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introloves · 4 years

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anon: okay so i just went through (the entirety) of your bokuto tag and lemme just say, boxer! bokuto??? yeah top tier. you just KNOW that every time he wins he wraps that medal round your neck and makes you watch in the mirror as he uses it to choke you and keep your head up and eyes on his while he absolutely rails you. shit after fights you’d look just as bruised as him.

— boxer! bokuto + marking + choking + pain + possessive! bokuto + overstimulation + size kink + bokuto calls reader ‘puppy’ + cream pie + f! reader

— word count; 2k

— boxerverse! bokuto: one shot no. 2

he’s trembling, high strung with the adrenaline that still hasn’t left him. it’s funny seeing him whine for your attention, someone so big and muscular like him looking absolutely destroyed when you give him a stern look against his kisses.

it’s so very apparent in the way he handles you that hes looking at you to help him come down.

“bo, calm down.” you pant, trying to push his hands away, its a futile attempt to keep his wandering fingers away from your pants. its like he’s magnetized to the waistband of them, digits twitch when you slap them down.

he’s big, strong, a finely tuned machine built for taking hits and giving them back like a bullet but your rejection makes him pout.

there’s a twist of pain in your chest when he gets like this, but he needs to rest.

despite everything, he acts like its just been another day, but it hasn’t even been two hours since his last fight. theres a bruise painting his lip, another one against his brow, red splotches litter his sides and stomach but he shakes your prying hands off thick wrists, fingers hooking into your waistband and pulling them down to your thighs. he looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. waiting for the okay he knows is inevitably going to come.

“fine, but if i see you wince, we’re stopping.” you sigh, smiling at the absolute beam of teeth and curled lips he gives you.

he’s so fast, peeling off every bit of clothing you had worn tonight. he had to have you, needed it like he needed that win.

a win that he already has, now he just needs you.

you cant deny that his excitement isn’t making you wet, he’s like a god above you, vying for your attention and body. he was truly glorious tonight, muscles taut and coiled as he bounced along the white canvas. biceps curled and ready for his opening to land one of his signature right hooks. he takes every hit against his body like it’s nothing, completely unfazed by his opponent. at one point during the match he taunted them, dropping his arms and baring his teeth, just waiting for the fight to truly get good. it makes you squirm, he could be so intimidating, watching like a predator for any opening, any hole in the opponents defense.

your body flushes in memory of watching him land that final hit, he sees the way your thighs squish together. groaning at the thought that your body was responding to his advances, surely knowing by memory how good he fucks you.

your bo always looks so strong and powerful. no matter where he is, whether he’s fighting or when he’s trapping you against those strong arms.

it makes you sigh at the pure determination he’s dripping in, rolling your eyes as he gives you a once over, wiggling his eyebrows at you, torso stretching to reach something from the bedside table, canines flashing as he shows you his newest trophy. its a devious look, proud eyes glinting down at you.

you feel that you can read his mind, about to tell him that, no you won’t fuck him while he’s wearing it, but he lowers it over your head, giving you a bigger smile as the heavy and cold metal lands right between your tits.

“that looks real good on you.” he finally says, abs contracting with the pangs of arousal crawling up his neck. he flinches just a bit at the soreness there, he’s a little more beat up than usual, but hides it well. if there’s anything he needs other than rest, its to fuck you dizzy.

he thinks he might be a total meat head with just how much he likes the image of you wearing something he worked so hard to win, a primal heat licking at the arousal also flaring inside him. you’re really truly his, bokuto can see it in your eyes, regarding him like hes strung the moon up in the sky.

you belong to him, just as he does you. just like that shiny medal you’re wearing.

the bed creaks under his weight when he leans down to kiss you, hand grabbing your face, keeping you right where he wants you. tongue immediately slipping past your lips, pulling a cute whine. he’s sloppy with it, teeth bumping against your own, spit trailing down the corner of both your mouths. when he pulls away, your eyes cross to watch the string of spit connecting the both of you.

he swipes his tongue out and catches it, mumbling something when he sees you reach for him.

“sit back.” you realize he says a little late, snapped out of the haze by the gentle tap of his index finger against your cheek.

koutarou makes a show to peel the rash guard he was wearing under his shorts off. his creamy, muscled thighs finally grace your vision. it makes your body temperature rise several degrees at once, the hot flash only encouraged when you see his dick lying pretty against his thigh. you reach for him, but the advance is stopped by his hands, he doesnt say anything but grips your wrists a little tighter.

your gaze moves from his purpled knuckles up to his eyes, the amber there looks just a tad bit cooler and you immediately know it’s going to be a bad day for you tomorrow.

