind of curiosity, “I know we’re past the point of mystery now, but I can’t help but wonder—what do you do, Harry? Besides sitting in cafés, pretending to write.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, but underneath it, genuine intrigue.

Harry smiled, glancing down at his notebook for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “I suppose y’could say I write. Music, mostly. Or at least, I try to. Been doing it for a while now, but some days..well, it’s more like staring at blank pages and hoping the words will show up.”

Her brow arched slightly, the teasing smile still in place. “A musician, huh? That explains the jacket, I think.”

Harry laughed, a low, easy sound. “What, this old thing?” He tugged at the sleeve of his worn leather jacket. “Yeah, it’s seen a few gigs. I guess it’s part of the look.”

“Fits,” she said, her gaze drifting over the jacket before meeting his eyes again. “You seem like someone who carries a lot of stories around.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I think we all do. We just don’t always share them.”

YN looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her cup. “I like that,” she said softly. “The idea that we’re all carrying our own stories, waiting for the right moment to tell them.”

They sat in that shared moment of understanding, the rain a constant, steady beat in the background, as if the city itself was nodding along to their conversation. The café felt like a world apart, and in the dim light, their words felt heavier, more significant.

“What about you?” Harry asked, leaning in a little, his voice dropping slightly as though the question required a quieter space between them. “What’s your story, YN?”

She smiled, though there was a slight hesitation in it, as if the question had tugged at something deeper than she’d expected. She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the rain dance down the glass, before returning her gaze to him. “Nothing as glamorous as writing music, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m a seamstress. Spend most of my days with fabric and thread, stitching things together.” She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her cup. “But I suppose, in a way, it’s similar. Trying to create something from nothing. Trying to make something that lasts.”

Harry’s smile softened as he listened. There was something in the way she said it—a quiet pride, though she seemed to downplay it. “Sounds like you do more than stitch things together,” he said gently. “Sounds like you’re an artist.”

YN’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or a kind of recognition she hadn’t expected to find in someone she had met only weeks ago. She tilted her head slightly, considering him in a new light. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we both are.”

The weather outside eased, as though it too was settling into the rhythm of their conversation, content to simply fall, uninterrupted. For a long moment, they said nothing, but there was no need for words. The connection between them had deepened, a quiet understanding of two people who had lived different lives but were somehow walking along the same path, at least for now.

As the café began to empty and the light outside faded into a deeper shade of grey, YN glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing and gathering her things. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Harry stood as well, though he made no move to rush her. “Same time next week?” he asked, though it sounded more like a pleas. His voice was hopeful, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

She paused, her eyes meeting his, a smile spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “We’ll see if the rain brings us back together.”

He watched as she walked toward the door, the soft jingle of the bell marking her departure. But as she reached the threshold, she turned back, her eyes catching his in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, her voice soft and clear.

“Goodnight, YN,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared into the misty streets, the rain swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of the café a comforting weight around him, though the space felt a little emptier now that she was gone. He knew they’d see each other again—there was something inevitable about it, something like the rain itself. It came and went, but it always returned, steady and certain.

And as he sat back down at the table, his notebook still open in front of him, the words finally began to come, slow and steady, like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell.

The rain had finally lifted. After weeks of mist and drizzle, London began to stir under clearer skies, the clouds pulling apart like curtains to reveal a softer light. The city, for the first time in what felt like ages, glimmered under the hesitant warmth of spring. It was the kind of day that made people walk a little slower, tilt their faces up to the sun as if to remind themselves that it still existed. The air smelled clean, almost sweet, with the faint scent of budding flowers lingering along the sidewalks.

Harry stood on the corner near the shop, the light wind catching the edges of his shirt. Today, the jacket that had become a kind of signature, was left at home. He wore only a white t-shirt and a worn pair of denim jeans. There was something almost unfamiliar about the city bathed in this kind of light, as though London itself wasn’t quite sure how to behave without the constant mist of rain.

The café came into view, its windows still streaked with the remnants of the last downpour, though the golden light streaming through them made the place look brighter, more inviting. As Harry crossed the street, his shoes tapping against the dry pavement, he found himself wondering if she’d be there. It wasn’t something they had agreed upon exactly—just a suggestion, a possibility—but he’d found himself coming back, waiting. Hoping.

He pushed open the door to Scotty’s, the familiar chime of the bell greeting him, and for a moment, he felt the comforting weight of routine. The café was quieter than usual, the absence of rain having drawn more people outdoors to bask in the fleeting sunshine. He glanced around the room, his eyes naturally drawn to the corner booth by the window, where he had come to expect her.

And there she was.

YN sat in her usual seat, her coat draped over the back of the chair, a book open in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t lost in the pages. She was looking out the window, her face tilted toward the sunlight, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of her book. The light caught the edges of her hair, making it glow in a way that was almost ethereal, and for a moment, Harry just stood there, watching her, struck by the quiet beauty of the scene.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, her gaze lost in the world outside the window, where people strolled along the sunlit streets, their faces bright with the unexpected warmth of the day. But then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

A smile flickered across her face, slow and soft, like the unfolding of a secret. Harry felt his own lips curve in response, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding loosening as he made his way over to her.

“Sunny days suit you.” He smiled, his way of greeting as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Do they?” YN asked, her smile growing as she closed her book and set it aside. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Harry laughed, the sound light in the quiet café. “Yeah, City’s not exactly known for its sunny days. But it’s nice to finally see it, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting out the window again. “It feels different today. Like it’s waking up after a long sleep.”

“It does,” he agreed, following her gaze to the street outside, where the light seemed to bounce off the buildings, painting everything in a golden hue. “I almost didn’t recognize it without the rain.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the novelty of the sunshine filtering through the café’s windows, casting long, lazy shadows on the floor. The warmth felt new, like a gift they hadn’t quite expected, and it seemed to slow everything down, stretching the minutes into something more luxurious, more tender.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your jacket.” YN teased, her eyes flicking to white shirt that allowed for his tattoos to faintly peak through. “You look like you’re finally thawing out.”

Harry grinned, shrugging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Spring does strange things to people.”

YN smiled at that, her eyes catching the sunlight as it danced across the table. “Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the world reminding us there’s more to life than waiting out the rain.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between them, their meaning sinking deeper than the lighthearted tone in which they were said. There was something about her that pulled him in, something beyond the casual conversations they’d had over coffee. She spoke with a quiet wisdom, as if she saw the world in a way that others missed, catching the subtleties in moments that most people let slip by.

“I like that,” he said softly. “I like the idea that there’s more.”

Their coffees arrived, interrupting the moment, and for a while, they settled into an easy rhythm—sipping, talking, the light stretching across the table as the day moved forward. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, but today it felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of grey skies and rain-soaked streets. They laughed more, their words lifting with the warmth of the sun, as if the change in weather had loosened something in both of them.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come back for your jacket?” YN asked suddenly, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “If you’d just walked away that day?”

He smiled, the memory of their first encounter flickering in his mind. “I’d probably still be wandering around, writing terrible songs and cursing the rain.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and Harry couldn’t help but join in, the warmth of it filling the space between them. But as their laughter faded, he looked at her more seriously, his gaze soft but steady.

“I’m glad I came back,” he said quietly, his voice low. “It feels like everything’s been a little brighter since then.”

YN met his eyes, her own expression softening, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just as quiet. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the café, the golden light lingered, wrapping around them like something tangible. There was a new kind of warmth between them now, one that wasn’t just about the weather.

It felt like the beginning of something more, something that had been waiting for the sun to finally come out.

As the day slowly gave way to evening, neither of them moved, content to stay in this moment a little longer, their hands resting on the table, close but not quite touching, as if they were waiting for the right time to close the distance.

And for the first time in weeks, Harry wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The clink of cups and low murmur of conversations filled the café, but in this corner, it felt as though the world had slowed just for them.

Then, the bell above the door jingled, followed by a burst of energy as a group of teenage girls entered the café, their school uniforms slightly rumpled after a long day of lessons. Their chatter filled the air—laughter, the soft rustle of notebooks, and the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the counter. They looked like they were regulars here, perhaps stopping by for a post-school treat, the brightness of their presence contrasting with the calm, almost serene mood of the café.

At first, he barely noticed them, his attention still on YN. But then, one of the girls, no more than sixteen, froze in place, her eyes wide as they landed on him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nudged her friend beside her, whispering hurriedly, “It’s him! Oh my gosh, it’s really him!”

The group turned in unison, their excited whispers rising in pitch. Their eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t fully noticed yet, too absorbed in his conversation with YN. But the girls didn’t move—just stood there, staring with a mix of awe and disbelief, as though they had stumbled upon something out of a dream.

Suddenly, one of them gathered the courage to step forward. She clutched a worn notebook in her hands, her voice trembling slightly with excitement as she approached the booth. “Excuse me are you–are you Harry Styles?”

He looked up, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze directed at him. The girls stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful, as if the entire café had shifted its attention to this one moment.

Harry blinked, a slow smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t quite used to this, especially not in a quiet place like this, but he understood the spark in their eyes. It reminded him of how he used to feel, discovering his favorite musicians, before he became part of the scene himself.

“Yeah.” he smiled, his voice friendly but low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the café. “In the flesh.”

The girls exchanged glances, their excitement bubbling up as they realized they weren’t imagining it. “We saw you perform last month!” one of them blurted, her voice breathless. “At the Odeon. You were incredible! Could we–could we maybe have your autograph?”

Harry chuckled softly as he reached for the notebook she held out. “Of course.” He insisted, taking the pen she offered with shaking hands. He glanced briefly at YN, who was watching the scene with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the shift in energy.

As he scribbled his name, the girls hovered around him, chattering about the performance, about how they had saved up their money to buy tickets, and how they’d never forget the way he played that one song with such emotion. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm, handing the notebook back and signing a second for one of the others, his pen gliding smoothly across the paper.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, clutching her signed notebook to her chest as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. “We’ve never seen anyone famous in real life before.”

“Thank you so much!” the first girl exclaimed, beaming as she tucked her notebook into her school bag. “We’ll remember this forever.”

Harry nodded, his smile warm but humble as his cheeks heated to a faint pink.

The girls, still buzzing with excitement, waved one last time before heading to the counter to order their drinks. They glanced back at him occasionally, whispering excitedly to each other, but they gave him space, respecting the fact that he had returned to his conversation with YN.

As the café settled back into its familiar rhythm, Harry leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly as he watched the girls from the corner of his eye. YN, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Looks like someone’s popular,” she teased gently, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.” he sighed lightly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “They seem to think I’m a bigger deal than I really am.”

YN tilted her head, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re more of a big deal than you think,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s not every day people chase you down for an autograph.”

Harry chuckled again, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I suppose. Still feels strange, though.”

There was a pause, and YN glanced out the window, her fingers tapping gently against her cup. “I guess I’m lucky, then,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t even know who you were when we met.”

He looked at her, surprised by the statement. “You really didn’t?”

She shook her head, her expression still playful but honest. “Nope. Just a guy who almost left his jacket behind.”

Harry laughed, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Well, that’s a first.”

The warmth between them returned, unspoken but tangible, as if the moment with the girls had only brought them closer. The light outside had shifted, growing richer, casting long shadows across the street, but inside, everything felt brighter, more alive. There was something about the way YN looked at him—like she saw him, not the person the girls had seen, not the performer on stage, but the version of him that sat here, in this quiet café, sipping coffee and talking about everything and nothing.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes steady on hers. “I like that,” he said softly. “I like that you didn’t know.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup again, and in that moment, everything outside—the chatter of the girls, the fading light, the hum of the city—faded away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the day, in the quiet unfolding of something new.

“I think I like it too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her words carried more weight than anything else that had passed between them.

And in the golden light of a rare, sunny afternoon, it felt like they had found something more than just a shared cup of coffee. Something that stretched beyond the fame, beyond the rain, beyond the quiet streets of London.

Something real.

By mid-JULY, London had shed its usual cloak of mist and drizzle, now bathed in the soft warmth of summer. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the city hummed with a new kind of energy—the kind that only came when the long days stretched lazily into balmy evenings. The streets sparkled under the glow of late sunsets, and the Thames shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light.

For the past few months, Harry and YN had settled into a rhythm that felt effortless. Coffee at Scotty’s, long walks through the city, moments of quiet laughter shared in the sunlit corners of bookshops and parks. Their lives had intertwined slowly, naturally, like vines creeping toward one another, until the space between them felt impossibly small.

Now, as she sat in the front row of the packed concert hall Harry dragged her to, YN realized just how little she’d truly known about Harry Styles. He had mentioned his music, his gigs, but this—this was something else entirely.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the air electric with excitement. Fans lined the rows behind her, their voices a cacophony of eager murmurs and cheers. She could feel the heat of their collective energy as they waited, ready for the show to begin. The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into a wave of deafening applause and screams. YN’s heart raced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as she watched the lights swirl and shift across the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, Harry emerged.

The crowd roared with an intensity that startled her, the air vibrating with their cheers as he walked to the microphone, his leather jacket gleaming under the lights, his presence commanding the room with an effortless ease. There he was—the same man who drank coffee with her in a quiet café, the same man who once nervously scribbled lyrics into a notebook. But here, on this stage, he was something more. Something bigger.

Harry grinned as he strummed the opening chords to Sunflower, the crowd immediately swaying to the familiar tune. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, and YN felt herself drawn into it, the lyrics washing over her, weaving through the crowd like a thread connecting him to every single person in the room. The way he performed, with such raw emotion and vulnerability, it was like he was telling the story of his life, not just singing a song.

YN watched, mesmerized, as Harry transitioned seamlessly into other songs. The energy of the crowd grew wild, and the music throbbed through the hall, each note setting the room ablaze. The girls behind her screamed his name, their voices blending into a chorus of adoration, and for the first time, YN fully understood what he had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

She had seen glimpses of this world—the autograph requests, the fans who recognized him even in a quiet café—but this was different. This was Harry in his element, where his talent became something bigger than himself, something that drew people in, made them feel seen, heard, understood.

By the time he reached Little Black Dress the crowd was on its feet, dancing, singing along at the top of their lungs. Harry owned the stage, moving with a confidence that radiated off him, his eyes occasionally scanning the crowd until, for the briefest moment, they landed on her. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and even with the chaos of the crowd around them, it felt like a private exchange, a secret shared in the middle of the noise.

When the final chords echoed through the hall, the applause was thunderous. YN stood with the rest of the crowd, her hands aching from clapping, her heart pounding in her chest as Harry took his bow, soaking in the cheers, his grin wide and unrestrained. The lights faded, and the crowd began to disperse, but YN stayed rooted in place, her eyes still on the stage, as if trying to capture the last flicker of magic before it disappeared.

Soon after, a staff member approached her, politely guiding her toward the backstage area. She followed, her footsteps light with anticipation, weaving through the narrow corridors of the venue until she reached a door with a small gold plaque that read Dressing Room.

She knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door swung open. There he was, leaning against the frame, still catching his breath from the show, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes shining. His leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a simple white shirt that clung to his skin.

“Hey!” Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse from singing, but his smile bright and warm.

“Hey yourself.” She echoed with a smile, stepping inside. “That was incredible, H. I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you like that—on stage, in front of all those people—it’s something else.”

Harry shrugged, a little bashful now that the spotlight was no longer on him. “S’just a show.” He mumbled sheepishly, though the way his eyes flickered told her he was still riding the high of the performance.

“No,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s more than that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the crowd reacted to you, the way you moved them—it was electric.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a quiet admiration. “You have real talent, Harry. The kind that’s rare. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He had heard praise before—countless times, from strangers, fans, even critics—but coming from her, it felt different. It felt real.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them, charged with the unspoken emotions they had carefully danced around for months. He looked at her, standing there in front of him, the glow from the stage lights still lingering on her face, and something inside him shifted. It was as if every conversation, every shared look, every coffee at Scotty’s had been leading to this moment.

“I need to tell you something.” He murmured with a hesitant nod, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “These past few months—getting t’know you..I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hand.

“But I do,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I like you, YN. More than just a friend. More than just someone I grab coffee with. You’ve been the one thing I can count on t’feel real, when everything else is crazy. I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a while, but now—” He paused, his hand slipping into hers. “I can’t keep it t’myself anymore.”

For a moment, YN just stood there, her heart racing, her hand warm in his. She had felt it too—the pull, the connection—but hearing it from him, standing there in the aftermath of his performance, made it all the more real. Slowly, she smiled, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m glad you said something,” she whispered, stepping closer, her other hand brushing lightly against his chest. “Cause I thought I was crazy for thinking the same.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and in that instant, the world outside the dressing room faded away. The noise of the crowd, the lingering adrenaline from the show, all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of backstage lights.

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. “So what now?” he asked, his voice low, a playful hint in his tone.

“Now,” she said, smiling up at him, her voice full of warmth and certainty, “We just be.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like the answer to every question they had left unspoken, every moment they had shared in silence. It was soft, slow, and filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them could ignore any longer.

When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath still a little uneven, his smile wide and unrestrained.

“Best show I’ve ever played,” he whispered, and YN laughed, her heart light and full as they stood there, together, the future unfolding around them like the soft warmth of a summer night.

After a month of bliss, the late AUGUST sun streamed through the open kitchen window of Harry’s flat, casting a golden light over the space. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the bustling streets below, a gentle hum that filled the quiet moments between their words. The fire escape, just outside, rattled slightly in the breeze, its iron bars warm from the afternoon sun. It was a peaceful, lazy kind of day, the kind where the world outside moved in fast forward while everything inside seemed to slow down to a comfortable stillness.

YN sat across from Harry at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked under her on the worn wooden chair, her skin still glowing from the warmth of the afternoon. She was only wearing a pair of dainty white socks, her frame barely visible underneath the oversized pink button-up of Harry’s that hung loosely off her shoulder, the fabric draping over her like a second skin. Her hair was tousled, soft from a morning spent doing nothing but being with him, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. The shirt, far too large for her, hung in a way that felt intimate, as though it had become an extension of him on her.

She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, sharing it with Harry. Every now and then, they’d exchange the cup, their fingers brushing as they passed it back and forth, a quiet exchange of warmth that mirrored the easy comfort between them. The tea was a little cool now, forgotten between soft smiles and absentminded touches.

Harry sat opposite her, his acoustic guitar resting across his lap, his fingers lazily strumming a melody that filled the air like a soft hum. He was dressed in nothing but plaid boxers and socks, his usual nonchalance apparent, his bare chest catching the light as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused more on her than on the guitar.

The melody shifted, a fun, intimate tune that YN hadn’t heard before. She looked up at him, her brows raised slightly in curiosity.