“want you on your tummy.” bokuto states, and you listen.

waiting for his hands to grip your hips, but he lags just a little. turning your head to look at him you ask if everything’s okay,

“you remember our safe word?” he inquires, and you nod, blanching just a little. his words send a prickle of fear down your spine, you suddenly feel very vulnerable and exposed.

“well, what is it?”

bokutos hand comes down to grip your shoulder, huffing against your ear. theres a small pull there, bringing your shoulders back to meet him halfway.

“j-juice.”

he’s right there, waiting for the last syllable to leave your lips, poking the head of his dick against your cunt. it leaves you breathless, smooth, velvet skin leaving a wet trail of precum right on your clit.

it makes you exhale out a high pitched keen, unable to stop it from tumbling out a little louder than expected.

the whine has him purring, humming out a, “good girl.”

there’s nothing in the world that you can compare the way he splits you open. the first stroke is always careful, makes sure youre nice and relaxed, wet enough to take him. you always are of course, how could you not with the way he holds you, pulling you back by your shoulders, making your back bend as much as it can, the twist of your body like that makes for a real tight squeeze, feels like the already limited room inside your cunt is cut back to an absolute zero.

it should hurt, but you’ve taken him enough that hes practically carved the shape of him into your pussy.

he has you nice and compliant under his hands, head thrown back to leave the most fucked out sounds of pure ecstasy rattle through your lungs and into the room.

he can feel the chemistry, something akin to electricity, between the two of you. if he could form into words what its like when you lean agasint him, completely trusting him to take care of you, to make you feel good, he’d fill a book up- and pocket it to reread over and over.

bokuto releases you, letting your shoulders fall forward gently before reaching around and pulling the, now, warm metal from between your body and the bed.

it catches you by surprise when he gives it a tug, the silk cutting into your prominent veins, making you go weak and dizzy.

if you couldn’t think or talk before he was doing this, you definitely weren’t going to be able to while he was.

your hands find the pillows above you for leverage, biting down onto your lip when he begins a brutal pace against your hips. hes pinned you down onto the bed with his mass, not even letting you arch your hips to give him better access to your cunt.

“ghh, kou- kou feels good.” you cry, taking an index finger into your mouth to bite, theres not a spot on your body where you dont feel him, so big above you, you can feel the press of his dick in your throat.

“i know it does puppy.” he grits out, still biting back the pain that each brutal contact against your body brings him. hes got the stamina, the sweat hes broken out thus far isnt too bad, but the position and the way hes taking you- hand still holding onto that precious medal- is taking a toll on him.

he knows he needs to make you cum fast.

and knowing his sweet baby, the way to do that is to rough you up just a bit. it’s real endearing.

the silk burns just a little when he shifts behind you, making sure to keep a good grip on it- you dont connect the dots of what hes preparing to do, not until he pulls back.

you’re mid scream before he cuts you off, tears forming in your eyes against the rasp and wheeze of your breathing. the tension around your throat isnt forceful enough to cut your oxygen off completely, it just leaves you wheezing and gives you a nice haze to your vision.

you’ve tensed up completely, knees locking, hands gripping the pillow above you for dear life.

the reaction from you makes him shake, you can feel the stutter of his hips, hearing the high whine leave his throat, he powers through it. he clashes his teeth together and snarls, blinking back stars when he speeds up.

“c’mon, cum. cum for me, puppy.” bokuto grunts.

its not like you to not listen, as soon as his words leave his mouth, you’re closing your eyes.

you’ve gone limp for a second, and bokuto truly fears that hes overdone it, he drops the grip he has on his trophy, about to stop everything, but then your tremors start.

your legs, still pinned down between his own, shake. he sees your cute little hands slap the pillow and swallows deeply. you’re silent- but he can hear the echoes of moans that want to leave your throat thanks to your open mouth and head that’s thrown back. it takes you two seconds before you seem to flicker back to life,

“ghhhh, hhhh! koutarou, kou!” his name is the first coherent thing that leaves your mouth, and he swears there’s nothing better. he cant compare you to winning a match, knocking out his opponent in a KO- because seeing you like this, hearing you scream his name like that would win every time.

he’d like to comment on how eagerly you’re milking his cock, but the pulsing of your cunt around his fat, big dick does him in.

there’s no time to pull out, wasn’t planning on it anyways, but the squeezing of you againts him, leaking your cum down to the base of him, wetting his pubes with you, also leaves no room for it.

it’s obscene, the squelching sounds of his pistoning, cumming cock, creaming your insides white, all the while pushing it out of your cunt with every thrust.

it splatters against your ass and his thighs, white globs of it stick against the two of you while he rides out the throbbing. there’s nothing more satisfying than filling you up, a deep tingle nipping at the base of his skull when he thinks about his cum kept warm in your cunt.

this is what finally tires him out. the tremor and twitching of his strong arms visible when he reaches down and pulls his limp dick from you, he saves you the pain of his weight crushing against your already fragile body by plopping down beside you, you jump up on the bed with the force of his weight collapsing beside you.

the sticky heat is no match for his eagerness to hold you after it all. you slot against his front easily, almost completely dwarfed by his frame.

“‘re you proud ‘fme.” he slurs against your neck, trapping his thigh between your legs. he shivers when he feels the mess of his own cum smear absolutely everywhere.

your hand comes down to rest over his arms, protectively secured around your torso.

“always. i love you so much.” you whisper back, voice just a tiny bit raspy and sore.

“mm, loveyoumore.”

he’s out before you can count to ten, hearing you say that puts a smile on his face while his breathing evens out behind you.

you take the lightest of touches to the bruises on his knuckles, your koutarou truly was something else. while he sought out your validation, you basked in the glory and security of someone as grand as him holding you tight.

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pattysplaceofplaces · 2 years

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Psyche Evaluation

Yandere Mime Bomb x Gender Neutral Reader

[Author’s Note: Please don’t take this too seriously, I just wanted to write something creepy. Seriously though I could be writing another chapter about witwimc or answering requests but noooo my brain has been fixated on this concept for days dammit]

Content Warning: Mentions of senseless violence, obsession, encouragement of obsessive/dangerous behavior.

C/n = Code Name

�� “Okay, what does this look like to you?” Pale and bony hands held up a small canvas covered in black paint with no particular shape or form. “Please don’t say C/n again.” The mime boy didn’t move his hand. Professor Maelstrom sighed in annoyance. “You have a brilliant mind, one that is often misunderstood. Yet I’m afraid your…infatuation has been causing problems.” Mime bomb leaned his cheek into his hand to show his boredom. Yet his eyes darted across the room. A subtle threat he was ready to attack the Professor with whatever was in the room if he hit a sensitive spot.

The Professor looked through your file, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t escalate the situation. Your true name was Y/n L/n. You had a great mind yet combat didn’t come naturally to you. Because of that, you acted as a teacher’s assistant. Giving tips to the thieves in training, supervising them during faux capers, and taking over for a faculty member when they had something important to take care of. You didn’t leave the island often and didn’t get much action yet you seemed happy. You were different from the rest and because of that you were given a different job than just a white collar thief.

“You haven’t caused many problems for us in the past so the faculty is choosing to do this in a calm manner.” The boy in front of him still seemed unimpressed. Was he even paying attention? “But you will still be held accountable for your actions. That is why I must ask, do you think attacking a student was justified?” A smile appeared on painted lips as he nodded. “Out of sheer jealousy?” Another nod. “You’re quite lucky, I’m being very lenient with you. The other faculty wanted to give you a bigger penalty.” Mime Bomb sat up straight, narrowing his eyes.

Professor Maelstrom chuckled nervously, putting his hands up to his chest. “Now, now, there’s no need for any hostility. I am quite fascinated by your mind and I would like to know more about your…unusual habits. I want you to meet me here when you are called or come in when you might be a risk to someone’s safety.” The Mime tilted his head to the side, one brow raised. He didn’t see the point of doing something so time consuming. He could be with you instead! “And in return for letting me do this research, C/n will be working with you more often. They don’t have to know about what’s going behind the scenes. Does that sound nice?” He extended his hand out and a gloved hand shook his own.

“It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Mime Bomb. I sincerely hope you won’t disappoint.”