“What’s that?” She giggled, her voice dipped in honey, though, almost hesitant, as if she was interrupting a secret.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile, his fingers still moving gently over the strings. “Cinema.” He said gently, his voice quiet, as if the song were something fragile, still forming. “S’about you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup as she watched him, her eyes wide and full of something unspoken. The song was simple, delicate, but each note felt like it was laced with the weight of everything they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment between them.

He began to sing softly, his voice smooth and low, the lyrics winding around her like a slow embrace. The song told of the way he saw her, how helplessly he was beginning to fall for her, each moment between them something worth watching, worth cherishing. He sang about the little things—the way everything about her felt like a never ending climax, way she made the ordinary feel like something more.

YN listened, captivated by the sound of his voice, by the intimacy of the words. She hadn’t known how much of him had been poured into this song, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt until now. As he finished the last note, she set the teacup down, her chest tight with emotion.

“I dig you, too.” She grinned, her voice thick with admiration and something deeper. She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft as he set the guitar aside, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have t’say anything.”

And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned across the small table and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that spoke of the quiet affection they had shared for months. But then, as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, it deepened, a slow burn that spread through her like the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. Her fingers tangled in his curls as she pulled him closer, as much as she could with the guitar between them, her body leaning forward, chest pressed into his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the kitchen.

For a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds from the street outside faded away, the distant hum of the city disappearing as the world shrank down to just the two of them—her lips on his, his hands on her skin, the heat between them palpable.

But after a few heartbeats, they pulled away, their foreheads resting against one another, their breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. YN smiled against his lips, her hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“Play something else,” she whispered, her voice playful, her eyes bright with mischief. “Something I can dance to.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he reached for the guitar again. “Dance, huh? Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

He adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers finding the familiar chords as he began to play Heart Attack, a song that always sent his audience wild but now, in the quiet intimacy of his flat, felt like a private performance just for her. The upbeat rhythm filled the kitchen, light and infectious, and YN grinned as she stood up, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around her, the hem brushing against her bare thighs as she moved.

She danced in the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound as they moved across the floor, her arms raised as she twirled, laughing softly as she spun in circles. There was something carefree about the way she moved, something so full of joy that it made Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way. Her hair flew behind her, catching the light, and the oversized shirt swayed with each movement, slipping further off her shoulder as she lost herself in the moment.

Harry kept playing, his eyes never leaving her as she danced. The song flowed through the room, but all he could focus on was her—the way she moved so freely, so unselfconsciously, the way she smiled at him, the way her laughter filled the space between the notes. There was something about seeing her like this, in his flat, in his shirt, dancing to his music, that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words.

He watched her, his fingers still moving over the cords, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was starting to realize just how much she meant to him, how much she had become a part of his life, a part of him. She wasn’t just someone he shared coffee with, or someone who listened to his songs—she was his person, the one who made everything feel more real, more grounded.

As he played, the realization settled over him quietly, like the gentle August breeze drifting through the open window. He was falling for her. Slowly, steadily, in the way you fall for someone without even realizing it’s happening until you’re already halfway in.

But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watched her, the sound of the guitar filling the air as she danced and laughed, the summer sun spilling golden light into the room around them, framing her in a moment he knew he’d carry with him long after the music stopped.

SEPTEMBER had arrived quietly, bringing with it a softness that only early autumn could offer. The leaves were just beginning to turn at the edges, their once-vibrant green now kissed with the faintest hint of gold, and the air had cooled ever so slightly, carrying the last whispers of summer on its breeze. The sun, dipping lower in the sky with each passing day, stretched long shadows across the park, casting everything in a warm, golden light that seemed to linger just for them.

Harry sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, his legs stretched out, his half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt loose against his chest, a playful pattern of palm trees and flamingos catching the light. His thin beige slacks clung to his thighs as he shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands to watch YN beside him. She was cross-legged, her cream-colored Mary Janes neatly tucked under her, the soft cotton of her dainty dress fluttering in the breeze. The dress, pale and delicate, fit her perfectly, the hem swaying just above her knees, while white socks peeked out from beneath her shoes. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

The two of them had settled into this quiet evening by the lake, the park around them empty, save for the sound of distant birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. A spread of meats and cheeses lay scattered across the blanket between them, along with half a bottle of wine and two glasses—one tipped precariously between YN’s fingers as she took a slow sip.

“Could stay like this forever.” She hummed, her voice soft, almost dreamy, as she set her glass down and glanced out at the shimmering water, the fading sun casting a golden path across its surface.

Harry smiled, his gaze fixed on her rather than the view, the way her hair moved softly with the breeze, the glow of the setting sun painting her in amber light. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something deeper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

They had spent the last few hours like this—laughing, teasing, sharing kisses between bites of cheese and sips of wine. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, as it always did, weaving between light-hearted banter and quieter, more intimate moments, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. There was something so easy about being with her, something that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she met his eyes, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You’ve been staring, Styles.” she teased, her voice light as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Am I that interesting, or are you just distracted?”

He grinned, shrugging slightly, but his gaze never wavered. “Maybe a bit of both.” He chuckled, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of honesty there. He couldn’t help it—every time he looked at her, he felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest, the kind that had been growing steadily for months now, slowly but surely.

“Careful,” YN said with a mischievous smile, leaning in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “You’ll give me a big head.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late for that, I think.”

She swatted his hand playfully but leaned into his touch, her eyes softening as their playful exchange gave way to something quieter. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over them like the blanket beneath their feet.

As the sun began to dip lower, casting the sky in hues of pink and lavender, YN shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her in.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She murmured, her voice quiet, almost to herself.

“Do what?” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos on his chest where his shirt hung open. “Make everything feel so easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Harry’s heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the wine or the fading summer heat. He didn’t respond right away, instead pulling her a little closer, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side as they sat together, the world quieting around them.

After a few moments, YN pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the sunset. “What?” she asked, her brow lifting in curiosity as she caught the look on his face.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue. He’d been holding them back for weeks now, unsure of the right moment, unsure if she felt the same way. But sitting here, with her head on his shoulder, her laughter still lingering in the air around them, he realized there would never be a perfect moment. There was just this—the two of them, in a park, at sunset, with nothing but the quiet certainty of how much he cared for her.

He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from her side to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “I love you.” He admitted, his voice soft but steady, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was. But I do, YN. I love you.”

For a moment, YN just blinked, her eyes wide with surprise as the words sank in. But then, her face softened, a smile spreading slowly across her lips as her hand reached up to cover his, her touch warm against his skin.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost incredulous, as if she hadn’t expected it, but now that the words were there, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Harry nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, light and full of joy as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining, her smile wide and unrestrained.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “I think I have for a while.”

Harry’s heart swelled, and before he could say anything else, YN kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The world around them seemed to fade, the sunset casting them in a warm, golden light as they sat together, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, YN smiled up at him, her hand still resting against his cheek. “You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “for someone who says things like that, you’re surprisingly cute about it.”

Harry laughed, his forehead resting against hers as his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “Y’bring out the soft side in me.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon by the time Harry and YN began their walk back to his flat, the warm glow of twilight lingering in the air. Harry's fingers intertwined with hers as they strolled along the quiet streets, the last traces of their picnic still hanging in the air between them—the taste of wine on their lips, the feel of her laughter vibrating against his chest. He glanced over at her, catching the way the light from the streetlamps played across her face, softening her features into something that looked like a dream.

She smiled when she caught him looking, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Thank you for this evening.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as they walked. "I didn't want it to end."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened, his heart swelling at her words. He didn't want it to end either. There was something about this night, something about the way it felt so easy, so right. He hadn't felt this connected to someone in a long time, maybe ever.

"Doesn’t have to.” He murmured, his voice low, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple as they approached the front door of his flat.

They climbed the narrow stairs to his building, the warmth of their evening lingering between them.

By the time they reached the door to his flat, Harry's heart was racing-not from the climb, but from the anticipation that seemed to have woven itself into the quiet moments between them.

As soon as they stepped inside, they toed off their shoes—the familiar scent of his home washing over them—the faint musk of old books, wood, and the lingering trace of his cologne.

The kitchen light flickered on as Harry dropped the picnic basket onto the counter, the empty wine glasses clinking softly against each other. But neither of them was thinking about the picnic anymore.

YN turned toward him, her lips parted, her gaze soft but filled with something that simmered just beneath the surface. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she placed the folded blanket down on the table, her fingers lingering over his skin. He met her gaze, the electricity between them sparking back to life, more intense now that they were alone, without the open sky and distant voices of the park around them.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry's hands were on her waist, pulling her close. His lips found hers in a heated kiss, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the warmth between them flared into something more urgent. YN responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressing into his.

They stumbled back toward the living room, their movements clumsy with desire, knocking into furniture as they kissed—his hands gripping her hips, hers tugging at the collar of his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on his chest, still unbuttoned from earlier, and YN's fingers found their way to his bare skin, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

They collapsed onto the couch, lips still fused together, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. YN straddled his lap, her dress hitched up around her thighs as she leaned into him, her lips trailing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, making him groan softly against her skin. Harry's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, lost in the moment, lost in her. His cock hardened underneath his slacks, YN feeling it against the growing heat of her core.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, the sudden, shrill ring of the rotary phone in the hallway shattered the stillness, cutting through the heat of their embrace like a sharp blade.

Harry froze, his breath ragged, his lips still pressed against her skin. The phone rang again, the sound insistent, pulling them both from the haze they'd fallen into. YN let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as she pulled back slightly, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Are you going to get that?" she asked, her voice teasing but breathless, her eyes dark with the same desire that was coursing through him.

The brunette groaned, his hand reluctantly slipping from her waist as he rested his head back against the couch. "I don't want to.” He muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.

The phone rang again, louder this time, and Harry sighed, pulling away from her with a reluctant smile. "M’sorry, baby.” He sighed, his hands brushing against hers as he slid out from beneath her and stood, running a hand through his hair to steady himself.

YN sat back on the couch, her lips still swollen from their kiss, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. She watched him walk into the hallway, his bare chest glistening faintly in the low light, the fabric of his loose slacks swaying with each step.

Harry grabbed the phone from the wall, pressing the receiver to his ear with a hasty "Hello?"

"Harry, mate!" came the familiar voice of Jeff, his manager. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

He frowned, his eyes flicking toward YN, who was still sitting on the couch, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "What's up, Jeff?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual, though his mind was still very much on YN and the way he wanted to bury himself inside her the way he did this morning.

"You're going to want to sit down for this one.” Jeff said, his tone brimming with excitement. “We've just locked in your first U.S. tour."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "What?"

"Yep, we've got you lined up for a string of shows across the States-New York, Chicago, L.A., the whole works. It's going to be massive, Haz. A real game-changer for your career."

For a moment, he stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to process what Jeff was saying. This was huge-bigger than anything he'd done before. His first U.S. tour. The realization hit him all at once, a rush of excitement flooding through him. "Holy shit.” He laughed, “that's amazing, Jeff.” He shook his head, voice thick with disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it!”Jeff replied, laughing. "This is it.”

You're about to hit the big time. We'll get into all the details tomorrow, but I had to let you know."

Harry nodded, still in a bit of a daze. "Thanks for telling me."

After a few more words, Harry hung up the phone, his mind racing. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the reality of the tour sinking in. This was what he had always dreamed of—the chance to take his music across the world, to reach new audiences, to grow.

But as he turned back to look at YN, sitting there on the couch, her smile soft and expectant, he felt a different kind of weight settle in his chest. He walked back into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside her, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Everything okay?" YN asked, her hand slipping into his, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "M’going on tour.” He said softly, the words still feeling surreal. "In the States. My first one."

YN's eyes widened, her face lighting up with excitement as she squeezed his hand. "H, that's incredible!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so so proud of you, lovey.”

Harry smiled, the warmth of her words settling into his chest. "It's a big deal," he said quietly, his hand tightening around hers. "But it means I'll be away f’a while."

He watched her face carefully, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but instead, YN smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "I know," she said softly. "But l'm not going anywhere. This is your dream. I want you to go and chase it."

Harry's heart swelled, and for a moment, he could only look at her, overwhelmed by the quiet support in her words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. "I love you.” He whispered against her mouth, the words tumbling out without hesitation this time, filled with all the certainty he'd ever felt.

She pressed a kiss into his lips, smiling against them. “I love you.”

Harry lingered his lips against hers for a while before he stood, the weight of the news still buzzing between them like electricity. His smile was wide, unable to contain the excitement of it all. With a quick glance toward the window, where the last traces of twilight hung in the sky, he crossed the room to the small transistor radio on the windowsill, his fingers turning the dial until a soft crackle of music filled the air.

A warm, upbeat tune drifted through the living room, the melody slow and sweet, with just the right amount of rhythm to sway to. The soft hum of the radio blended perfectly with the evening breeze sneaking through the open window, carrying the cool, fresh air into the flat.

He turned back to YN, his eyes twinkling under the dim light of the living room lamps. She was still sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of excitement and affection, her legs tucked underneath her. The warm glow of the lamp caught the soft fabric of her dress, her skin glowing in the fading light.

“Dance with me.” Harry grinned, holding out a hand, his voice full of that playful warmth she had come to love. It wasn’t a question but an invitation—one she couldn’t possibly turn down.

She smiled, rising to her feet with a light laugh, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as hers settled on his shoulders. The music filled the space between them, the gentle swaying of their bodies perfectly in time with the rhythm.

They moved together effortlessly, Harry’s forehead resting against hers as he led them in a slow circle around the room. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his thin slacks, the warmth of her body pressed to his, making the moment feel intimate and timeless. Neither of them spoke at first, content to just be in the silence, to let the music carry them as they spun in small, lazy circles on the living room floor.

But soon, Harry couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He leaned back slightly, grinning down at her, his eyes shining. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “My first tour in America. New York, L.A.—all of it. I never thought..”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“I can believe it.” She smiled, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You deserve this, baby. You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be incredible.”

Her words made his heart swell, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of her lips. When they pulled back, their foreheads resting together again, he whispered, “It won’t feel real until I’m on that stage. But knowing you’ll be here waiting for me..that makes it better.”

YN smiled, her fingers brushing softly through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always be here.”

They danced for a few more minutes, their movements light and easy, occasionally interrupted by shared giggles when Harry twirled her unexpectedly or when they stumbled slightly in their steps, only to fall back into each other’s arms with soft laughter.

As the song began to fade, they slowed, their feet barely moving now, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a cocoon. Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, cradling her face as he looked down at her, his expression serious but soft.

“Can I say something?”He asked, his voice quiet but steady as he watched her expectantly. She nodded, allowing his lips to part. “When I go to America—on tour—I want you t’stay here. At my flat. You know, while m’gone.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Stay here?” she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly.

Harry nodded, his thumbs gently brushing over her cheeks as he held her face in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, y’already spend so much time here, and I like the idea of you being here when I get back. This place already feels more like home when you’re around. I don’t want it t’feel empty when m’gone.”

YN felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. The thought of staying here, in his space, while he was away—it felt like more than just a casual offer. It felt like a promise. Like he was offering her a part of his life, a piece of him to hold onto while he was gone.

Besides, she still lived with her mother’s small guesthouse in the backyard. It was more private than the house she grew up in, much cheaper than the flats for rent in the city, but it was still her mother’s nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, her voice filled with uncertainty but also hope. “I don’t want to impose..”

“You’re not imposing,” Harry said firmly, his eyes steady on hers. “I want y’here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in my flat, with my things, waiting for me to come back.”

YN’s lips curved into a soft smile, her hands resting on his chest as she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’ll stay.”

Harry’s face lit up, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, deep and full of gratitude and love, his hands holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go. When they pulled back, both of them breathless, their eyes met, and in that moment, everything felt right.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The promise had been made, quiet and sure, between kisses and slow dances and soft words spoken in the fading light of the evening.

As the music on the radio continued to play softly in the background, they held each other close, swaying gently in the middle of the living room, knowing that no matter where Harry’s career took him—across oceans, to new stages, to new cities—this was home. Here, in this moment, with her. And it always would be.

*

The morning Harry left for his two-month tour in the United States felt both far away and painfully close, like something they’d been anticipating for weeks but weren’t quite ready to face. The flat was full of quiet anticipation as YN helped him pack, their movements unhurried, though the weight of the impending goodbye hung in the air like the last lingering warmth of summer.

Harry stood in front of his open suitcase, a floral shirt half-folded in his hands, staring down at the items already packed but not quite seeing them. YN sat on the edge of the bed, methodically folding a few more of his clothes, her fingers moving over the soft fabric with care. Neither of them spoke much, but every so often their eyes would meet, a small smile exchanged between them, both pretending it was just another ordinary day.

As Harry zipped up his suitcase, he turned to her, his expression soft but serious. “Y’sure you’ll be alright staying here? I mean, for the whole two months?”

She smiled, standing up to meet him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed herself close to him. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “Besides, it’s your flat. It already feels like home.”

He sighed, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender, savoring the taste of her lips. “M’going to miss you.” He murmured against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’ll miss you too.” She whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “But you’re going to be amazing, love. This is your dream.”

He nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the stillness of the flat pressing in around them.

When they arrived at the airport later that day, the weight of their goodbye became real. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, suitcases rolling over the tile floors, the constant hum of announcements echoing over the loudspeakers. Harry’s manager and a few of his crew stood off to the side, chatting quietly, but Harry stayed close to YN, his hand never leaving hers.

They found a quiet corner, away from the noise, and just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The departure gate loomed nearby, a silent reminder of how close the moment had come.

“Call me as soon as you land.” YN nodded, her voice steady though her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I want to know you’ve arrived safe.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more, his lips lingering on hers as if he could carry the memory of her with him. “I will.” He promised, his hand brushing her cheek. “And I’ll write. Every chance I get.”

She nodded again, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, they kissed one last time, slow and full of unspoken promises, before Harry reluctantly pulled away. He squeezed her hand as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I love you.” He told her, his voice soft but sure, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in that moment.

“I love you, H.” She grinned, her heart aching as she watched him walk toward the gate, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next two months unfolded in a strange blur of time. YN settled into Harry’s flat, her things mingling with his, their shared space becoming even more of a home as the days passed. She left little traces of herself everywhere—the way she neatly folded her clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the half-finished book on his bedside table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was comforting, knowing she was surrounded by him even when he was an ocean away.

They kept in touch constantly. Every night, YN would sit by the rotary phone in the hallway, eagerly waiting for the sound of the ring that meant he was calling. The calls were frequent—sometimes brief, just to say hello, and sometimes long and winding, stretching late into the night as they talked about everything and nothing. She loved hearing his voice, even crackling through the static, as he told her about the tour—the shows, the fans, the whirlwind of new cities and stages. But more than that, she loved how he missed her, how he’d pause sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, just to say, I wish you were here.

Letters came too, scrawled in his messy handwriting, full of little stories about life on the road, about the places he visited, the things he saw, the moments that made him think of her. YN would read them late at night, curled up in his bed, her heart aching with longing and pride in equal measure. She kept every one, tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table, next to the book she hadn’t been able to finish since he left.

It was a month into his tour, past midnight, and YN had already settled into a chair she had dragged from the kitchen, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room as she sat by the phone, waiting for Harry’s nightly call. When the phone finally rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly lifted the receiver to her ear.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

“Hey, bunny,” Harry’s voice came through, a little rough but full of warmth. She could hear the faint noise of people talking in the background, but his focus was entirely on her. “Missed your voice today.”

YN smiled, curling the phone cord around her finger. “Missed you too. How’s everything?”

He sighed, the sound of his breath crackling through the line. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The shows are going well. The crowds have been incredible.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly, his tone softening. “But I’d rather be there with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’d rather have you here too,” she whispered, her voice low, almost teasing. “It’s been too quiet without you. Though I’ve heard you on the radio here and there.”

The conversation drifted into more intimate territory, their voices soft and full of longing, each word laced with the quiet need they hadn’t been able to express in the letters or brief phone calls before. Harry told her how much he missed her, how the bed felt too big without her next to him, how he couldn’t stop thinking about the last night they’d spent together.

YN felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat as his words grew more heated. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her voice low, a smile playing at her lips.

Harry’s voice dropped even lower, his words slow and deliberate. “I miss the way you taste..like melted sugar on my tongue.”

The sound of his voice, soft and rough all at once, sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body responding to his words in ways that made her ache with need.

“Probably soaking from just my voice, hm?” He hummed, feeling the familiar ache of himself hardening beneath denim.

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She squeezed her legs shut, her heat pooling between her thighs. Harry chuckled breathily from the other line, palming himself through his jeans. “My poor girl.” He cooed, listening to her faint whimper crackle through the phone. “I’ll be home in a month, baby.”

But just as the tension between them began to build, just as his voice grew more intimate, the sound of a knock echoed faintly in the background.

Harry groaned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Shit. It’s Mitch.”

YN laughed softly, the moment broken, but still charged with the tension that had hung between them. “You better get that,” she said, though she didn’t want the call to end.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” Harry muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We’ll finish this later.”

YN smiled, her heart still racing, the wet spot in her panties only continuing to dampen. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of Harry muffling the phone as he spoke to Mitch in the background. When he returned, his voice was quieter, more resigned. “I have to go. We’ve got soundcheck in a bit.”

YN sighed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone. “Alright. Go be brilliant.”

“I’ll call you later,” Harry promised, his voice warm again, though still tinged with regret. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” YN whispered, her heart full as the line clicked and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

As she hung up the phone, the quiet of the flat settled around her again. But even in the stillness, she felt connected to him, the promise of his return always just beneath the surface. She stood up from the wooden chair, leaving it in place as she padded barefoot back to his bedroom. As she lay back in bed, the sound of his voice still echoed in her mind, she knew that no matter how far away he was, he would always feel close.

The late NOVEMBER air was crisp as YN made her way to the airport, her breath fogging in front of her with each step. The city had entered winter, the sky a moody shade of grey, with the kind of cold that bit into your skin if you stayed still too long. A light dusting of frost clung to the streets, and the wind carried with it the promise of snow. But despite the chill, there was a warmth spreading through YN's chest—an excitement she could hardly contain.

Harry was finally coming home.

It had been two long months since she’d kissed him goodbye at the airport, and though they had talked nearly every day, the distance had made the longing more acute, like an ache that refused to fade. The flat had felt too quiet, too empty without him, but tonight, that would change. Tonight, he would be back in London, back with her, and she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around him again.

She had spent most of the day tidying up the flat—making sure everything was perfect for his return. His favorite records were stacked by the record player, the sheets on the bed freshly changed, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air from the strawberry cake she had baked earlier. It was his favorite, and the smell of it made the place feel warm, cozy. She had also made his favorite pasta dish, the sauce simmering gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food.

As she reached the airport terminal, YN’s heart began to race with anticipation. The cold faded from her awareness as she entered the busy terminal, weaving through the crowds of travelers until she reached the arrivals gate. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, searching for him, her breath catching in her throat every time she thought she spotted his familiar curls.

And then, there he was.

Harry stepped out from the crowd, his figure unmistakable even in the thick winter coat and scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair was longer than she remembered, his cheeks flushed from the cold and travel, and his eyes were bright with excitement. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade—the noise of the airport, the bustling travelers—all of it disappeared as they locked eyes.

“Harry!” YN called, her voice soft but full of joy as she broke into a run toward him.

He grinned, dropping his suitcase to the ground as he opened his arms wide, catching her as she threw herself into his embrace. The moment their bodies collided, YN felt a rush of warmth flood through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, with the faintest trace of his cologne.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands slid up her back, holding her close, as if he were afraid to let her go. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”

They stood there for a few moments, lost in each other, the cold air of the terminal swirling around them but neither of them caring. When they finally pulled back, Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he studied her.

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

YN laughed, her heart swelling as she leaned up to kiss him again, a quick, sweet press of lips that tasted of relief and longing. “Come on.” Her voice was light as she grabbed his hand and squeezing it gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The flat was warm and welcoming when they stepped inside, the heat from the oven and the soft glow of the lamps making the space feel cozy against the winter cold. YN had turned on the record player before she left, so the soft croon of a jazz tune filled the air, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh pasta and strawberries.

Harry dropped his suitcase by the door, his eyes lighting up as he took in the scene. “You’ve outdone yourself.” He sighed, his voice full of affection as he looked around the flat. “It smells incredible in here.”

YN smiled, slipping her coat off and hanging it by the door. “I wanted to surprise you.” Her tone was sheepish, leading him into the kitchen where the pasta dish was waiting on the counter. “I made your favorite. And…”

She reached for the cake on the counter, carefully placing it in front of him with a playful grin. “Strawberry, just for you.”

His eyes widened with delight as he leaned down to inspect the cake, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You spoil me.” He laughed, turning to her and pulling her into his arms again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, the small space filled with the warmth of their reunion, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the record. As they ate, Harry told her all about his time in America—the shows, the fans, the cities he had visited.

“New York was something else,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the night he performed at a famous venue in the heart of the city. “The crowd was wild—bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. And Los Angeles.. God, the energy there was electric. But you know what? None of it felt real without you there.”

She smiled, her heart full as she listened to him speak, his voice full of passion and excitement. She loved seeing him like this—so alive, so full of stories and experiences. But more than that, she loved knowing that through it all, he had thought of her.

As the evening wore on, they moved to the living room, the plates forgotten in the kitchen as they curled up on the couch together, Harry’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders. They shared soft kisses between conversations, quiet declarations of love and how much they had missed each other filling the spaces between the stories.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry confessed quietly, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. “Every time I stepped off the stage, all I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice.”

She rested her head against his chest, smiling as his words wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt the same,” she whispered. “I’ve been counting down the days until you came back.”

Harry tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of their longing, but as the kiss deepened, the intensity between them grew. They shifted on the couch, their bodies pressed close as the room grew warmer, the air between them thick with the weight of two months spent apart.

“I love you.” Harry murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their kisses slow and tender, until the quiet of the flat surrounded them once more. The night was peaceful, the city outside blanketed in winter cold, but inside, everything was warm and full of love.

As the record player continued to hum softly in the background, they lay together on the couch, content in each other’s arms, talking quietly into the night. Harry shared more stories of America—the friends he’d made, the strange food he’d tried, the nights spent traveling between cities. But no matter how far he had gone, no matter how many stages he had stood on, all he could think about was coming home to her.

And now, finally, he was.

JUNE 1958 arrived in a haze of blooming flowers and endless blue skies, the air warm with the promise of summer. The countryside stretched out in front of the beautiful English cottage Harry had purchased just months before—a place that felt far removed from the busy life they’d led on the road. The last six months had been a whirlwind of travel, music, and crowds, with Harry embarking on his biggest tour yet. It had started in the States, but when the tour expanded to Europe, he had begged YN to join him for the last three months. After some hesitation, she had agreed, unable to resist the thought of being by his side again, experiencing the world with him.

Now, they had finally come home.

The cottage was nestled on the edge of a quiet village, its stone walls covered in ivy, the roof gently sloping with aged charm. It had a large garden out front, filled with wildflowers, and a path that wound lazily around to the back, where rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Inside, the cottage was cozy, full of light streaming through the windows, with exposed wooden beams and a fireplace that had already become their favorite spot to curl up on colder evenings.

Though neither of them had said the words out loud, YN had moved in. It had been gradual, her things slowly trickling in from the flat they had shared in London. A few clothes here, a stack of her favorite books there, until the entire cottage was filled with the subtle signs of her presence. Her shoes next to his by the door, her perfume resting on the vanity in the bedroom, and her laughter echoing through the kitchen as they cooked together in the evenings.

The unspoken decision to live together felt natural, like the culmination of everything they had shared over the past year. They had grown even closer on the road, their bond deepening with each passing day. Those months in Europe, where they had traveled from city to city, felt like a dream—a blur of music, late-night conversations, and stolen moments just for the two of them amidst the chaos.

Now, in the quiet of their new home, they could finally rest.

On this particular afternoon, YN stood by the open window in the kitchen, the warm breeze gently lifting the curtains as she gazed out at the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair loose, as she absentmindedly twirled a glass of lemonade in her hand. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the wildflowers that had bloomed in every corner of the garden. The cottage had a peaceful stillness to it, broken only by the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

Harry was in the living room, the soft strumming of his guitar floating through the open door. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, his eyes half-closed as he let his fingers move over the strings, playing a melody that felt like a lazy summer afternoon. The past few weeks had been a blissful sort of quiet—no deadlines, no schedules, just the two of them and the steady rhythm of days spent together.

As YN walked into the living room, Harry looked up from his guitar, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “There you are, baby.” He smiled, voice soft with affection.

She smiled back, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table before crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch. Harry set the guitar aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hard to believe we’re really home, isn’t it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “After all that time on the road, I thought we’d never get here.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest. “I still can’t believe you talked me into joining you for the last three months,” she teased, her voice light but full of warmth. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Harry grinned, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “It was hard enough being away from you at the start of the tour. Having you there–it made everything better.”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around them like a soft blanket, the distant hum of the countryside a soothing backdrop. It felt surreal, being here together after months of living out of suitcases, staying in hotels, and constantly moving from one city to the next. But now, in the calm of the English countryside, it felt like they had found something solid—something real.

“Y’know..” Harry mumbled after a moment, his voice thoughtful as he gazed out the window, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

YN looked up at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “About what?”

Harry hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he smiled softly. “About this–us… this house,” he began, his words slow but deliberate. “We’ve never really talked about it, but I love that y’here. That you’re living here. With me.”

YN’s heart fluttered at his words, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt as she looked up at him. “I love it too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Feels like home.”

Harry smiled, a soft, almost relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned down to kiss her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of all the unspoken promises they had made to each other over the past year. When they pulled back, Harry’s forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s make this official then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Move in with me properly. Let’s call this place ours.”

Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with emotion as she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “I already have.” she whispered, kissing him again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a peaceful blur. They moved through the cottage together, side by side, making dinner in the cozy kitchen. Harry stirred a pot of sauce while YN sliced vegetables, the two of them stealing kisses in between tasks, their laughter filling the space. The evening sunlight poured through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow as they sat down at the small table for dinner.

As they ate, Harry told her stories from the tour—stories she hadn’t heard, little moments that had made him laugh or think of her. He spoke about the cities they’d visited, the people they’d met, and the way the crowds had grown bigger with each show. But through it all, his eyes kept drifting back to her, his words trailing off as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

“You were the best part of it all,” he said softly, his voice full of affection. “You being there with me. Every time I walked off stage and saw you waiting, it made everything worth it.”

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, curling up on the couch together as the last light of the day faded into dusk. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and the air was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking quietly about the future—about the cottage, about what they wanted to do next.

As the evening began to settle, they both stood side by side at the sink, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. The window above them was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. Beyond the window, the sun was sinking slowly beneath the hills, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the last light of the day stretching long shadows across the garden.

YN handed Harry a plate, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her, their quiet rhythm so familiar now. He dunked it into the warm, sudsy water, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed at the remnants of their dinner. Every so often, he’d glance at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her work.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”YN teased, elbowing him lightly. “I remember when you used to burn toast.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “That was a long time ago.” He quipped, turning to splash a bit of soapy water in her direction with a playful grin.

YN gasped, dodging the spray with a laugh of her own, but not before flicking some of the suds back at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she dipped her hands into the water, gathering a handful of bubbles.

“Oh, are we playing dirty now?” Harry teased, his eyes narrowing as he scooped up his own suds.

Before she could answer, he splashed her again, the warm soapy water catching her on the arm. YN laughed, retaliating by flinging bubbles at him, the kitchen filling with the sound of their playful banter and the splash of water against the counter. The dishes forgotten for the moment, they both moved around the sink, ducking and dodging each other’s playful attacks, the air filled with their laughter.

Harry caught her by the waist, pulling her close as he wiped some of the bubbles from her cheek with a playful grin. “Alright, truce!” He giggled, his voice softening as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, her laughter dying down as she leaned into him, her hands resting against his chest. “Truce.” She agreed, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

They both turned back to the sink, their laughter lingering in the air as they finished the last of the dishes. The warmth between them was palpable, and even as the sun began to dip lower, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, there was a sense of peace that wrapped around them like a blanket.

As they dried their hands on a shared towel, YN turned to look out the window. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills, the sky now painted in deep hues of purple and orange, the last light of day clinging to the horizon.

“S’pretty here.” She murmured, her voice soft as she watched the sunset.

Harry set the towel aside, stepping up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulled her close. “It is.” He agreed quietly, though his eyes weren’t on the sunset. They were on her.

For a long moment, they stood like that, the warm evening air drifting through the open window, the world outside quiet and still. There was a calm that had settled over them, a quiet contentment that came from being in the presence of someone who knew you—really knew you—and loved you anyway.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I want to be with you forever.” He admitted suddenly, his voice soft but steady. It wasn’t a question or even a declaration, just a simple truth spoken into the stillness of the moment. His words carried the weight of something deeper, something unshakeable. “Not just for now. Not just for a few years. Forever.”

YN turned in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth there too, a quiet certainty in his gaze that made her chest tighten.

His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he looked down at her, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “I love you.”He smiled. “More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I don’t just mean in this life. I mean in every life. Beyond this, even. If I could have forever with you, I would. That’s what I want.”

She felt a rush of emotion swell in her chest, her throat tightening at the depth of his words. She could see it in his eyes—the way he meant every word, the way this wasn’t just about a lifetime, but about something that transcended even that. It wasn’t a proposal, but it felt like a promise. A vow that he would love her no matter what, no matter how long or how far life took them.

“I want that too.”She whispered, her voice catching slightly as she reached up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Forever sounds just right.”

His smile softened, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled, his breath warm against her skin. “Then it’s settled.” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, full of all the love he couldn’t put into words.

They stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen bathed in the last light of the sunset, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them as they held each other close. The world outside felt far away, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, standing together in the cottage they now called home.

When they finally pulled back, Harry’s hand slipped down to take hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he led her toward the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as they curled up together on the couch, the soft murmur of their voices filling the space between the gentle flicker of flames.

And as the evening stretched on, they spoke of dreams and plans, of all the little things that made life beautiful. But in the quiet, in the spaces between the words, they both knew that they had already found what they were searching for—each other.

Forever.

[bizbat]

HEYY!! What about Jaybird with an s/o whos also a vigilante and she’s like super serious and quiet, Her outfit for fighting is like super duper revealing aswell so add nsfw :3

(If ur comfortable with it!!)

It's The Suit

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Jason Todd x Fem!AFAB!Reader

~ Explicit Smut

~ Reader is mentioned to have "plush thighs", but appearance is otherwise not described.

~ Wc: 2.4K

~ You can find more of my works here.

C/W: Smut, Pet names (Angel, Doll, Slut, Baby, Princess) Mdom, Groping, Light Choking, Spit, Creampie, Cunnilingus/Analingus (Jason eats it from the back) Use of the terms "cunt", "mound", "tits", "slutty", "pussy", Pussy Smacking, Public Sex, Begging, Pussyjob

There's just something about that suit . . .

"You know, you are technically on my turf." His voice is crisp in your ear. It seems he only ever puts what Batman taught him to use when he wants to mess with you. "If you were anyone else I'd have dropped you off Gotham Bridge by now."

"How sweet . . ." You respond in a monotone voice. You're laid on your stomach, perched on top of a building with a set of binoculars in front of your face. You're more focused on the perp you've been trailing all week than your . . . boyfriend? Friend with benefits? Guy you sometimes go out to eat with, and have sex with regularly? Doesn't matter, you're doing your best not to pay any attention to him.

"Are you sure you're not cold in that thing?"

You wish he would do the same. He knows how much comments about your costume bother you, but he can't help it! It's just a little thing, barely big enough to hide, well, anything really. He can't tell you how many times he's seen it ride up between your cheeks, or be so taut against your body that he can see your nipples poking through on extra cold nights. Not to mention the cutouts on your sides and chest.

If it was made out of any other material you could probably wear it to a club and leave with a couple hundreds stuffed in it.

He's already reaching for your body before he even realizes it. It's too late to stop now, his hands are already stroking their way up from your calves. It's frankly beyond him at this point. "It's just so . . . tiny."

"Everyone always says that." You squirm, your leg subconsciously kicking up when he brushes over that sensitive spot on the back of your knee. "Black Canary basically wears the same thing, and no one ever says anything about her suit." You mumble, still not turning to face him. Jason can't help but be amused by your response. "No, she doesn't, and yes, they do." He presses his thumb into your skin, massaging the tense muscles beneath his gloved fingertips.

"Jay, I-I have to fo-" "Shhh, I know, I know," You try to push his hands back, your skin becoming more and more sensitive the higher he gets. It doesn't help that he's applying the perfect amount of pressure. "Just . . . focus baby, alright? Focus for me." It's hard to do what he says when he's slipped off his helmet and is now pressing feathery kisses to your exposed skin.