#Carmen Sandiego #carmen sandeigo 2019 #Carmen Sandiego fan fiction #Fanfiction #X reader #Mime Bomb x reader #Yandere mime bomb #Yandere mime bomb x reader #Yandere x reader #I don’t condone this behavior #Healthy relationships are cooler #Why the hell did I even spend time making this #Brain why

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

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(The Bad Batch) Preferences-Carving Pumpkins

(Author’s Note: Ahhh, I had so much fun writing these!!! I’m super excited for autumn, and I just needed an outlet involving our awesome squad

Warnings: Squash being butchered, pumpkin guts....Oh, and some smooching).

Wrecker:

“Hey, sweetie?” Wrecker asked, and you glanced up from your selection of pumpkins. He stood very still as his eyes flickered back and forth between two very large pumpkins that you were sure you wouldn’t be able to lift. He stroked his chin in contemplation.

“What’s up?” You folded your arms as you stood next to him.

“Which one looks bigger to you?”

You knelt down, dedicating several seconds to observing each pumpkin and taking mental measurements. They were nearly identical in size. “That’s a tough one. They both look the same size to me, but if I had to choose which one I thought was bigger-” you pointed “-I’d say that one.”

Wrecker stared at the pumpkin for a few moments before nodding. “Yeah,” he agreed slowly. “I’d say you’re right.” He immediately knelt down and set to work on cutting through the stem with his viroblade. Meanwhile, you had also reached a decision on a pumpkin, and asked your love if he wouldn’t mind picking it for you. Wrecker was happy to oblige, cutting the stem with his viroblade and gently handing the freed pumpkin over to you.

The others had already picked theirs and were heading over to the benches to clean and carve them. You and Wrecker carried your pumpkins over to the nearest empty bench, claiming your tools. Wrecker’s huge pumpkin took up half of the table.

“So what are you going to do with your pumpkin?” you asked as you cut through the top of your pumpkin and proceeded to clean out the insides.

“It’s a surprise!” he replied enthusiastically.

You lifted a brow, but smiled. “In that case, mine’s a surprise too.”

“How about we do a big reveal when we’re done?”

You nodded. “I like that idea.”

As you began to carve your design, it was hard not to notice the occasional chuckles and snickers as Wrecker set to work on his pumpkin. Every now and then, he’d take a few steps back to look at it, huff out another fit of laughter, and then return to the project. You were growing increasingly interested in what his would look like, but still kept your eyes on your own pumpkin. Finally, both of you finished your projects and got ready for the big reveal.

“Alright, on the count of three?” you prompted.

He grinned. “One...”

“Two…”

Both of you shouted, “three!” and spun your pumpkins around to face each other. At the sight of Wrecker’s pumpkin, you burst into laughter. It was a very silly face with big eyes and a wobbly smile, but it was carved so well, so precisely, it looked like a meme from the holonet.

“Okay, that’s funny.” You laughed.

“Yours looks good, ________!” he said, giving you a playful nudge.

“Thanks.” You turned to smile at him, and he pulled you into his strong arms. His breathing picked up as he leaned into your space for a tender kiss.

“I wanted to kiss ya’ so bad a few minutes ago,” he told you, “but I didn’t want you to think I was trying to sneak a peek at your pumpkin before it was ready.”

You returned the kiss, lingering over his lips for a moment as you murmured, “well, you don’t have to worry about that now.”

Crosshair:

“Will this work?” he asked for the third time, though there wasn’t an ounce of impatience in his tone.

“No, it needs to be more slender,” you decided with a shake of your head. “And maybe just a tad taller?” Crosshair backed away from the pumpkin he’d offered, eyes scanning the patch in search of one that better fit your description. He knelt down, pushing away some leaves to reveal a pumpkin that was taller and thinner than the other one.

“How’s this?”

You knelt down beside him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to picture how your design would look. It looked great in your mind. Now, it was time to make it reality. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

Crosshair unsheathed his viroblade and swiftly cut the vine, detaching the pumpkin and handing it to you. “There you go.” You accepted it sweetly, unable to resist kissing him in appreciation for the gesture. He hadn’t even questioned you on the design or complained once, only set to work on helping you find exactly what it was you wanted. You waited for him to choose a pumpkin, which was a shorter process, before the two of you walked over to the nearest bench.

You set to work on emptying the pumpkin of its guts, glancing over every so often to watch Crosshair at work. Once in a while, he’d catch your gaze and notice the mischievous smile that you tried so hard to hide.

He paused, straightening up from his task and fishing out a toothpick. “What?”

“Nothing,” you replied. “Oh, uh… Can I borrow one of those?”

He lifted a brow, but said nothing as he pulled out another toothpick and passed it to you across the table.

“Thanks, Cross.” You lowered your gaze, but it did nothing to hide the glint in your eye as you continued working on your pumpkin carving. Crosshair returned to his project, though he still kept an eye on you. At one point, he smirked at how absolutely giddy you looked.

Finally, your pumpkin was complete. You placed the last finishing touch, the toothpick, where it needed to be and stood back to admire it. Crosshair’s was done moments later.

“So, let’s see what we have here,” he said, motioning for you to show him. You grinned and turned the pumpkin around, revealing your handiwork. You had chosen the pumpkin’s shape with purpose. It was the perfect canvas to carve Crosshair’s face into it, complete with the crosshairs tattoo over its right eye and a toothpick sticking out of its mouth.

Crosshair exhaled sharply in amusement, his expression so cocky and strangely attractive as he shifted his stance. “That’s a handsome pumpkin,” he commented.

“Glad you think so,” you said. “What does yours look like?”

He chuckled, placing a hand on the top of his pumpkin to spin it around. It had your face, and it was well-carved too.

That’s a pretty pumpkin,” you told him with a growing smile. He met your gaze with amusement dancing in his.

“Glad you think so.”

Hunter:

Hunter cut your chosen pumpkin from the vine, handing it to you with care. “There you go, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you said.

While you had taken your time in picking out the pumpkin you wanted, he wasn’t choosy and ended up taking the one closest to yours for himself. Both of you went to one of the benches and set to work. Apparently, Hunter was more interested in the carving part. You paused to watch him take one of the tools and expertly cut the pumpkin open to remove the insides. You found yourself resting an elbow on the table as you observed the sergeant, your pumpkin nearly forgotten altogether in the moment.

Hunter caught your eye, smiling when he realized you’d been watching him. He twirled the carving tool between his fingers and gave a playful wink. Your face heated up as you pulled your pumpkin closer to your end of the table to begin working on it.

“Need some help?” he asked, mistaking your momentary distraction from your project as uncertainty.

“No, I’m good. I just needed a minute to think about my design,” you said, which was also true. “I’m not so helpless, Sergeant.”

The use of his title in such a playful tone made him chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart. I just can’t help it.”

You rounded the bench to plant a kiss to his lips, and he welcomed your touch with arms going for your waist instantly. “I know,” you murmured, letting him know that you took no offense. “You’re just so used to helping everyone else. I like that about you.”

He exhaled, and there was no missing the slight tremble of his body. You pulled away and headed back to your side of the bench to continue carving your design. Every now and then, you couldn’t resist glancing over to watch Hunter skillfully carve the numbers “99” in a large aurebesh font into his pumpkin with the signature skull symbol at the top right.

“Your design,” he spoke up, peeking over. “Looks good, ________.”

“Why, thank you. I like your Bad Batch pumpkin,” you replied.

Tech:

“Are you certain this is the one you want?” Tech asked. You nodded at the chosen pumpkin, and he cut the vine to hand it over to you. “There you are, love.”

“Thank you, Tech,” you said.

“It is no trouble at all. Now, the trick will be finding the right one for myself.”

You knew how particular Tech could be about things, but you didn’t realize how seriously he would take the endeavor of selecting the “right” pumpkin. Even so, you waited patiently, your own pumpkin in hand, for several minutes as Tech browsed rows of the patch. You loved him for who he was, but it was hard to wait quietly anymore. At one point, you had to set down your pumpkin because it began to weigh heavily in your arms.

“What exactly are you looking for?” you asked. Perhaps you could help the process along.

“I’m looking for the pumpkin with the most aesthetic appeal- good color and symmetry are important.”

“Oh, okay.” You knelt down, pointing. “What about this one? It looks like the kind of pumpkin you’d see in a fall article on the holonet.”

He followed your gaze, adjusting his goggles. “I saw that one already. It is indeed a good pumpkin, but still not quite what I’m looking for.” You shrugged and kept looking, but none that you saw were even as nice as the first one you’d pointed out. Finally, you heard an exclamation from farther down the row.

“Ah, I found it.” Tech had been kneeling down to inspect it before making the commitment of picking it. He approached, leaning in to give you an apologetic peck on the cheek. “Sorry it took so long. Thank you for waiting.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled. “I’m glad you’re happy with your pumpkin.”