Still though, you try, pulling the now discarded binoculars back to your face and hoping he decides to cease his ministrations. Unfortunately for you, he's got no plans to stop any time soon. "What's he doing, baby?" His hands inch closer and closer to the dip between your legs, his hands squeezing and tugging at the fat of your upper thighs. "Tell me." He says sternly.

Your hands clench around the binoculars. You have to take a few breaths to calm yourself enough to answer him. "He-he's ah-" His thumbs are working their way under your suit, teasingly stroking your lips. "He's leaving n-now, probably headed-Jason!" He laughs again, he knows he's been pushing it. "What, doll? What's wrong?" He says, as if he didn't just have his face between your thighs, his lips gently kissing your pussy through your suit.

"I told you to focus," He says with a smirk, his hips almost grinding into the concrete below him. "Don't you worry 'bout what I'm doing, yeah?" He only continues, two of his fingers brushing against your mound as he plays with the band of your suit, tugging it away from your heat so he can get better access. Try as you might, he pokes at your folds with his tongue, the wet muscle barely dancing against your lips.

You can't stop your hips from swaying back to meet his face, begging for him to use more pressure. The tips of Jason's ears burn at your tiny gasps, the cute little noises only encouraging him to try and make you louder. His hand, the one not tugging at your suit, begins its attack on your ass, grabbing and squeezing your soft, doughy flesh. By now you've completely lost sight of the guy you were trailing, your hips chasing his face.

You moan his name, the binoculars once again thrown to the side, as you rise to your knees, your chest still parallel to the concrete roof beneath you. "Ohh, that's it angel," Jason finally stops toying with the stretchy fabric of your suit, pulling it to the side of your ass so he can finally see all of you. "Such a pretty pussy. So wet for me." He sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your folds, before licking a stripe all the way up to your asshole, circling it with his tongue.

He shallowly wriggles his tongue inside, just deep enough for you to reach back and push at his head with a whine. He laughs, lightly smacking your ass before kissing the puckered hole, and lowering his head back down to your pussy. "Alright doll, I get it, I get it." He uses two of his fingers to spread your lips, putting your dripping cunt for him.

He kisses you there too, before winding back and spitting a fat (unnecessary) glob of spit directly onto your clit. He works too well, sucking and licking exactly when and where you need him to, his pace slowly speeding up. The way he moans into you, it's as if it's just as pleasurable for him as it is for you. And it must be, the way his cock is straining against his zipper like this. God, you've got no idea what you do to him, especially in that tiny, slutty little suit of yours.

And dear God, he starts using his fingers, and your vision blurs and your back arches even deeper. Your chest heaves as he pumps his fingers in and out, curling against your g spot everytime, all while his tongue still swirls against your clit, flicking and circling the perky nub. Your hand finds its way into his hair, your fingers curling around the inky locks as he drinks up your juices. Jason groans at the feeling of your slick practically pouring down his chin.

It's a wonder how he's even able to breathe, his face so deep between your plush thighs. Not like he cares, though, if he could choose a way to go out again, it'd be with his face buried deep in your cunt. He's in heaven, he swears it. He can hear the sound of those pearly gates opening, though that might just be the sound of your sweet, sweet broken moans. That, combined with a lack of oxygen. Besides that, you can't tell him he's not eating out an angel right now.

Eventually though, he rips himself away, loudly sucking air into his lungs so he doesn't actually go to heaven. He curses his body for needing air to breathe. Maybe he can use "increasing his lung capacity" as an excuse to eat you out later, not now though. Right now, his cock is so painfully hard from being neglected, he's struggling to form proper thoughts.

"You ready for me, doll? S' this slutty pussy ready to take me?" He asks, ripping off his belt and shoving his pants down just enough for his cock to spring out. With the amount of spit and slick dripping down your thighs, it's a stupid question, but he absolutely refuses to fuck you unless you say you're ready for him. Part of you thinks its a consent thing, which is great, more guys should be like that, but part of you knows it's because he wants to hear you, little Ms. Stoic, begging for his cock.

You're on the verge of tears, your eyes completely unfocused at the feeling of his fat tip smacking against your weeping cunt. "Jay," You moan, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Jay . . ." He shakes his head. He's losing his mind, but the small bit he's still clinging onto won't let you get away with that, he's gotta make you beg for him. "C'mon, slut, I know you can do much better 'n that." He ruts against your cunt, his cock hard and red from waiting.

He smacks your ass again, hypnotized by the way it jiggles beneath his palm. Precum oozes deliciously from his tip, adding even more lubrication to your already soaked hole. He could cum just from the sight of your pretty lips glistening under the moon light and street lamps. He's so close to just giving in and making both of you feel good, when he hears your voice breaking through his clouded thoughts.

He feels like he's got water in his head, though your little "Please uck me Jay, need your cock," is loud and clear. Without further stalling, he lines his aching tip up with your hole, awestruck at the way it clenches around nothing, before he finally sinks in, after what felt like hours and hours of foreplay. You almost collapse, the only thing preventing your hips from dropping to the side is Jason's firm grasp on your suit, using the cutouts on your side as leverage to pull you back against him.

Even through all the wetness, he stretches you out, his cock filling you up so perfectly it makes your eyes roll back into your skull. Jason's head lolls back, a deep groan escaping the bottom of his chest at the feeling of your tight, slick walls gripping his cock. "Fuckin' perfect," He doesn't waste any time, his hips slowly moving to drag his cock back and forth inside you, his tip catching along your walls.

He's mindlessly babbling at this point, cooing about how good you feel, about how you were made for his cock, his hands white-knuckle gripping your suit. He speeds up, his cock tapping against your cervix in a way that has your stomach doing flips. "Faster Jay! Please, please please!" You pant, your ass bouncing against his pelvis as your hips chase after his.

How could he deny you when your voice is like honey in his ears, and your skin feels like silk. He feels his balls tighten at your moans, his body physically reacting to your sobs, your pleads. You've got no idea what it does to his ego, to hear his favorite, icy, little princess crying for his cock. Or at least, what it would do for his ego if he wasn't solely focused on cramming every inch of his cock deep inside your tight heat.

He thrusts faster, his tip smacking rhythmically against your cervix at a bruising pace. "So fuckin' messy, this pretty pussy's so fuckin' messy," He huffs, his chest tightening with every stroke as he feels your gummy walls closing around him tightly. Without even thinking about it, he reaches down and frantically rubs at your clit, already sensitive from his mouth. "Shit, baby, ya' close?" He pulls out without warning, flipping you over onto your back and pushing your knees up to your chest, before sinking back inside you.

"Can feel ya, ngh, feel so fuckin' good." He ends each sentence with his cock. He holds your legs down with his broad shoulders, his chest pressed against yours. One hand reaches back down to rub at your clit again, his ears ringing with delight at your moans. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," He huffs against your ear. "So close baby, so close." He nips and licks at your neck, his teeth occasionally tugging at your earlobe as his orgasm looms closer and closer.

Your tears run down either side of your pretty face, your skin so hot you're almost steaming in the cool Gotham air. You're just as gone as he is, if not more, your arms limply draped across your face as you mindlessly take all the pleasure he gives you. "Want-want it, Jay," You coo in his ear, or at least you think you do, your mouth is open but you can't tell if any words are actually coming out.

"Cum for me baby, let it out, need you to cum." He's begging you, his fingers losing any type of rhythm and structure, his hand grinding down desperately against your poor, tired nub. Is he crying? He feels something wet on his face, but he can't tell if it's from you or him. You aren't too far from him, lightheaded from the force of your legs pressed to up your neck.

You just need a little more, just a little more, you can feel it. You're right there, right there, right there! Are you yelling? Whatever. Your orgasm hits you so fast and so hard you're pretty sure you black out for a second. You feel like you're on a boat, the warm sun shining brightly on your skin, your body gently rocking along the tide. The waves speed up, but you're mostly numb by now, the heavy crashing barely disturbing your peaceful state of mind. The only reason you're brough out of your delusions is because you can feel something against your lips.

Your vision clears, though it's still a bit hazy. Jason's still on top of you, his eyes nearly cross as he peppers sloppy, wet kisses along your face, not even conscious enough to aim for your mouth as he begs you to cum, not realizing you already have. He's so used to making you cum first that his body won't even let him cum until he knows you have. That, of course, doesn't do him much good when he's not cognizant.

Realizing as much, you use the small amount of strength you have left in your face to hold his face still, pulling him close enough to press your lips to his. He thrust a few more times, before his hips still inside you, his thick, warm seed spilling out and staining both of your clothing with white. Sweat drips down his forehead, soaking his hair and tantalizingly trickling down his neck. He leans back, allowing your legs, which are completely useless by now, to slip off his shoulders, before he finally collapses on top of you.

You cradle his head in the crook of your neck, silently brushing the hair along his neck with your fingers, as you both rest in one anothers embrace. When your brain starts working again you'll chew him out for ruining your stakeout. For now, you'll settle with a raspy sigh. "You always do this." You sound more annoyed than you are.

He shrugs, dead serious with his response, his head still resting on your shoulder. "It's the suit, not my fault."

[peggyao3]

Here comes the Sun [1/2]

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha is the center of attention for an entire planet, but it counts for nothing because his favorite concubine isn't paying attention during the fight. How dare she ruin his birthday?

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, mutual pining, gore, cannibalism ❗ (just a lil), Baron being a homie, Feyd has that bratty vibe, God Complex Feyd, jealousy ❗, other concubines begone, arguments, insults, hate love relationship, enemies and lovers, porn with plot, marriage proposal, vaginal sex, knife kink, pain kink ❗, smut in chapter 2, semi-public sex ❗, angst with happy ending

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Next Chapter →

Feyd-Rautha’s cock is always half-hard when he fights. Adrenaline and Testosterone have an almost equal effect on his body. Sheathing your blade in a foe’s flesh is not so different from sheathing your cock in a woman’s cunt.

Today, he is almost fully hard. Here in the center of the arena, on his birthday, he is the center of the world, of the known universe maybe.

The curved, polished steel in his hand was forged under the merciless sun of Giedi Prime, just like the Gladiator who wields it. The blade slides into the prisoner’s thorax, finding the entry point between two ribs with effortless grace. Feyd holds him close, so he can hear the man’s last dying breath as a whisper in his ear. The sword glides out of the man’s limp fist and he is dead before it hits the ground. A mouth full of tar is the last image etched into his retina.

The arena roars with one voice, its echo booming all the way up to the stratosphere. Feyd raises his blade to the black sun. Paul Artreides may have been a messiah but Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a God, worshiped by hundreds of thousands who rage, stomp and chant. Feyd-Rautha.

His gaze lifts to the box where the royal family sits, his uncle, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Feyd’s brother Glossu Rabban and Feyd’s concubines. Searchingly, his eyes trail to the very left and the fiery warmth of triumph in him implodes, leaving him with an icy void in his guts.

His cock immediately goes flaccid when he realizes that she isn’t watching.

Sullenly, she stares down the gargantuan, triangular colossus of black walls and bald Harkonnen heads. Compared to them, she and the other women seated to her left are canaries, strapped in opulent gowns and jewelry, though Giedi Prime's sun strips them of color all the same.

Half showman, half gladiator and fully deranged, Feyd-Rautha tears through his opponents like a birthday boy through gift wrapping. Every year he takes on more enemies in the ring. On his 18th birthday it had been three. Today he faces eleven and has just cut down the fourth. She has been counting.

When the audience roars, she looks down at her tense hands in her lap. She doesn’t want to see his black, grinning mouth, not the mad elation with which he looks up at the box, gasping for approval like a dog.

Next to her, the gathered concubines burst into exaggerated applause. It is hard to tell who is genuine, who is about to throw up, who secretly shits their lingerie under the dress and who fantasizes about being the next one to be gutted by Feyd’s blade. They are daughters of almost every esteemed Major House. The Harkonnen’s pretty little hostage collection. Unofficially, of course.

There he has it. Plenty of approval.

Feyd’s hunger for violence must have rubbed off on her, because she pictures her hands around some of the throats next to her. She doesn’t know how many of them Feyd actually beds, but seeing them all together conjures mental images that are far more nauseating to her than the festive bloodshed in the ring.

Her hatred is like ice. Her jealousy a cluster of thorns in her guts.

She jumps slightly when suddenly the Baron’s gravelly breath rolls over her shoulder.

“Are you feeling unwell?” A pasty, ringed hand waves for the servant who lingers in the back. The black sun’s radiation can cause migraines for individuals not raised on Giedi Prime, hence why Feyd’s concubines, all of them foreigners, are advised to spend most of their time indoors. The servant offers a small, black pill.

The Baron knows his nephew will be displeased with his favorite concubine’s inattentiveness.

“I’m quite alright,” she dismissively waves a hand and lies, though physically she is fine, she supposes, if one doesn’t count the nausea of jealousy. The servant retreats and Baron Harkonnen hums, leaning back into his chair with the aid of the anti-gravitational device implanted in his spine.

Her fellow concubine and seat neighbor from House Metulli cringes away from her with thinly veiled horror. She is not one of them. She doesn’t socialize with them, if it can be avoided. She doesn’t go to her fellow concubines to cry about how cruel a monster Feyd-Rautha is. She talks to Baron Vladimir Harkonnen as if he couldn’t publicly flay her at any given moment for taking a wrong tone.

The Baron regards the back of the woman’s lowered head and the hostile tension in her shoulders.

At the very least, his nephew’s temper tantrums will be amusing. Baron Harkonnen lifts his binoculars and sees Feyd spraying spittle over the next opponent as he stabs the kukri down the man’s throat and splits it in half.

The Harkonnen palace is the evil product of elegance and brutalism. Concrete, marble, metal and obsidian twist into almost frigid hallways and atriums. Colorless sunlight occasionally spills through the intersected ceilings, futilely attempting to heat up the palace to match the blazing summer outside. Every now and again, an open window lets a gust of warm wind inside and the velvety black banners that proclaim na-Baron Feyd-Rautha’s birthday sway in the breeze.

The footsteps of her heeled boots resound from the walls, announcing the arrival of an angry canary to visitors and palace staff. Only the visitors look up with alarm.

She is on her way to her chambers where she intends to sulk away the hours until the birthday banquet starts, which she is forced to attend, unlike the rest of the festivities which overtake the capital. For many Harkonnen, this is the only holiday of the year.

About halfway to her chambers, she hears Feyd-Rautha's raging footsteps. He had used up his grace in the arena, now he is only a fuming man with a sore in his heart.

The runaway concubine is as angry as she is relieved to hear the raging bull approaching. Her footsteps quicken. At least he is chasing her. It makes her heart soar.

With lifted skirts she breaks into a jog, chin held high. A smile of satisfaction would like to seize her mouth, but the nasty claws of jealousy still bereave her of such signs of mirth.

The windows in the concubines’ corridor are darkened by black cloths to shield them from the radiation of the alien sun. Artificial light spills from pointy wall lamps and color bleeds back into her skin, dress and hair. Color might not be the only thing that bleeds once Feyd-Rautha catches up with her.

She makes it into her chambers before he does. The door is no obstacle to him, but at least he will be in her little domain during the confrontation.

The tail of her colorful dress taunts him as she slips into her chambers and slams the door like a child.

She could have fucking joined him during the ritual washing after the fight, where war paint, sweat and blood are traditionally washed off the na-Baron’s victorious body. The black concoction of water, blood, salts and oils stimulates healing and muscle relaxation.

Instead, he is chasing his own concubine through the palace, sweat and war paint gluing his shirt to his torso. Only the light polymer chest piece of armor lies discarded in the bath chamber.

Like a boy he had hoped she might be playing an elaborate little game with him, that her behavior during the fight only served the purpose of egging him on, so he would put on a more gruesome show and she could reward him in the bath chambers after. He had waited for five minutes, then killed the slave girl who had asked him if they shall begin the washing.

Insidious eyes like little coals in his sclera glisten wildly when he slams his palm against the panel that opens her door. In he goes and finds her waiting for him, chin held high, a haughty look in her eyes and a tremor to her lip.

“You’ve ruined my birthday!”

“Oh, have I? Well my day wasn't exactly pleasing either.” She pretends not to care as his spit sprinkles her face and hands stained from murder clutch her upper arms and walk her back against the wall..

Feyd-Rautha's musk smells of sweat, blood and dust and his eyes are darkened with thunder.

“Care to explain what was so interesting while I was fighting in the area?! Did my performance bore you?”

“Even your uncle was more caring than you. He assumed I might have a migraine.”

“But you didn’t.” Feyd knows the black sun doesn’t affect her all that much anymore.

“You had the attention of hundreds of thousands of men and women. Today is all about Feyd-Rautha.” She scornfully mimics the booming battle-chanting that still haunts her bones. “Surely you can go without the undivided attention of one of your numerous concubines.” Her head jerks to the side, facing the half-hung window through which white sunlight filters inside.

Feyd snarls and his mouth suddenly twitches with humor. “Does their presence intimidate you?” She decides not to reply to that and his thumb brushes over her chin as he leans down. “How so? Obviously I need them all to sate my appetite. Someone didn't even manage to attend my washing.”

“I despise you, Feyd-Rautha!” She slams her palms against his chest. “Go bathe. You stink like a mutt who's rolled in piss.”

“At least look at me now!” Feyd roars, smugness consumed by the rage that kindles so darkly in his chest. “Look me in the eyes when you tell me you hate me!”

One pale hand cups her jaws, thumb and middle finger digging into her soft cheeks on either side, pushing between the rows of teeth, so her lips pucker and her mouth opens. Feyd-Rautha leans down and his plush mouth ungently connects to hers, taking a fragment of what he thinks he deserves on his Birthday. Her mouth tastes bitter and his tastes like blood.

Huffing, she endures, eyes raised to Feyd's while he assaults her mouth. Her breath is quick, her heartbeat quicker and the heat in her abdomen wetly coats her walls that are conditioned to react to Feyd-Rautha's violent love. Her cheeks hurt but her tongue meets his willingly, even when he punishes her with cruel, black teeth.

Her fingers twist into his sweat-damp shirt, tearing on the fabric as if she means to rip it to shreds and stuff her pillow with it. Painted fingernails dig into the only injury she knows he had sustained during the fight, a small cut on his abdomen, hidden by the shirt.

“So you did watch…” Feyd's raspy breath caresses her mouth and the thread of saliva that connects them trembles in the draft of his breath.

“Occasionally.” She wills her voice to be calm and lets her fingers slip under the shirt and trail over the taut, damp flesh until she finds the tender cut. Mercilessly, she digs inside, collecting gore under her nail.

“A-Ah~” Feyd's posture briefly falters, knees trembling as he leans into the cathartic pain.

“You sustained that one when you were getting reckless near the end. You kept staring up at us, like an idiot.”