Both of you went over to the benches to begin prepping the pumpkins for carving. The rest of the squad were nearly done with theirs already, but everyone was talking and joking around, so there was no rush. Tech chatted about varieties of squash for a few minutes as you worked. He paused every now and then to admire your design out loud and relocate some of the tools closer to your side of the bench since he had a tendency to hog them.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Good, good.”

You walked over to his side of the table. “Do you mind if I look?”

“Not at all. Mind you, it’s not quite finished yet.”

You were amazed to see a little fall scene carved into the pumpkin, complete with a barn, a scarecrow, and a bare tree. “Wow, Tech! This is great.”

“It’s still not done,” he reminded, as if that should make you less impressed.

“It really looks great though,” you insisted, cupping his cheek and angling his mouth toward yours for an affectionate kiss. That seemed to get his attention, drawing it away from fussing over what he saw as an incomplete project. His eyes gazed at you softly through the large lenses, and his lips turned up in a smile.

“I’m having... fun,” he said, arm tightening around your waist.

“Me too.”

Echo:

Echo cut your pumpkin from the patch swiftly, passing it to you, before taking a short walk down the rest of the row. It wasn’t long before he found one that was decent-looking and knelt to cut the vine.

“How fun is this?” you asked happily, carrying your pumpkin as you walked beside him on the way to the benches.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a smile. “Me and the boys did this once on leave.” he chuckled. “Jesse got in trouble for throwing pumpkin innards at Fives.”

You laughed at the mental image. “That sounds like a good time.”

Echo shook his head, though a chuckle escaped his lips. “If Wrecker starts throwing pumpkin guts...”

“Knowing Wrecker, that very well may be a possibility.” The two of you got settled at the nearest empty bench. You glanced over to see Wrecker was indeed tossing some pumpkin insides in Crosshair’s direction, earning a grumbled “grow up, Wrecker” from his teammate. You stifled a laugh and set to work on emptying your own pumpkin. You and Echo worked side-by-side, absolutely content with the proximity despite bumping elbows often.

Your heart sped up while the rest of you felt simultaneously relaxed at his side. There was a happy calm that settled between you because you were simply together. Yet, every time he glanced your way with that sure gaze, it nearly made you shudder.

“Looking good,” he commented, pausing to get a better look at your nearly-complete pumpkin carving.

With lips curling into a smile, you asked, “Me, or the pumpkin?”

Echo chuckled. “Both.”

You leaned in to press a light kiss to your boyfriend’s jaw. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He seemed momentarily dazed from the unexpected gesture, but he soon looked at you with a mischievous glint. “Now, was that aimed at me, or the pumpkin?”

You laughed.

“I’m being serious,” he deadpanned. “Because if I misunderstood, then this next part will be very embarrassing for me.” He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in for a longer kiss, his lips caressing yours in a way that nearly made your knees buckle.

“So embarrassing,” you murmured teasingly. You separated to continue your projects, shoulders still touching. His pumpkin carving was a typical face with triangle eyes and a gaping smile, but it was done very well. “I like your pumpkin,” you said.

“Thank you, m’lady. I like your design too.”

“Thank you.”

Omega at the Pumpkin Patch: She takes the process seriously, spending quite a bit of time choosing the right pumpkin for what she had planned. The others were curious because she chose a pumpkin that was much wider than it was tall, and she kept it angled away from the group as she worked. Anytime someone would venture over to check her progress, she’d quickly stand up in front of it to block the view.

After she finally beamed and announced she was done, everyone gathered around to see she had carved an image of the entire squad into the pumpkin.

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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You Light The Spark In My Bonfire Heart

Kyle Rayner x Batbro One-Shot

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I HAVEN'T HAD ANY WIFI ALL DAY BUT NOW I DO AND this is my new obsession and pair and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Kyle had an easy morning routine: get up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, workout, shower, drink protein shake, and draw. It was simple and effective, and helped him maintain a sense of normalcy that he didn’t always have when he was up in space. He typically started out with sketching small things, mostly faces and limbs from memory, the occasional suit redesign, then he’d get into the bigger works, drawing comic panels and the commissions he had. And while Kyle loved to be up in space, to be a Green Lantern, drawing felt like coming home to him, like it was the natural state. That being said, he didn’t love being interrupted when he was in the middle of something important—it was bad for the groove.