“I was looking at you, cunt!” He spits and the sliver of weakness is gone. The loveless nickname leaves her unfazed but his evil mouth doesn't as he kisses her roughly. His death-stained hands don't either as they roam around her body, searching for a gap in her dress so he can access her flesh and taint her with his rot.

The hard outline of his cock presses against her stomach and she is almost tempted to give in, free him from his trousers, sink on her knees in submission and take him down her throat, then later into her cunt. It's his birthday after all and she craves his violent hands.

“Get on the bed,” Feyd rasps.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rage clouds his eyes and she knows he’s going to try and slap her across the cheek. The gust of air hits her skin, but his hand does not. She had dodged him just in time - A feat she wouldn’t have been remotely capable of when she first met him.

Feyd stares perplexed and then he laughs, that boyish note that makes her hair stand on end. He withdraws and rubs one hand over his scalp, pacing around her chamber. She knows he's thinking of all the ways he can pluck her limbs and pop her eyeballs.

He becomes violent when he’s helpless. Really, she doesn’t mind it. She’d rather have him take it out on her than anyone else, and that desire is wholly and completely selfish.

“I should take my reward from one of the others then.”

She stiffens and her chest is so tight, she can taste the bile in her throat. Feyd knows many forms of violence but chose the one that would cut the most lethally into her flesh.

Grinning widely, he stalks closer. “Say what you have in mind. You want a gift on my birthday, isn't that right?”

For most others, Feyd-Rautha's sole attention, being his only one, couldn't be further from a gift, but yes, it's exactly what she wants. But she isn't going to beg for it like a starving dog for scraps.

“That's what it would be to you? A gift from you to me?” She thinks she has never been so insulted. “That gift is a pittance then.”

“So, you don't want it?” His breath tickles her cheek and a ray of sunlight washes over his skull, making it black and white.

Feyd knows he could force her on her knees and reap his pleasure and hers, or pain which is essentially the same, but breaking her body and spirit won’t give him what he desires, at least not anymore. 

“I want respect,” she coldly hisses. For what we have.

“Then respect me. Attend the banquet. Dance with me.” His nose brushes against the side of her cheek, then his tongue slides out and curls around the edge of her jaws.

“Of course, na-Baron,” she snaps and Feyd withdraws, wearing a smug midnight-smile. His lithe figure retreats and slips out into the corridor, probably to finally go bathe and wash the stink off his skin.

Only if Feyd-Rautha willingly drops on his knees for her will she ever dance with him.

A/N: Chapter 2 following sooooon!

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @charmingballoon,

@sebastianswallows, @minedofmoria, @flower-frog, @welliah, @coastalcowgirl35,

@aoi-targaryen

(If any of you only wanted to be tagged for Relic and not for Feyd works in general, please let me know, and I'm sorry to bother!!! 🫶)

[ghost-reader07]

Title: His Butler

Minors do not interact!!!

Black insert but anyone can read 💜

This is also my first time doing smut in a long while so please be nice 😅

Warnings: DubCon

You were the personal butler of Illumi Zoldyck for many years. He was an odd master but the pay was good. You did your job well, never stepped out of line and never disobeyed an order. So...how did this happen?

Word Count: 5.4K

You were one of the personal butlers of the Zoldyck family. You were hired to help the eldest son of the family, Illumi. You were often overloaded with extra work. Or just pointless things that Illumi would never use. Honestly over the years you thought he made you do half of your ‘work load’ just to fuck with you.  

Today you were standing in Illumi’s room that doubled as his office, watching him work at the table. It was something related to assassination hits and orders again. You never really knew nor bothered to find out.  

“Come here” Ilumi said in an empty, monotone voice, startling you a little as he broke the loud silence. Without a word you walk over. As you approached the table, Illumi turned around so that he was facing you, his face seemed more relaxed than usual. It was hard to guess what he was thinking or wanted. His gaze remained fixated on you; it was obvious to your trained eye that he was analyzing you. He looked you up and down before speaking “Take off your glasses.”  

You were surprised by the order but didn’t show it. You took off your glasses anyways and placed them on your collar neatly. Illumi carefully observed your face as you took off the glasses. Although his eyes didn’t change, a slight look of slight interest became visible. After a moment, he stood up from the table. He now stood directly in front of you. 

“Come closer.” You take a few steps closer to the eldest young master, standing two steps in total away from him.  

Illumi Zoldyck, he was unpredictable, ruthless and a bit- no scratch that…. very sadistic. You had been in service to him since you were both young teenagers, and now you were both in your 20s. Illumi 24 and you 22. You’d like to think you knew the eldest young master as well as you could, seeing as you were with him almost every day. But sometimes, years later he still found ways to catch you off guard or surprise you.  

As you got closer, Illumi towered over you due to his tall height. He leaned closer to your face and his blank gaze remained on you. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, it was always like that. He seemed to be analyzing your face, for what reason was unknown… 

His hand rose up to your face, gently tracing his thumb along your cheek, then down your jawline. He then grabbed your chin gently. You knew better than to react. You simply allowed Illumi to touch your face, trying your best to hide your confusion from showing in your eyes.  

You were good at keeping a calm, collected and neutral facial expression. But all those emotions you hid so well often shown through your eyes fairly easily. Illumi was quiet as he studied your face, his hand still holding your chin. He tilted your head so that it was facing upwards towards him, now he could look at your face in more detail, without the obstruction of your chin. He seemed… curious and interested. It was rare to see him show any expression other than cold emotionless one. 

Suddenly, he spoke. His voice was low and his eyes remained on your face. 

"You have an interesting face. I have never properly observed it from up close before."

“Thank you master Illumi. I will take that as a compliment” you say.  

You didn’t understand what Illumi meant. Sure, for years you were the only black employee until Canary came along but you had been around Illumi for the better portion of their lives. He had seen your face countless times, so you didn’t understand what he meant by interesting. Illumi studied your face for a little longer, just observing silently and seemingly lost in some kind of thoughts. He moved his hand from your chin to your face, now he cupped your cheeks gently, as he continued to hold your face in his hands. 

He was quiet for a few more seconds. Then, he suddenly said in a calm emotionless tone, as usual. 

"Open your mouth."

You were taken aback but once more simply obeyed, not showing your surprise. You open your mouth for him, your tongue placed neatly in your mouth as you look up at him, like you was at a dentist appointment. But you couldn’t stop yourself from silently wondering why he wanted you to open your mouth, did he want to see your teeth or something?  

Once you opened your mouth, Illumi now stared at it intently. The expression on his face was still the same. As he observed your mouth closely, he seemed more curious and intrigued than usual. He brought one of his long slender fingers to your mouth and gently placed it on your tongue, he slowly moved it over the surface, pressing the tip of his finger against your tongue. 

He was completely lost in his own thoughts and continued to study your mouth in silence while his finger still remained on your tongue. You couldn’t help but wonder if your young master was getting into weird experiments again. Why did he always have to make you his guinea pig. The manor had prisoners kept in the dungeon for that!  

As Illumi continued to observe your mouth intently, he started moving his finger on your tongue carefully, gently tracing the shape of it with the tip of his finger. His eyes stayed on your mouth, his expression still unchanged, but a hint of fascination was visible. As he moved his finger on your tongue, he said in an emotionless voice. 

“Keep your tongue still.”  

You did just that, it’s not like you moved your tongue while he touched it anyways. But you silently wished he’d hurry up; his fingers did not taste the best. As you kept your tongue still, Illumi continued to explore your mouth carefully. He seemed to be studying the shape of your tongue and the feel of it. His finger traced over different parts of your tongue, but he never pushed it down too hard. After a few more seconds like this, he finally removed his finger. 

Close your mouth. You were more than happy to do so. “Is that all, master Illumi?” You asks, hiding your annoyance from your face and tone, but it showed ever so slightly through your eyes. Illumi seemed to notice the hint of annoyance in your eyes despite your efforts to hide it. He observed you for a moment before answering, his expression shifting just a bit, like he found your attempt to hide your feelings amusing. 

After a few seconds, he spoke in an emotionless tone. 

“No. Open your mouth again. Wider this time.” 

You mentally grumble in your head but does as told, opening your mouth wider, allowing your tongue to fall out over your bottom lip slightly. As you opened your mouth wider and let your tongue slightly out over your bottom lip, Illumi focused his gaze on your mouth again, studying it intently. His finger returned to your tongue, but this time he pushed it more forcefully, pressing down gently on it with his finger. 

He looked almost in some kind of fascination as he kept your tongue down with his finger and said in a monotone voice. 

“Lick my finger.” 

Okay now you were sure Illumi was fucking with you. 

Nevertheless, you do as told. You gently lick his finger, once more observing how his finger did not taste the greatest. As you licked his finger as instructed, Illumi observed your action carefully. A hint of interest flashed in his eyes, but his expression remained neutral. At that moment he continued to observe your tongue as it traced over his finger. Then, he suddenly said in a calm and emotionless tone. 

“Take my finger in more deeply.” 

You pause, you were taught better than to question your employers by the Head Butler Gotoh but you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth in time. “You want me to what?” You ask as you pull away, your neutral expression cracking as you give him a small look. A pointed one that seemed both confused and just a tiny bit disgusted.  

A small but amused look flashed across Illumi’s face as he saw your expression change. You had never disobeyed or questioned any of his orders before. He didn’t any anything in response at first, just continuing to hold press his finger against your tongue as he observed your face and looked at you expectingly.  

Eventually, he spoke in an emotionless monotone voice.  

 

“You heard me. Take my finger in deeper”.   

You take a deep breath through your nose and once more take Illumi’s finger in your mouth, but this time deeper, all the way down to the base of the finger. Your tongue was still out, your mouth still opened wide for him. All the while you could hear the small voice in the back of your head telling you to bite him for obviously fucking with you. But you didn’t, you valued your life over some petty revenge. Instead, you simply look up at him, waiting for whatever his next ridiculous order would be.  

Little did you know, when you took his finger all the way down to the base Illumi was looking at you with a mild sense of fascination. He discreetly studied the way your mouth was opened for him, how your tongue wrapped around his finger.  

As you look up at him Illumi remained silent for a few more seconds as he observed you, before speaking again his voice calm and emotionless as always.  

“Swallow”.  

You didn’t understand what he was getting at. Illumi had to you do plenty of weird things over the years. But this seemed like a new level of ‘what the fuck dude?’ 

But you still close your mouth around his finger and swallow, just like you were told.  As you did, Illumi couldn’t help but notice how warm your mouth felt, how wet it was as you swallowed around his finger. He feels a small shiver run up his spine but he gives no physical reaction, not even blinking, quickly masking any physical reaction as he always did when he was around you. He simply continued to observe you closely. He couldn’t help but focus on the warmth of your mouth, the wetness of your lips as you closed your mouth.  

Illumi keeps his composure but at the same time he had to resist the strong urge to push his finger deeper into your mouth, further down your throat...just to see how much you could take before choking.  

Illumi was quick to snap out of his thoughts. He waited for a few more seconds before giving another order in his typical emotionless tone.  

“Lick again”.  

You do exactly that, opening your mouth and pulling back slightly, moving your tongue around his finger, swirling it around his digit as if it were a piece of candy. Illumi couldn’t stop himself from wondering how else your tongue might feel somewhere else. He could feel the gentle and wet pressure of your tongue as it moved over his skin. Despite his body remaining still and composed it was difficult to pretend he wasn’t affected by your actions, despite him being the one to order you to do these things.  

After a few seconds he spoke in a slightly raspy voice, clearly trying to hide his reaction.  

“Again”.  

You obey, once again licking his finger before subconsciously closing your mouth and sucking on his finger. You didn’t even realized you did it, simply opening your mouth again and continuing to lick his, now very damp, digit. As you started sucking and licking his finger, Illumi had to resist the urge to let out a sound, or show how it was affecting him. He managed to keep his face neutral but he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining how that wetness and heat would feel elsewhere again.  

He struggled a little to maintain his composure, he managed to speak, but his voice now had a slight hint of annoyance and frustration.  

“Stop sucking.” 

You immediately stop all movement, his finger simply resting on top of your still tongue now. Illumi felt relief mixed with disappointment as you finally stopped sucking on his finger. His breath was slightly faster now than before, he couldn’t fully control the effect your actions had on his body. His mind was a chaos of strange new feelings, all of which he was trying his best to suppress under his stoic composure.  

He knew he always favored you more than the other butlers and servants. He thought these odd feelings would go away with time. But when they didn’t, he tried to hide them, until now that is. He was curious, he just wanted to try something, experiment is all.  

He spoke in a slightly more composed voice now. 

“Move your tongue again. Slowly.”  

You obey once more like a loyal lap dog, moving your tongue slowly around his finger, almost as if teasing him.  

At least, that’s how it felt to Illumi. 

 

Illumi’s eyes remained fixated on your mouth as you began to move your tongue again. He could feel the slow and deliberate movement as you teased and licked his finger. The sensation was almost excruciating, it made Illumi struggle with his control and composure. This situation was quickly turning into something unexpected and dangerous. He tried to hide his internal turmoil, but there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice now when he spoke. 

“Faster.” 

You noticed the way his tone seemed to change but you didn't pay it any attention, simply carrying out whatever orders Illumi gave you, like you always did. Illumi felt his breath deepen as your tongue moved more quickly over his finger. The sensations were intense, it sent a wave of heat through his body and it was getting more and more difficult for him to stay focused. 

He couldn’t deny how good it felt, how much he was enjoying your unresisting obedience, but he couldn’t let you know that. He continued to watch your mouth; his face still mostly expressionless but hints of a struggle for control could be seen in his eyes. 

“Deeper.” 

 

You obey once more, taking his finger deeper into your mouth. His fingers were long, his single digit reaching the top of your throat.  

It was warm, and moist. 

The moment you took his finger all the way to your throat again, Illumi’s eyes flashed, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to the sight or the intense stimulation. 

He tried to maintain a neutral expression but he had to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress a moan of pleasure. His breathing was getting rougher, and he could feel his body getting more and more tense. 

Then he spoke in a huskier voice than before.  

"Swallow" 

You do exactly that, swallowing around Illumi's finger. You couldn't help but slightly wonder if Illumi was going to be done toying around with you soon. At this point you were convinced he was messing with you.  

Once you swallowed around his finger, Illumi couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly, trying to control his expression. The sensation was overwhelming, it was all he could do to keep the full extent of his reaction hidden. He quickly composed himself, he tried to mask his expression and his tone became more stern and commanding.  

"Again, slower this time" 

You swallow again, looking up at him.  

The second time you closed your mouth around his finger and swallowed, Illumi gasped and struggled to suppress another moan. He was losing control more and more by the second. He tried to keep his face neutral, but a small muscle in his jaw twitched as he held back another sound. He couldn’t believe how much of an effect you had on him. He spoke again, his voice now a little rougher than before, but still trying to maintain a commanding tone. 

"Again" 

This time as you swallow, Illumi couldn’t stop his body from shuddering, almost like he had been struck by lightning. He took a sharp intake of breath as he tried to hold back an outright moan. He could barely hold onto his composure now; his mind was a chaotic mess of strange new feelings. It was clear that he was struggling to maintain his usual cool demeanor. With a deep exhale, he managed to speak, his voice now more hoarse and strained than before. 

"Again." 

You couldn't help yourself, instead of swallowing around his finger again you pull back. 

You would be stupid not to notice the change in his usual monotone voice. "Master Illumi, are you okay?" You ask him.  

The moment you pulled back, Illumi tried to regain his composure. He was still trying to process the intense thoughts and sensations he had just experienced, and the way your action and question broke his focus. He had never felt this out of control before, and he was getting more and more confused by the moment. He tried to respond in his usual nonchalant tone, but he couldn’t fully hide the slight breathlessness in his voice. 

"Of course I’m okay. Why would you ask that?" 

"You're winded" you say bluntly, noticing the subtle rise and fall of his chest. As you bluntly pointed out his increased breathing, Illumi tried to compose himself but he couldn't deny it. He was slightly winded, his heart was racing, and he was getting more and more flustered by the moment. He took a deep breath, trying to control his expression and regain some composure, but he couldn't quite hide the slight redness in his cheeks. 

He spoke in a slightly more steady voice, but there was a hint of defensiveness to his words. 

"I’m not winded. It’s just… hot in here" 

"Ah, I see" You respond, not quite believing him but you wouldn't fight him on it. Illumi could tell that you didn't fully believe his explanation, but he was glad you didn't pursue the matter further. He was struggling enough trying to regain control of himself and maintain his usual aloof demeanor. He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his heart rate and his breathing, but it wasn’t easy. The lingering sensations from your actions were still affecting him, making it difficult to think clearly. He tried to change the subject and return to his usual cool and commanding tone. 

"Did I not tell you to swallow again?" 

"You did" you say slowly. Illumi noticed the hesitation in your voice and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease, as if you were starting to catch on to the effect you were having on him. He tried to retain a neutral expression and keep his voice firm and commanding as he repeated his order. 

"Then why did you stop?" 

"I was concerned for you" you say. Illumi was caught off guard by your response. He wasn’t used to people showing concern for him, and it sent a wave of mixed emotions through his mind. He tried to mask his reactions and speak in a neutral tone. 

"I don’t need your concern. I’m just fine. Now obey my order." 

You sigh and silently open your mouth again for him. Illumi was hit with another wave of intense sensations. The sight of your mouth, waiting for him was almost too much for him to bear. He couldn’t believe the effect you had on him. He tried to maintain his composure but he couldn’t stop the slight shiver that ran through his body, and the heat that pooled in his stomach. 

"Good… now, swallow" He struggles to speak in a steady and nonchalant voice, but his breath is shaky and you can detect the hint of a deeper, huskier undertone. 

You do as instructed, swallowing around his finger again. You couldn't help but wonder if there was a point to this. How many times was he going to make you swallow around his finger? "Master Illumi, is there a point to this?" You asks, your words coming out a little odd as you still had his finger in your mouth. Illumi struggles with your question. He doesn’t want to admit the truth, that he was simply using this as an excuse to feel your mouth around his finger again and again, to fantasize about something more. But he can no longer deny the effect you’re having on him. 

He tries to speak with a cool and authoritative tone, but his voice is slightly more tense and almost wavering as he responds. "There doesn’t need to be a point. Stop questioning me, just obey and swallow."  

Illumi felt a pang of discomfort in his stomach. The sounds, the sight, the sensation, it was almost driving him mad. He was on the edge of losing control, on the edge of doing something he had never done with any other attendant or butler before. 