***

As the second round of knocking sounded on his door, Kyle grunted and stood from his desk, padding through the hallway to his front door; he flicked the lock and pulled open the door, surprise etching across his face when he saw the eldest Wayne leaning against the door frame—rather cockily, Kyle added, because the soldier’s arm was propped on the frame, the other stuck in the side-pocket of his dark tactical bomber jacket.

“Good morning, Kyle,” he greeted with a smirk. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The Lantern blinked, shaking his head. “Uh, no, you’re not, (Y/N).” he looked at him. “What are you doing here?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Had some business to take care of for my dad, and since I was in the area, I figured I’d drop by and see if you wanted to get some lunch with me.”

Kyle took a moment to lean out the doorway slightly, looking down the stretched hallway. “How’d you know where I live?”

“Please, a magician never reveals his secrets,” he deflected coolly, gazing at Kyle. “What do you say? Wanna get some lunch? I know a really good sports bar that serves great food.”

He looked back at (Y/N) and smiled. “Yeah. Let me go get dressed.”

The soldier merely winked in return and with fumbling hands, Kyle managed to shut the door before his cheeks burst into flames, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull together an outfit that would impress the man.

***

Kyle almost dropped to his knees when he saw the car parked outside his apartment building, and (Y/N) knew it too, because he chirped, “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

He nodded dumbly. “Is this a McLaren 720S?”

“Mhm.” He opened the doors and slid into the driver’s seat, looking through the passenger door. “Coming?”

“Am I ever,” Kyle breathed, climbing into the seat, immediately running his hands along the dashboard and seat. “I’m in love.”

“Wait till you hear her purr,” (Y/N) said, closing the doors, and pushing the ignition. The sports car roared to life and he grinned at the way Kyle’s face melted. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He put the car in drive and looked through the side mirror, then pulled out onto the street.

“Is this one of your dad’s cars?”

“Nah, I bought this for myself a couple months ago.” He pulled the sunglasses from his t-shirt and put them on. “This and an Audi TT.”

Kyle huffed a laugh. “Jesus, you billionaires live it up, don’t you?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Hey, I live life in the fast lane. Might as well drive in it too.” He pushed a button on the touch screen and music filtered through the speakers, and Kyle’s face pinched in confusion. “What?”

“This isn’t—James Blunt isn’t the music I figured you’d play.”

“What’d you think I’d be listening too? Rock?” he chuckled, turning the volume down a bit. “Don’t get me wrong, I listen to all kinds of rock music, but I figured you’d want something easy rather than head-bang your brains out rock.” (Y/N) stopped at a red light and glanced over. “You can look through the artists on my phone if you want.”

Kyle shook his head, relaxing into the seat as the melody flowed through him. “No, I like this artist.” The soldier merely smiled in return, pressing the gas pedal again, and Kyle suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of artist, I saw the canvas in your bedroom the other day. Do you draw?”

(Y/N) hummed. “Not like you. It’s more of a pastime than a lifestyle.”

“You’re good at it. You’re painting your family in their suits. Details and designs included.” The artist regarded him with impression. “That takes skill.”

“I’d like to think I just have a steady hand and a lot of patience for stressful tasks.” (Y/N) turned the wheel, coming up behind a line of cars. “It’s an easy way for me to relax and mentally run through past events.”

“Like what?” Kyle questioned curiously.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, but not in a loathing way, more of a thoughtful one. “Missions, conversations, things I could’ve done differently, things I will do differently.” He shrugged again. “Painting for me is just a time when I think about everything and nothing.”

“Well, you’re great at it, (Y/N).”

He snorted. “It’s just a bunch of paintings of my family and friends and military shit.”

Kyle blinked and leaned over. “Wait, is that painting in the den—”

“The one of the F-18 Super Hornet?”

“Yeah. You painted that?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yep. I got Hal Jordan to take me up in one a few years ago and decided to commemorate the trip.”

“Wow,” the Lantern breathed. “I stared at that canvas for at least an hour the first time I saw it. I was just so blown away by how amazing it was.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And to find out, you drew it and not some world-famous painter.”

“Hey, I could be world famous if I wanted.” (Y/N) shot back, turning onto a less busy backstreet. “I just choose to retain my talents for family and friends.”

“Because of your job?”

“That too.” He agreed. “My squad and I take careful precautions to avoid our faces being seen during any missions for the safety of our families.” His face turned as solemn as his voice. “We do what we do to make the world safer. To keep our families and friends safe. It’s imperative that we’re not seen.”