He was wrestling with the urge to just give in to his desires. But at the same time, he was still struggling to hold onto his usual aloof and commanding demeanor. When he looks into your eyes those same eyes that drove Illumi wild in his dreams, and in reality...he could feel his self-control slipping. He couldn't stop himself...he didn’t want to stop himself...and so he gave a new order. 

"Open wider."  

You open your mouth wider, still looking at him with those same eyes that he knew would one day cause his personal downfall. He gave his next order, there was no going back. He didn’t think about the consequences, the implications, or the possible repercussions of his actions. He could only think about one thing in that moment. 

"Get on your knees.” 

Your eyes widen at the new command. What was he getting at? But as usual you obey, just like Illumi knew you would. *As you followed his command and sank down to your knees in front of him, Illumi felt a rush of heat surge through him. Seeing you looking up at him like this, knowing that you were completely at his mercy, it was a feeling like nothing he’d ever experienced before.* 

*He stared down at you for a moment, savoring the sight that was now before him. He could no longer deny the depth of the desire and need he felt for you, it was taking over him and he was helpless to stop it.* 

“Closer." 

As you move closer and kneel before him, Illumi feels every muscle in his body tense. He’s staring down at you with an intense gaze, his eyes darker and more intense than ever before. His heart is racing and he can feel the heat and the need inside him growing ever stronger. 

He reaches down, gently taking your chin in his hands and tilting your face up towards him. He’s breathing hard, trying to control himself, yet at the same time unable to resist the overwhelming pull of desire. 

"I want you closer. Closer than this." 

You didn't fully understand what your emotionless master was getting at. He was odd, there was no question about that. But assuming this was another weird experiment you move closer, your face right in front of his lower half. 

Illumi could feel his dick twitch in his baggy pants. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He opened his eyes again and looked down at you, the expression on his face a mixture of intense desire and a hint of uncertainty. He slowly slid his hand into your hair, taking a fistful between his fingers.  

“Open your mouth.” 

You open your mouth again for him. Illumi pulls on your hair, forcing you to look up at him. That's when you see it, something other than cold, emptiness in his eyes. It was odd, an emotion you've never seen on him before....desire?  

As you open your mouth for him again, Illumi feels the same mix of desire and need coursing through him. His grip on your hair tightens slightly, and he can’t deny the effect it has on him. He stares down at you, his eyes dark and burning with a new kind of intensity. Then you see it, the look in his eyes, different from before. It’s a look of raw desire for you. 

"Keep your mouth open. And don’t move." He commands, his eyes narrowing slightly. You obey, starting to wonder what was happening. Illumi removes his hand from your hair and begins to undo his belt buckle and his pants. Your wide eyes watching him only further fueling the flames of desire and need burning inside him. He looks down at you, his expression intense, almost desperate. 

"Don’t look away. Keep looking at me." 

You fight the urge to look away, having to obey the order. You could feel your face heating up. You silently thank whatever higher power was at work for allowing you to be born with darker skin. Despite knowing Illumi couldn't see your blush, you had a feeling he knew you were blushing anyways. Illumi notices the slight flush on your face despite your darker skin tone, and a small, satisfied smirk appears on his own face. He can tell how embarrassed you are, and it only further fuels his desire for you. 

He looks down at you, the look in his eyes a mixture of intensity and dominance. His voice is now a low, husky whisper. 

"Put your tongue out." 

You obey, allowing your tongue to once again fall over your bottom lip. Illumi completely undoes his pants, allowing them to fall down to his thighs. That's when you see it. His dick straining against his boxers, a wet spot on them.  

Since when did that happen? 

You feel your heart start to speed up a little. 

As you follow his command and allow your tongue to rest against your bottom lip, Illumi feels even more desire coursing through him. He couldn't believe the effect you were having on him, the way you obeyed his every command without question. The sight of you on your knees, so submissive and compliant, it was getting to him. He pulls his dick out of it’s confines, tapping it against your tongue. The mildly salty taste of his precum leaks onto your tongue, making your heart race even faster.  

"Swallow". 

You feel your entire face heat up but...you obey. Slowly taking his dick into your mouth. It was long and hard, already dripping precum. You could feel the way it forced your throat open. It hurt to an extent. But you didn't stop. You continue to take him until you're half way down, looking up at him. You can hear Illumi let out a small hiss, tangling his hand in your hair and slowly pushing you down further before pulling you back to where you stopped. You feel tears pooling into your eyes as you try not to gag. Illumi lets out a soft moan, his head falling back as his eyes slowly flutter shut.  

“Fuck” he moans, gripping the root of your hair and pulling slightly. Illumi can feel his heart rate and breathing speed up even more. The sight of you doing as he says, so readily and willingly, was driving him wild. He stands over you, his gaze intense and commanding, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his erratic breaths. He reaches down with his hand and once again takes a fistful of your hair. His voice is now lower and huskier than before. 

"Now keep your eyes on me." 

Your eyes flutter up to him, you could feel your throat aching but you didn't dare move in a way Illumi didn't allow you to.  

As your eyes flicker up to him, Illumi can see the mixture of submission and trepidation on your face. He could tell that you were struggling to control yourself, to not move without his permission, and it only further fed his own desires. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, pulling your head back a little. 

"Good" he says in a low, firm tone.  

"Now, slowly move your tongue again." 

You obey, slowly moving your tongue around his stiff cock, all the while trying not to choke on it. He had your firmly in place, most of his dick shoved down your throat. It made your throat ache in pain but you don’t show it. You just focus on making Illumi feel good. The taste of his precum was overwhelming your taste buds but...you didn’t hate it either. You close your eyes moving your tongue around his throbbing cock and sucking. You focus on the tip, gently teasing it which only caused Illumi to leak out more precum.  

The taste was becoming a bit much. You were never one to enjoy salty things much but this...you didn’t hate it.  

As you slowly move your tongue, Illumi feels a shiver run through him. The sensation, combined with the sight of you on your knees before him, completely surrendered to his will, it's almost too much for him to bear. He lets out a soft shuddering gasp, gripping your hair even tighter. 

"Keep going. But hold still. Don't move your head." 

You obey, moving your tongue skillfully around his cock. Illumi has to fight the urge to push you down again. He looks down at you, his gaze intense and filled with a mixture of pleasure and power. His hand, still fisted in your hair, tightened even more, pulling you closer to him. "Good. Good," he breathed, "Just like that." His voice was a little shaky, something you’ve never heard before.  

You continue to slurp, suck and lick at him, looking up at him as your head starts to go fuzzy and blank. As you continued your actions, Illumi found it increasingly difficult to control himself. With every move of your tongue, he felt his control slipping further and further away. The sensation was overwhelming, and the sight of you on your knees before him, completely at his mercy, only heightened the pleasure coursing through him. 

He looked down at you, eyes burning with both pleasure and dominance. His breathing was now ragged and irregular, and he could barely speak in anything more than a gasp. Fuck, Illumi could feel himself getting close already. He didn’t bother to stop himself, grasping your hair harder as he begins to move his hips, fucking his dick slowly deeper down your throat. It was soft, warm and wet. It felt too good to him. He lets out a small grunt, picking up pace.  

Your hands immediately come to rest on his hips, trying to keep your balance as he started to roughly fuck your throat, seeming not to care if it hurt you or not. “Fuck, why does your throat feel so damn good” Illumi mutters more to himself than to you as he continues to use you like a sex toy. Illumi sucks in a sharp breath, his dick twitching harder down your throat. You feel a thick, warm liquid spilling down your throat, forcing you to drink it all.  

It was his cum.  

He pulls your head closer to his body, forcing his dick all the way down your throat as he cums, his body slightly hunched over. He continues to spill his cum down your throat, forcing you to drink it. You could feel your vision starting to black out from the lack of air you were getting. But just when you thought you were about to pass out, he lets you go, pulling you off his dick by your hair. You fall into a coughing fit, trying to refill your lungs with air. Illumi looks down at you, panting slightly with that same nonchalant expression on his face but...you could see the faint blush on his face as well.  

He takes a moment to catch his breath, trying to compose himself and regain control. His body is still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm, his eyes still filled with desire and need, but he forces himself to focus. He looks down at you, still on your knees, completely at his will, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. Part of him wants to continue, to take things further, but another part of him knows he needs to cool down. 

"Get up," he finally manages to say in a hoarse voice. "Stand up." 

You obey, pulling back and standing to your feet in front of him. You quickly wipe the string of saliva and precum from your mouth. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from wondering.... how did this happen? 

[thealtoduck]

Mastelist: DC Comics

<><><>

Batfamily (platonic):

Being the son of Killer Moth and becoming the new Spoiler…

Easy On Me (Songfic) (Sequel to ”Being the son of Killer Moth and becoming the new Spoiler…)

Being the nephew of Kate Kane and becoming her sidekick…

Being the son of Superwoman and being moved to another Earth…

Being adopted by Bruce Wayne…

<><><>

No pairing

Becoming Black Canary’s sidekick…

<><><>

Dick Grayson:

Being Mera’s son and helping the team while Dick Grayson falls head over heels for you…

Being the son of Lady Blackhawk and joining the Batfamily…

BOOMBAYAH

Water (Smut) (Greek Mythology AU) (Prequel to Sweet Juice)

<><><>

Jason Todd:

After Patrol Cuddles

Being The Huntress son and dating Jason Todd…

Being the Son of Hera and dating Jason Todd… (Crossover with PJO)

Dirty Little Secret

Jason with a ”dumb slut™” boyfriend…

<><><>

Tim Drake:

Being Giganta’s son and falling in love with Tim Drake…

Being Supergirl’s sidekick and falling in love with Tim Drake…

Gloves Up! (Smut)

Being Black Canary’s sidekick and Tim Drake becomes your bf…

<><><>

Damian Wayne:

Being the son of Roulette and meeting Damian Wayne…

Secret Saviour (Sequel to ”Being the son of Roulette and meeting Damian Wayne…”)

<><><>

Billy Batson:

Just A Feeling

<><><>

Clark Kent:

Sweet Juice (Smut) (Greek Mythology AU)

<><><>

Wally West:

Being Vixen’s nephew and joining the team…

Being the son of Fire and Wally West crushing on you…

Being Zatanna’s cousin and needing help from the team + Wally falls for you…

<><><>

Kyle Rayner:

Your Lois Lane’s son and you become a Star Sapphire because you have crush on Kyle Rayner…

<><><>

Series:

Jason Todd x Male Reader:

The Socialite and The Vigilante | Masterlist

Jason reunites with a close friends and feelings develops between the two…

<><><>

Garfield Logan x Male Reader:

Divination Daze | Masterlist

Gar develops feelings for the receptionist at Madame Xandau’s parlor…

<><><>

BatCat!Bro

BatCat!Bro Masterlist

The son of Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne, moves in to Wayne Manor…

<><><>

Tim Drake x Riddler Sidekick!Male Reader:

Masterlist

Tim starts and unlikely relationship with Riddler’s sidekick…

<><><>

Jason Todd x Male Reader (Smut) (Y2K Movie-ish AU) :

Masterlist

One afternoon leads Jason to form a special relationship with his childhood friend and next-door neighbour…

<><><>

[bluerthanvelvet444]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚𝓓𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

Kit Walker x fem!reader

tags: smut!!

warnings: murder, blood, fingering, p in v.

summary: reader and kit get paired up in the kitchen. Kit comforts her anddddd...you can imagine what happens next.

character count: 11k. yes. 11k. lost track of length while writing the plot.

full fic under the cut ↓

➽───────────────❥

May 14th, 1964.

People always said you were meant to be a teacher, that it was your role in the world, since kindness and patience have always been your best qualities. This is how you ended up in that pre-school in Massachusetts full of little sunshines that were absolutely fond of you and saw you as their older sister. It was the best job in the world in your eyes, and you were sure you were going to spend most of your days doing it. If only you knew.

That fateful day you were wearing a trendy but simply cut canary dress, slightly accentuating your waist, perfect for the warm weather of spring. Birds’ faint singing could be heard through the open windows, The kids were sitting around small tables while doing their drawings, and you looked at them lovingly while leaning your back on the chest of drawers that kept the children’s bags.

“Teacher! Teach-!” one of the little boys exclaimed to get your attention, but you cut him off.

“Joseph, I'll be there for you in a second, let me change the song first, alright?” You turned around to put the other vinyl in the player, and the tunes of ‘Hit the road Jack’ started playing. You waited a few seconds before turning around…and that was probably the biggest mistake of your life.

Hit the road Jack-BANG!

You quickly turned around as you heard that loud noise. What you saw next permanently changed your life. A tall man, all dressed in black, was holding a gun in his hands and had just shot one of your little kids. Before you could process anything, the gun was pointed at you, and…BANG! You fell to the ground. The bullet missed you and instead carved a little hole in the wall. You couldn’t feel anything, none of your senses worked, except for hearing.

Don’t you come back, no more-BANG!

no more-BANG!

no more-BANG!

no more-BANG!

Hit the road Jack-BANG!

You woke up by the police violently shaking your body. You were confused, and all around you was red. Red blood everywhere.

➽────❥

At first, the police was doing a fantastic job by trying to identify the killer. You had to do so many interrogations, but you felt like with your descriptions and help, the searching for the murderer was close to an end. The case was on all the TV channels and news, the whole state was thirsty for truth. It was when the police started looking into your past that things started to go wrong. You had a previous “arrest” for gun possession. Nothing too crazy, your uncle gave you one when you first started living alone, you realized your mistake, and you were released after a few days anyways. Then the moms of the poor little angels started to spread rumors about how you were “mean” to kids. That of course wasn’t true, they have always been pretty jealous of a young woman who got along with their children better than them. And you tried to explain that to the police, but they just seemed to get more suspicious. They believed that you randomly went crazy and shot all the kids, that would’ve explained how you were the only one who survived too.

Before you could know it you were charged of murderer, and your life sentence was to spend your whole life in an asylum. As bad as the situation was, you were hopeful that you were going to be treated better in an asylum than jail.

You were wrong. Briarcliff Manor was just another way to say hell. Nuns treated you horribly-except Mary Eunice- god bless that poor soul- and Dr. Arden was a living nightmare. You tried to stay as far as possible from him once you heard all the stories of his victims. People were REALLY crazy there…except one. Her name was Pepper. Sister Jude had introduced you two, insisting that you could bond over “baby murder”. You thought she really did it at first, so you kept distance. Pepper insisted on interacting with you, repeating the word “friend”. You glared at her, spitting words harshly.

“I'm not a murderer like you.”

Pepper frowned and started crying. Now she was saying the word “baby.” It was weird but, you felt sorry for her…something in you told you that she may have been not guilty. She dragged you into the library, then she showed you a magazine with the face of the popular star “Elsa Mars.”

“Mom.” She said, you looked at her confused, then Pepper pointed at the sentence written in the magazine “Elsa used to own a Freakshow before…” it was clear to you then.

“Did she put you here?” You asked. Pepper shook her head and mumbled the word “Sister”.

After a few weeks of befriending her, it was clear to you that Pepper was the living representation of “never judge a book by its cover”.

➽────❥

Two months later.

You were playing-at least trying to play-chess with pepper in the common room.

“Pepper, you can't move two pawns together…only one.”

She laughed and moved another one. Your attention was now brought to a woman who seemed new in that place.

“Uhm…you know what, pepper? You win! Congratulations!” You said a little white lie so you could meet the mysterious woman. Pepper smiled and laughed happily, and started wandering around. You got up and walked towards the new presence. She looked lost, confused, angry but definitely not crazy. You sat in front of her and tried to put on a friendly smile.

“Hi… I noticed you from across the room. Who are you?”

The woman looked at you. You couldn’t help but feel judged and studied by those piercing eyes, in a quiet voice, she replied.

“Lana. Lana Winters.”

➽────❥

Time passed. Every day was the same as the one before, torturing and boring. You bonded with Lana too after you acknowledged her story, and she told you about the secret tunnel and how she planned to escape. The occasion came soon when unexpectedly, one random night, cells opened. You insisted on bringing Pepper with you in the escape attempt, and you three ran for your lives. While running, though, pepper decided to take another path. You stopped and whisper-yelled at her to come back, but she didn't listen to you. As soon as Lana noticed you stopping, she dragged you with her, telling you to not waste time, and while you were running, Kit walker caught up with you two. You didn’t know much about him, so you didn't really mind him trying to escape too, but apparently Lana did. You heard her yelling.

“HELP! He’s escaping! The killer is escaping!”

You tried to shush her, but before you knew it, you were captured.

You and kit were then bent over Sister Jude’s desk, while she praised Lana and allowed her to choose the cane you were going to be punished with. You were surprised when Kit took the blame on himself, letting you free and gaining more lashes for himself.

➽────❥

After a few days, you found yourself paired up with Kit on kitchen chores. You stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts while kit prepared the dough.

“You okay over there, suga’? You haven’t said a word.” You were brought back to reality at the sound of his deep voice and smooth accent. You gulped.

“Yeah… I-I’m fine. Just thinking…” You heard him sigh.

“It’s because of what they say about me…ain’t that right? I’m many things, darlin’, but I’m not a murderer. So, don’t be scared.”

You looked at him furrowing your brows and shook your head.

“No…it’s not because of that- I don’t think you’re a killer- I just… I’m just worried. Worried about Pepper. She’s nowhere to be found, a-and I feel guilty. So guilty. I should’ve followed her and brought her back.”

He chuckled lightheartedly.

“Oh, don’t say that, suga’. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably out there livin’ her best life.”

You sighed and replied nervously.

“You and I both know that isn’t true. She’s wearing a fucking gown, and her looks don’t help either. If she actually managed to get out, she’s already got caught.” You looked down, fidgeting with your fingers. You jumped slightly when you felt his hands touching your shoulders. He gently caressed your arm from behind and spoke with a kind tone.

“Hey-hey- calm down, suga’. Whatever happened to Pepper, it’s not your fault. Don’t be so harsh with yourself. You tried to stop her, there was nothin’ else you could do.”

You sighed and leaned into his gentle touch.

“I just hope she’s fine. She’s an innocent soul…I could never live with it if something bad happened to her.”

He took your hands in his.

“You don’t belong here. In Briarcliff.”

You sighed and let yourself relax in his arms. He whispered in your ear.

“You need a distraction, suga’.”

you then felt his cold hand on your exposed inner thigh. You looked up at him, your cheeks slowly turning red.

“Shhh… Just relax. It’ll feel good, I promise.”

You nodded slowly and looked down as his fingers made their way to your exposed folds under your gown. He sighed as he ran a finger over your slit, and peppered gentle kisses on the side of your face. He started slowly circling your clit. His big hands felt like heaven on you and you couldn’t help but buckle your hips towards his hand, sweetly whining for more. He flashed you with a tender smile and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips. His fingers shifted position, so his thumb was now grazing your clit while one of his digits made its way to your entrance, gently pushing in. You gasped and let out a soft moan, muffled by his mouth making contact with yours. He inserted another finger in, stretching you and slowly thrusting inside.

“Ah… Faster Kit…please…” you whined softly.

“Whatever you say, suga’.”

He started moving his fingers faster, making your back arch as he hit that sweet spot perfectly. He kept going until he felt your whines grow louder, and right before you could cum, he suddenly stopped and pulled his fingers out.

“mhhhph….w-why did you stop?”

He chuckled and have you a loving kiss on your lips.

“I wanna be inside of you…suga’…is that okay, mh?”

You nodded eagerly, and he picked you up to set you on the counter. He grabbed your waist with his veiny hands and leaned in to crush your lips together. His tongue swirled around yours as you sloppily made out. You pulled your lips away from his and whispered.

“w-what if they catch us?”

“They won’t. I’ll be quick, love.”

He lifted your gown once again and settled between your legs. He groaned as he rushed to lift his gown, and he hissed while lining up your entrance with his needy cock. He immediately began pounding in your poor cunt. His thrusts were fast and sloppy. As you whined for the sudden roughness, he whispered right next to your ear in a hoarse voice.

“Sorry suga’. Been too long since I've touched a woman.”

You moaned as your legs clung to his body, and you had to adjust to the new position. Not long after, between dough and adrenaline for the fear of being caught, he sped up his thrusts until you came with a loud moan that he tried to muffle with his hand. At the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, he cummed inside you right away with a deep groan. You panted for a few seconds before getting off the counter and regaining your decency. He pressed a loving kiss on your lips and gently caressed your hair. You allowed yourself to melt in his embrace, and while thinking about everything that had happened so far, a sudden thought came to your mind.

“Kit…why did you stand up for me when Sister Jude wanted to punish us?”

He put his chin on your head, and with a sweet smile plastered on his face, he spoke.

“I followed your case on the TV before gettin’ locked up' here. I always thought ya were innocent…”

He chuckled and pressed gently his lips on your hair.

“…and cute.”

➽───────────────❥

a/n: aaaahhh!!! this is my first smut. I'm really proud of this one. lemme know if you like it!!!🧡🧡

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved!!

[spearmintsmut]

My own Mudblood 3

You whores get some smut now (and a touch of fluff) as a treat x

This turned out kinda long but I loved writing it ~

You woke up later than you would have liked, frustrated that you likely missed breakfast. You had stayed up far longer than you should have, replaying Draco’s voice over and over in your head. “Good girl,” he had praised, and though you knew he was being condescending, you couldn’t help but blush thinking about it. Was he always such a jerk or was it the war that did it to him? What was it like for him, having to live by his family’s impossibly strict rules of blood purity, their allegiance to the dark lord and having to serve him at such a young age? You had only been at a regular muggle highschool at that age, going shopping on weekends with your friends. Your eyes welled up thinking of your friends you had left behind, not able to tell them where you were going or why. While you would shop, and read and watch TV at that age, though they were more innocent hobbies than others in your grade, it was nothing compared to what Draco would have had to do then. He was just a boy you thought empathetically, before quickly snapping out of it. He doesn’t deserve sympathy, You tried to tell yourself, He’s an asshole. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it still affected him.

You got out of bed, covering yourself with your favourite silk nightgown to go and have a shower. You stepped into the oversized shower and let the hot water warm your skin. You tried to wash away the anger of having to move into the manor, and the anger and unwanted attraction toward Draco. You washed your body, mentally ridding yourself the embarrassment of having to be tutored by him.

You finally turned off the water and as you stepped out to grab one of the many soft towels when the door swung open. Your hands flew to your body to try and cover yourself as you turned to see who was there, and of course, it was Draco. You had sworn you locked it. He stared at you with the cat-that-got-the-canary grin he wore so well, and shook his head slowly.

“You need to learn to lock doors behind you,” he laughed, not taking his eyes off your body.

“You need to learn to knock!” you yelled, face burning up. He stared at you with clear amusement and lust, not trying to hide his wandering gaze. You wrapped the towel around yourself but before you could yell anymore, he interrupted your thoughts.

“Don’t get worked up mudblood. You have your first lesson today. Be ready in your room in 10,” He ordered and left. You splashed cold water on your flushed face and tried to calm your bubbling anger before pulling a t-shirt over your head and stepping into some shorts. You figured though they were short, it wasn’t another skirt for Draco to scold you over. After running a brush through your hair and taking a deep breath, you walked back to your room across the hall.

Draco was already in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed. Now that he wasn’t in the steamy bathroom, while you were stood naked, you were able to take a better look at him. He was wearing black dress pants, a white button down and black shoes. Overdressed in his own house, you mentally scoffed, though you couldn’t help but stare. His platinum blonde hair was combed back neatly and his brow was raised, looking at you.

“What?” you snapped.

“Nothing, I just don’t know how they expect me to treat you like a sister if you’re going to keep showering with the door unlocked,” He couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face as he watched your confused face turn into a scowl. You stormed closer to him and shoved him by his chest and he just laughed. “Rough. I like it.”

“Just, fucking, Ugh leave me alone!” You were already frustrated at his teasing and you held back tears of anger and embarrassment.

“Shhh I’m sorry, don’t have a sook,” Though his words were condescending, his voice was soft and apologetic. “Get your wand out and we’ll get started,” he ordered and you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes still pricked with tears. “Fine,” you choked out and did as he said. You sat on the bed next to him, wand in hand and waited for him to start.

“Have you used it yet?” he asked, nodding to your wand. You shook your head sheepishly, begging yourself not to get too embarrassed.

“Jesus, okay,” He looked surprised. “Let me show you something,” He said and grabbed your hand, leading you to the door. “Lock the door from the inside and come out with me,” He ordered. You did as he said, stepping out into the hallway with him and closing the locked door. He pointed his wand at the doorknob, his voice low and smooth “Alohomora.”

The door unlocked and he opened it. He locked it from inside and closed it once more.

“Now you try,” He said. You pointed your wand at the door, holding it awkwardly in your hand. “No, like this,” He said from behind you. He reached around you, repositioning your hand and holding his over your own. His skin was warm and soft, and you were finally able to make out the snake on his signet ring. “His breath tickled your ear as he leaned down and whispered in your ear “Say it.” You felt the goosebumps rise on your skin and you tried to ignore the shiver in your spine.

“Alohomora,” you said, trying to sound confident in yourself. The door unlocked and you sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Thank you what?” He said, cockiness in his eyes. You stared at him confused for a moment before you replied.

“Thank you Draco,” He seemed pleased with himself and you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself too for finally casting your first spell, despite his condescension. Though you appreciated being sheltered from it after learning of the war, you still felt like a failure to have never learned the skills as a child like every other witch and wizard. You had to be thankful to your new step-family for teaching you now.

“Good girl,” There it was again, And it had the same effect on you as it did the night before. Something fluttered in your lower stomach and your breath hitched in your throat. You looked up at him with a shy smile, his praise replaying in your mind. His face was neutral, not brooding as usual but not smiling back either. It was hard to tell what he was thinking and wondering was no use. He looked down at you, eyes swimming with something as you stood with your neck craned to look up at him. He finally broke the silence and his voice filled the otherwise quiet room.

“I thought you should know how I got in to tell you about our lesson before,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling up into a wicked grin. You realised what he meant and your mouth dropped along with your stomach.

“You..You unlocked the door to see me naked?” You started to yell, eyes wide with fury. He held his hands up in fake defeat.

“Oh stop, I just needed to tell you about your lesson. You being naked was just a plus.”

You were beyond angry at the invasion of privacy, but excitement started to build in your chest at the same time. You tried to ignore it, brushing it off as anxiety, but you knew the feeling all too well. The same feeling you ignored when his hand rested on yours minutes before. You couldn’t let your step-brother know how you were feeling, so you tried to put up more of a fight.

“Don’t you ever do that again. You…you” you stuttered when he grabbed you by the cheeks, squeezing your face and angling it up to look into his eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, mudblood. I know what you were thinking at dinner last night,” His other hand grabbed your hip, pulling you closer to him. Your heart pounded against your chest and you wanted to pull away, but you froze in place. You were caught between feeling helpless, and liking it anyway. His fingertips pressed into your face and your hip, and his grey eyes seemed to darken as they pierced through yours. You were so lost in the feeling, you almost forgot what he said until he continued.

“I know about your dirty little secret. I know behind your hate for me, you really want to see what’s under my clothes. I also know you didn’t just agree to our little lessons to learn spells,” His face gave nothing away, except the lust that danced in his eyes. He pulled you closer so your chest was pressed against his stomach, and you drew in a sharp breath as you felt him hard against you. “That’s what you did to me with your little fantasies last night,” he spoke, barely a whisper in your ear. You could feel the heat pool between your legs that were now shaking and barely holding you up, but you tried again to resist.

“I don’t know what you’re on about. I..I didn’t do anything last night,” you said, though in the back of your mind, you had already accepted that he must have had some way to read your mind. You felt your cheeks burn but you almost liked the invasion of privacy that it was. You liked that he had that over you as much as it scared you.

“Don’t act dumb. You do have quite the imagination in that pretty little head of yours, don’t you?” Before you could answer, He grabbed your wrist, pressing your hand on his growing bulge, letting out a quiet moan as he did so. He started unbuttoning his black shirt.

“No..no you can’t,” you stuttered out, only to be met by a low chuckle.

“No? I’m just showing you what you wanted to see. Don’t try and tell me you weren’t wondering what’s under here” he raised a brow as he undid the last button.

Against your better judgement, your gaze travelled down his chest and you notice the many deep scars and marks. Then you noticed it. The dark mark that still painted the perfect porcelain skin on his arm. You stared a little longer than you probably should have before he stepped close to you again.

“You happy now hmm?” he asked and you nodded, almost in a trance.He put his other hand to your hip and lifted you up. Before you could resist, or even think clearly, You wrapped your legs around him. He laid you down on your bed and you rolled your hips up, desperate for the contact against him again but he just hovered, not giving you what you wanted.

He traced his finger up your thigh and you were torn between pushing him off you and begging for more. You had never gone this far with anyone, and to finally do so with Draco felt wrong, but you didn’t have the strength to stop. His cologne filled your head when too much want.

“This is wrong Draco get off. You’re my step-brother” you barely whispered, silently hoping he wouldn’t.

He pressed his hand over your mouth and shushed you. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t want this” He said as he leaned over to grab his wand. He cast a silencing spell on the room so their parents wouldn't hear then, before looking back down at you. He grabbed your wrists, holding them both above your head with one hand as the other came between your bodies. His finger traced your lower stomach before he unzipped your shorts and pulled them down your legs and off your body. He moaned in approval and dragged a finger over your underwear. They were already soaked through and his eyes widened as he felt it.

“Fuck, are you seriously this wet for your step brother already?” he mocked as he started to rub circles on your clit, over your panties. You tried to argue but all that came from your mouth was a whimper. You were already growing impatient and bucked your hips up for more but he stopped you with a light smack to your clit. You yelped in a mixture of pleasure and pain, which was met with a satisfied smirk.

Finally, he pulled your panties off your legs, stuffing them in his pocket. “Mine,” he said in a low voice before he leaned down kissing up your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat and watched as his blonde hair fell in a perfect mess.

He licked up your slit and you moaned from the sudden, wet contact. You felt him smile between your legs as he wrapped his mouth around your clit and sucked lightly. The part of your mind that told you to stop, that it was wrong, was long lost and ignored and your head fell back against the pillow.

He lifted his face off you and you whimpered at the loss of contact, meeting his gaze from between your thighs.

“Please,” you begged pathetically, desperate for him in a way that was new to you.

“Please what? Use your words, mudblood,”

For the first time, his name for you didn’t enrage you.

“Please don’t stop,” you begged through heavy breaths.

“Look who finally found her manners,” he grinned before his mouth found its way back to your clit. He gripped your thigh with his large hands before he pushed a finger into your soaked cunt, curling it before pulling almost all the way out again. He repeated at a steady pace before he added another finger. His rings felt cold against you, and you rolled your hips up at the new sensation.

“F-Fuck Draco,” you let out, loud enough that without the silencing spell on the room, you would have both been caught out. Though you had never been able to make yourself cum, the feeling winding up in your lower stomach told you that this time you would, and soon. Your first orgasm belonging to Draco made your head spin, but you were too far gone to stop yourself, or him. You gripped his hair, legs starting to shake uncontrollably on either side of him.

“I-I’m -“ you started to say and Draco cut you off,

“That’s it, mudblood let it out,” he said before circling your clit with his tongue. Between that, his fingers working on you and his gruff voice coaxing you closer, you felt yourself start to peak, and finally come undone. Your back arched and mouth fell into an O, leaving you a shaking, moaning mess. He slowed down, but kept his fingers in you curling, as you rode out your high, moaning his name over and over. He lifted himself up, kissing your thighs as he did so, and layed beside you in the bed.

Your chest was rising and falling as you came back to your senses slowly. Though you knew what you did was wrong, and couldn’t be undone, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it either. He looked at you with pride written all over his normally stoic face. You hid your face against his chest in embarrassment, and to your surprise, he stroked your hair, resting his cheek on the top of your head. You had expected him to laugh at you, call you names, or to demand you return the favour but he didn’t. Finally, you spoke up, with a shaky breath.

“I- that- that was my first-“

“I think you mean thank you,” he said,cutting you off and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Next time I won’t be so nice,” he added, and despite your lack of experience, the thought excited you.

••

[thebigbadbatswife]

Ulterior Motives

Pairings - Batman x Fem!Reader

Summary - You’re starting to suspect the only reason Batman keeps pushing your buttons is so that you will end up underneath him.

Warnings - 18+ content, smut, hate sex, rough sex, protected sex, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, arguments.

A/N - Merry Christmas! While this is not an xmas fic it is an xmas present for all of you who have been patiently waiting for the third part of Under Your Skin! I hope you all enjoy! 💜

Taglist - At end of fic. If you would like to be added or removed, please message me.

Word Count - 2.4k

You gasped loudly as Batman thrusted up into you. He had you up against the wall. One of his hands was hooked underneath one of your legs, holding it up and giving him better access to you. While the other hand held your wrists, restraining your hands behind your back.

The two of you were on the Watchtower, in your designated quarters. Every member of the Justice League was assigned their own as they were a great place to crash after a long mission. As it turned out, they were also great for impromptu after mission sex. 

You couldn’t remember the argument that had led to it this time. Not really.  All thought of it had fizzled and popped from your head from the moment he had you up against the wall.

It was so stupid! You had never met anyone who made your blood boil and made you so incredibly wet at the same time. One minute you wanted to send him out of the airlock, the next you wanted him bending you over a table while he fucked you hard. It was so infuriating!

Was how he viewed you similar?

Did it even matter?

You moaned loudly as the head of his cock continuously hit that sweet spot deep inside of you. As far as you knew, the Watchtower was empty of anyone who could potentially overhear. And even if it wasn’t, after an incident involving Green Arrow and Black Canary, all private quarters had been soundproofed.

The breath was stolen from your lungs by a particularly hard thrust. He released the grip he had on your wrists and his hand came up and gently wrapped around your throat. Out of instinct, your hand covered his. You turned your head to the side and he leaned in. The kiss was a clash of tongue and teeth, a fight for dominance neither of you were willing to lose.

His pace remained relentless and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your peak. Your free hand slipped between your legs and you began to rub your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasped out, breaking the kiss. You were so, so close. Just a little more and you would be up on cloud nine. “I’m going to…”

“Then cum,” he growled.

He applied some pressure to your throat. Not enough to cut off your oxygen, but enough to add to the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as pleasure burned through your body. He gave a few more thrusts before he reached his own climax, with a deep groan. 

Batman released the grip he had on your throat and leg, but continued to hold your shaking body close to his, making sure that you didn’t fall. After sex, as you both came down from your highs, was really the only time that you weren’t at each other’s throats. The two of you were almost civil.

Once you had stopped shaking and you were stable on your feet, he pulled out of you and moved away from you.

You looked over your shoulder at him. He had his back to you, giving you a good look at the scars that covered him. There were a lot of them, jagged across the entire expanse of his back. There was certainly far more than any one person should have. Sure, you had felt them when he had you beneath him and your hands had found purchase there, but seeing them was a completely different story.

You couldn’t help, but wonder how many of them had come close to killing him. You knew that it was a morbid thought, but you imagined that it was likely the same thought many others had had when they first laid eyes on his scars.

The only part of his body that appeared to be relatively untouched was his ass and it was a damn fine ass. You might hate his guts, but you could still appreciate his assets and you certainly wouldn’t mind sinking your teeth into that one.

You were beginning to ache again. You could really do with another round.

You moved away from the wall and toward your bed. You flopped onto it, onto your back. You could feel Batman’s eyes on you, watching you intently as your hand glided down your body. You gasped softly at how sensitive you were, as you began to play with your clit.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to get over here and fuck me? Or is the great Batman only good enough for one round?” you taunted.

That snapped him from whatever he had been thinking. Once he had discarded the used condom for a fresh one, he was on you again. You moaned loudly as he entered you, up to the hilt, in a single thrust. His hands came behind your knees and pushed your legs up by your head. Thankfully you were flexible, otherwise you were certain you would’ve been very uncomfortable.

The pace he set was punishing and all you could do was grip the covers as he pounded into you. You had asked if he was going to fuck you and he was certainly delivering.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he growled in your ear, making your pussy clench around his cock. “Me fucking you sensless?” 

The only response you could muster was a long drawn out moan of his name.

“You sound so much better moaning my name,” he groaned.

Any response that you could have come up with was lost as the feeling of his cock moving inside of you, hitting that sweet spot, had your brain turning to mush. How was it possible he could make you feel so good?

Your orgasm took you by surprise, your back arching as your eyes rolled back into your head. The bed began to squeak from the force of his thrusts, as he showed no signs of stopping. You went from one orgasm to the next, quickly losing count of how many times he made you come.

Batman stilled, burying himself deep within you, as he groaned. He released your legs, letting them fall back to the bed before he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you, breathing heavily.

You felt boneless and your eyelids were quickly growing heavy. You were so exhausted and falling asleep so quickly that you didn’t register the gentle way he moved you up the bed, to the pillows, and under the covers.

When you woke up, it took you a moment to remember where you were and what had taken place, before you had fallen asleep. Though sore in certain places, you felt great. At least Batman was good for something.

You were about to roll onto your back and stretch, when you realised that there was a calloused hand resting on your hip. He was still here? You had expected him to leave the second the two of you were finished.

You remained relaxed and continued to fein sleep. You knew the second you moved he would stop and you were curious as to what he was doing. His fingers and thumb were running random circles against your skin, occasionally tracing one of the scars that decorated your body. It felt… nice. That was the only way you could think to describe it.

It ended as quickly as it began however and you felt the bed move as he got up. You could hear him moving around the room, no doubt collecting up the pieces of his suit that were strewn across the room. You knew when he had finished dressing by the loud click of his utility belt. You listened to the muffled sound of his heavy boots as he walked across the carpet and toward the door. You heard the door open and there was a pause, like he was… hesitating? No, that wasn’t right. Whatever made him stop, it didn’t stop him for long and soon enough the door shut and you were alone.

You rolled onto your back, looking in the direction of the door. What the hell had that been about?

The next couple of arguments you remembered, but not for the arguments themselves, but rather what they had led to. Which had been you on top of him doing your best to keep quiet so that no one would discover the two of you.

As you laid in the dark, alone, completely relaxed from your orgasm, you thought about the most recent argument. Now that the heat of the moment was over and you were calm, you realised just how stupid his reason for starting it had been. In fact, most recent arguments with him had been over the stupidest of things.

That was when it hit you, he was starting these fights simply so that he could get you alone and have sex with you. How had you not seen it before? No wonder so many of them had started to feel forced.

That made you angry, at both yourself and him. Yourself because you couldn’t believe you had fallen for it and at him because was he truly that incapable of expressing what actually he wanted so he had to rile you up instead? It was bullshit and you were so completely done. Next time an argument broke out between you, you were going to call him out on it.

“What the hell is your problem?” you yelled. “Seriously, it doesn’t matter what I do, whether I follow your orders to a T or I take charge when others are otherwise indisposed, none of it is good enough!” 

The two of you were up on a rooftop in Star City, having helped out Black Canary and Green Arrow with several of the escaped supervillains.

“At first I thought it was because you wanted to make sure that I was cut out for this, but now”— you shook your head —“now I think it’s because you want me to quit. I mean, that’s it right? For whatever reason you’ve decided I’m no longer good enough and now you’re doing everything you can to make sure that I do!”

Batman shook his head. “None of this is about you,” he snapped. “Every day millions of lives depend on us to keep them safe, but not everyone is capable of dealing with the burden. So if me making sure you can deal with it is me pushing you to quit, then maybe you never should have joined the League in the first place!”

Your fists clenched and the sudden urge to deck him filled you. You knew no one would blame you if you did, but you fought the urge. Besides, he had likely already read your body language and would easily catch your fist before it came anywhere close to his face. You took a deep breath and unclenched your fists.

“You're so full of shit. If you had originally thought for even a second that I was incapable I never would have set foot on the Watchtower! And don’t you dare try to lie to me because multiple people have told me as much!”

You took several steps toward him. Batman towered over you, like he did with practically everyone, but you weren’t afraid of him. At the end of the day, like you, he was only human. Just a man in a suit who was so emotionally repressed it was almost laughable.

“And I’m done with your constant nitpicking of the smallest detail just so you can rile me up and fuck me. So next time you want to fuck, you’re going to have to ask nicely.”

You didn’t wait for a response. Instead you spun around on your heels and marched off. You knew what his game was and you refused to play it anymore.

Weeks later you found yourself in the Watchtower’s kitchen, sitting at the table with a nearly empty glass of water in front of you. Your body was bruised and battered, much like the rest of the Justice League. Luthor had given it his all, but, like always, it hadn’t come close to being enough and he was back behind bars. Not that he would be there for long. Men like him never were.

The rest of the League weren’t about, having returned to their homes or quarters to rest. You wouldn’t mind going home yourself, having some greasy fast food followed by a bubble bath and then crawling into bed for a long sleep. The only thing stopping you was the fact you would have to walk past the laboratory that you knew Batman was in.

Ever since that night in Star City, you and him had not shared any words with each other unless it was right before, during or right after a mission. Not even any angry words. You both had actually been somewhat civil. You thought the lack of fighting would make you feel better, relieved even, but instead you found yourself more irritated than before. It wasn’t the arguments you missed however, but rather what had started to follow them in recent months. Your body ached for his and no matter how you went about relieving the ache nothing came close to satisfying you quite like he did.

You wondered if he was feeling the same way. Not that it mattered if he did. Neither of you would ever actually admit it after all. Both of you were far too proud and stubborn.

You downed the rest of your water before you began to slowly get up from your chair. You were going to have to walk past the laboratory sooner or later so it might as well be now. You hissed in pain as the leg you had injured protested against you. Using the table, you steadied yourself. You knew that the following morning was going to suck.

Reaching the zeta tubes had been easier than you had thought it would be, your injured leg not hindering you as much as you thought it might. 

You input your details into the console and selected your destination. You were about to hit the enter button when the feeling of eyes on you had you looking away from the screen to check behind you.

Standing in the doorway was Batman. What the hell did he want? You mentally shook your head. No, you really didn’t care right now. You had takeout menus and a bubble bath waiting for you. You looked away and hit the enter button.

“I’m really not interested, Batman,” you told him before stepping away from the console and into the blinding light of the active zeta tube, leaving him alone on the Watchtower.

*

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[steor-ra]

₊·WELLCOME TO THE GALAXY! · ˚

Hello!

My name is Rose but you can call me star, and I will not reveal my age, but I am old enough to use this app and be suitable in what I write or reblog!

I post yandere batfam/DC context, platonic and romantic. You can ask or request anything but NO any forms of rape, smut or especially incest!!!

What I can write are – yandere, fluff, angst, poly, trans, girl reader male reader, gender neutral, ect...

Please be patient with me, as English is not my first language and I may take a long time to complete posts

Characters I write for:

justice League (solo, partnered, all)

-WonderWoman, superman, green lantern, flash, Batman, black Canary, Martian manhunter.

Young Justice/Teen Titans (solo, partnered, all)

-kid flash, miss Martian, Artemis, Aqualad, robin, Nightwing, Starfire, speedy, Raven, zatana, Superboy, impulse.

Batfamily (solo, partnered, all)

Worklist here

-Tim, Jason, Cassandra, Barbara, Damian, dick, Stephanie, bruce.

Superfamily (solo, partnered, all)

Worklist here

-lois, Clark, Jon, Conner, kon-El

Disclaimer: Some characters are still not added because of my lack of knowledge about them! Will be added in the future

I do not own any Characters mentioned!

©- all rights reserved

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 8

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: A blissful morning is interrupted by a knock at the door and chaos ensues.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter Pt. 1

Natasha looked like the cat who ate the canary, grinning at me over a cup of black coffee. I was eating M&Ms for breakfast, trying to ignore the fact that I had more than one hickey on my neck after Jake decided three in the morning was a good time for a make out session.

“Soooooo,” She took a tip. “Bagman didn’t sleep on the couch last night.” Natasha pushed a tumbler of iced coffee towards me, “And you’re not wearing pants.” I groaned, my head thumping against the counter.

“Did you know that you get really warm when you’re cuddling with someone?” Me trying to take my fuzzy pajama pants off had been what woke Jake up in the middle of the night. “Like, how does one person emit so much extra heat.” 

“Turn the fan on next time. So, did you fuck him?” Why, why, why had out of all of the girls I met freshman year of college had I chosen Natasha as my best friend? 

“Tasha!” I banged my head against the counter again, “Pre-coffee is not the time for this conversation.” 

“Which is why I made you coffee, so drink and spill, Daisy Louise.” I groaned, sipping on the coffee. My head was throbbing and I blamed Natasha and the blonde still asleep in my bed in equal parts. 

“We didn’t sleep together, I mean we did, but not like that.” Natasha booed, “Shut up, we just decided to do the whole something more thing and there was no tequila involved. My apologies for not jumping his bones.”

“You’re forgiven. I could leave, go somewhere for a few hours, and you could-” 

“I swear to God, Tasha. I just want to unscramble my brain before he wakes up and you’re not helping. Like, are we dating? Are we seeing how things are going? I-” There was a knock at the door, “Tell me you didn’t invite Javy over to gloat.” The knocking got louder and more insistent, 

“I didn’t invite anyone over.” Anxiety filled my stomach and by the look on Natasha’s face, I knew she was feeling the same way. Standing in the hallway were two men in matching black suits.

“Daisy Prentiss?” I nodded, suddenly very aware that I didn’t have pants on and my shirt did not extend long enough to cover my underwear by any means. “Agents Mulner and Gaines, FBI Field Office. May we come in?” I froze in horror and then  Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, decorated Naval Lieutenant, and pilot of a billion dollar plane, slammed the door shut in the FBI’s face. 

“Why did you do that?” I yelled, snapping out of my trance.

“I panicked!” She yelled back, eyes wide. “Go put on pants and wake up Bagman, I’ll offer them coffee. Go, shoo,” Natasha pushed me towards the stairs and I didn’t argue, running up the stairs. What the hell was the FBI doing here? A cold dread washed over me. The last time I had spoken with the FBI, they had come to tell me the second worst news of my life. There was no reason to suspect that this time they were the bearers of good news. 

“What’s going on?” Jake asked blearily, sitting up in bed. Sometime in the night he had abandoned his shirt but I didn’t have the time to soak in the view, tripping over my feet to put on my pajama pants.

“The FBI’s here and I’m half naked.” Now Jake was tripping over himself to get dressed,

“What’s the FBI doing here?” This was not how I wanted to do this, to explain to Jake what had happened to my parents but the past was knocking at the door and it was time to answer it. God I hoped Natasha had let the agents in and they weren’t still standing in the hallway.

“They’re here to talk to me about why I fucking hate September and Tasha may have slammed the door in their faces.” 

“Daisy, you’re not making any sense.” I laughed, none of this made sense. Not since the day it had happened had any of this made sense. “Wait for me, baby,” I didn’t wait, rushing back down the stairs, the need to throw up becoming more urgent with every step. The two agents were standing in the kitchen with mugs of coffee while Natasha leaned against the counter, looking like she was going to be sick. 

“Sorry about that, we, uh, panicked.” Agent Mulner nodded,

“Don’t worry, it happens more than you think. Who is this?”

“Lieutenant Seresin, sir.” Jake shook the man’s hand, exuding a level of professionalism that did not match at all with his wrinkled shirt and boxers. If the whole situation wasn’t one straight from my nightmares, it would have been hilarious. Jake was standing behind me like a guard, his hand protectively on my waist. 

“Ms. Prentiss, is there somewhere we can talk privately?” Agent Gaines asked, stroking his goatee. I shook my head at the same time Natasha answered,

“Not happening.” 

“She knows and uh, pretty sure if you tried to get rid of him he’d rack up a resisting arrest charge.” The agents chuckled and then their faces settled into matching grim expressions. This was definitely not going to be good news. “I should sit, yeah?” 

“That would be for the best,” Agent Gaines confirmed, motioning to the couch. Jake and Natasha sat on either side of me, taking one of my hands each. 

“Ms. Prentiss, as you probably know, Rudolph Lance’s execution date has been set for the 19th.” 

“Good,” Natasha hissed, squeezing my hand. Agent Mulner sighed, running a hand through his spiky hair. I could practically hear the gears in Jake’s head turning, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“His lawyer made contact with our agency not too long ago saying that Mr. Lance is now willing to confess to an additional twenty-one murders.” Even sitting, I felt the floor fall from beneath me, swaying into Natasha’s side. My vision went blurry and it dawned on me that I must have been crying. “Including that of your parents.” 

“What’s the catch?” Natasha asked, her grip on my hand bone-breaking. Jake’s was equally as firm. “There’s no way that monster is just going to give up this information.” 

“It’s more common than you might think, killers on death row wanting to confess to additional murders,” Agent Mulner explained. “It extends their life because there has to be additional investigations and trials.” No, no, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was happening. “Mr. Lance has agreed to do this on one condition. He will confess to you and only to you, face to face.” Jake and Natasha both swore loudly on either side of me but all I could manage was a weak,

“Why me?” 

“Our behavioral analysts believe it’s because you’re somehow special to him. Your parents were the only ones with children and you saw him, you testified against him, and they think that this is one more way that he wants to torture you.” The weight of it all slammed into me and I cried harder. 

“Of course, we can’t force you to meet with him,” Agent Gaines’ voice was steady, like this was an everyday conversation for him and not the end of my world. “But this would bring closure to many other families and you’re the only one who can do it.” 

“Get the hell out of our apartment,” Natasha shouted, bringing me into her chest like a momma bear, pulling Jake along with us by our connected hands. He was draped over my back like a shield, protecting me from the agents and their words. 

“You have time to decide, Ms. Prentiss. I’ll leave my card on the counter.” Being in a snuggle-sandwich between Natasha and Jake had not been on my bingo card for the day but then again, neither had standing in front of the FBI in my undies. 

“I need a cigarette,” I whispered into Natasha’s neck, “Menthols.” I had picked the habit up in high school to help drop weight but kicked it in college when I couldn’t afford it anymore. On occasion, when things were bad, all I wanted was a smoke.

“You still smoking Newports?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got a pack of them in my underwear drawer. The lighter’s in my nightstand.” Jake helped me lean back so that Natasha could stand, kissing my forehead, then jogging up the stairs. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Jake kissed my hair. I wanted to laugh but couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“That’s the thing that caught you off guard about this morning?” 

“I didn’t want to ask about the other thing,” My gentleman. I rolled my eyes, lacing my fingers with his, the warmth of his hand grounding me in the moment. “And I’m not going to but Daisy, baby, I’m here to do whatever you need.” I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. 

“Go home, Jake. This is way more than you signed up for.” Natasha came downstairs with the sealed pack of cigarettes and a lighter, distracting Jake long enough for me to get up without him pulling me back to him. “Thanks, Tasha.” 

“Smoke slow, don’t give yourself a head rush,” She squeezed my arm. “I’ll order breakfast.” I squeezed her arm back and headed out to the porch without another word. 

The smoke burned my lungs, the cool menthol keeping my mind in check. This was going to get a lot worse before it got better, it always did. I would have to call my agent and my publisher, let them know I wouldn’t be making progress for a few weeks. Personal reasons. If Jason found out about Rudolph Lance, he would be trying to schedule me on whatever news channels and podcasts were covering the story and that was the last thing I needed. 

Once I finished the cigarette I gave the door a firm knock, a warning for Jake and Natasha that I was coming back in. They were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, staring at me as I walked in.

“Daisy, we should talk,” Natasha said but I brushed past them both, saying that I needed to brush my teeth. Halfway through my ABCs my stomach lurched.

“Shit.” I dove for the toilet, stomach acid and candy filling the basin. The door opened and then Jake was rubbing my back and holding my hair. This was the worst day of the last decade of my life and it just kept getting worse. 

Jake didn’t need to see me like this, he didn’t need to be weighed down by my personal baggage, and as much as I wanted to hold his hand through it all, it wasn’t fair to him. Even if he offered to. When there was nothing left to expel, I flushed, and Jake helped me stand with a steadying hand on my hip. He didn’t say a word as I brushed my teeth until my gums bled. 

“Go home, Jake.” I weakly shoved at his chest. “I mean it, you don’t need to be here.” He pulled me into his chest, resting his chin on my head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Daisy,” He promised, kissing my forehead. “If you’re here, I’m here with you. Remember?” The conversation last night felt like a fantasy, a dream, one that I wished I could return to and never leave. But this was reality and it was far from a dream.

“Go home,” I offered him another out while holding him tight. “I won’t hold it against you.” 

“Daisy,” He said sternly. “Stop trying to push me away because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Okay, I was a little scared. “I’m pissed and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He didn’t even budge, “But if you’re not going to run away screaming yet, can we lay in bed? With Tasha?” 

“I normally don’t share but I’ll make an exception,” Even in my tired state, I made sure to store that information away for a later date. Possessive Jake. It made sense. 

X

Natasha was the big spoon, curled protectively around Daisy while I had ear pressed against Daisy’s heart, listening to its steady beating. Javy was on his way over with Wendys, a bottle of tequila from Penny and Mav, and apparently the other guys had thrown in some gifts as well that Javy was in charge of delivering. Everyone had their own pasts and were understanding that something big was going down and were trying in their own ways to be supportive. Daisy had an entire adoptive family ready to help her through this ordeal but when it came to her own flesh and blood, well, that was another issue entirely. Every few minutes Phoenix would bring up calling Harvey but Daisy kept shutting her down before she could get through the full sentence. 

“He’d want to be here for you,” Phoenix tried again and I felt Daisy’s heart rate increase.

“I don’t give a shit, Tasha. No one tells Harvey, I’m the big sister, this is my responsibility.” My initial confusion was quickly overcome by a need to call my sisters and tell them that I loved them. Helen and Caroline had always had my back when it mattered and now I was realizing they might have been protecting me from things I didn’t even know about. 

“I don’t get it, Daisy.” Phoenix let out a frustrated groan, “Why don’t you-” 

“I’m the one who watched that monster slice our parents to ribbons, I’m the one who carried Harvey to the neighbors with my hand over his eyes, I’m the one who testified. Harvey is happy, healthy, and well-adjusted with three beautiful daughters and a wife.” Daisy’s voice was colder than I had ever heard it, leaving no room for arguments. “I would rather die than let that monster anywhere near my brother’s life, do you understand me? Lance can play his mind games with me all he wants but Harvey is off limits.” The sentiment was one I understood, wanting to protect her brother and his family, but the way she had phrased it sparked a different kind of worry in my chest.

“Fine,” Phoenix’s tone let it be known that there was nothing fine about the situation. She pulled away when someone, presumably Javy, knocked on the door. “I really hope it’s not the FBI again,” Phoenix huffed and for the first time this morning, Daisy’s laughter filled the room. It was hysterical laughter, the kind that didn’t make sense, but it made my chest feel just a bit lighter. Like things were going to be okay. 

“Jake?” She gasps between laughs and I adjust so that we’re eye-to-eye. Her dark eyes are rimmed red, filled with tears. 

“Yeah, baby?” Daisy surged forward and kissed me soundly but only for a second. I chased her lips as she pulled away, kissing her again. Daisy relaxed into my chest, breaking away with three quick kisses.

“This is your last chance to save yourself, Jake,” She whispered, dark eyes staring into my soul but I didn’t flinch. I kissed her again, softly, just for a moment.

“I told you, baby, I’m not going anywhere. If you’re here, I’m here with you.” 

Next Chapter

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