Kyle cocked a brow. “But you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

“I am,” he nodded. “But I’m not as…out as the rest of my siblings. You’d be able to recognize them from press photos, but me not so much.” (Y/N) pulled into a parking spot outside the bar. “People only recognize me when they see the name on the credit cards. And I prefer to keep it that way.” A goofy smile crossed his lips. “The high life isn’t for me.”

“Says the man that drives a 710 horsepower sports car.” Kyle shot back with a grin of his own and (Y/N) stuck his tongue out as he turned the car off and opened the doors.

“Okay, I’m not actively in the high life but that doesn’t mean I don’t like luxury.” He closed the car doors and opened the front door to the bar for Kyle. “After you.”

“Thank you.” He replied, and walked inside, only stopping to turn and ask, “Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?”

(Y/N) tipped his head to the side. “I’m down with both, but I like the bar more.”

“Bar it is,” Kyle said and slid into one of the chairs, (Y/N) the other, and an older man wandered over.

“Well, I’ll be damned, is that (Y/N) Wayne I see?”

He turned, expression morphing into joy as he reached out and shook the older man’s hand. “Jack, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you son. How’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know me, sir. Nothin’ changing but the weather.”

Jack snorted. “And the desert where you dig sand outta your ass.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Damn straight.” He looked at Kyle. “Kyle, I’d like you to meet Jack Dagher. He’s an old CO of mine.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“It’s all mine,” Jack replied. “It’s been a while since (Y/N) brought anybody here.”

At that, Kyle turned to the soldier who was busy looking anywhere but his face. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Sonovabitch doesn’t bring his dates here unless he really likes ‘em.”

(Y/N) coughed, glaring at the man. “Alright, we get it. Aren’t you supposed to be taking orders?”

Jack gave him a smug look in return. “What can I get you boys to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Kyle said, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. What kind?”

(Y/N) snickered as Kyle flushed. “Uh, a Heineken.”

Jack sighed. “And he had such potential. (Y/N)?”

“Gimme a strawberry daiquiri then water after.”

“Still ordering fruity drinks, huh?”

“Hey, they get you drunk faster than horse piss does, you old fart.” He shot back and the old man chuckled.

“Touché.” He slapped the bar. “I’ll bring those to you with an order of chili fries.”

“Thanks Jack,” (Y/N) smiled, watching the man walk off before turning to Kyle who was watching one of the baseball games. “You like sports?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I don’t not like them. I was never a sporty kid in school, but I like watching them.” He looked at the solider. “What were you like in school? Jock or prep?”

“Probably a bit of both,” he answered. “I played sports and had the highest grades.” Shrugging, he added, “And being a Wayne boosted me into the top tier of schools, so, there’s that. To be honest, I think all of us Wayne kids were and are a mixture of every stereotypical category.”

“I can see that,” Kyle laughed. “Especially with Jason and Dick.”

“Shit, I was talking about Timmy.” (Y/N) said. “That kid’s a grade A nerd.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

The two of them laughed and a woman placed their drinks in front of them, both giving their thanks as they took sips.

“Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?”

“My muscles are one hundred percent real. Especially my abs. Which you’re allowed to feel on in envy if you want.”

Kyle snorted into his beer, wiping his mouth. “No!” a few more chuckles passed his lips as he wiped the bar. “Are you…you know…?”

“A Leo?” (Y/N) offered with a smile, but his eyes told Kyle he knew exactly what the Lantern was asking, and he said, “I like the liquor, but I don’t care what label it has on it.”

The other man smiled. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“But if you want the technical term, I am pansexual.” He regarded Kyle a moment. “You?”

“Bisexual.”

His lips pulled in an impressed fashion. “Pretty fly for a bi guy.”

Kyle gaped at him for a moment, then shoved (Y/N) in the side as he buried his face in his arms and laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

“Ah thank you,” he grinned. “I get it from my old man.”

“You,” he cut himself off with a cackle. “do not get that from him.”

“Look, you know the big man in the suit. You don’t know the complete goober we live with,” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling at the waitress who placed menus in front of them; he picked his up and flipped through it.

“What do you recommend?”

“Hmm…anything with bacon on it.” He showed the menu. “If you like salads, get the steak and blue cheese one, it’s fantastic. Or if you’re more into tacos, they’ve got these awesome shrimp carnitas with chili peppers.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed as he looked the menu over. “What are you gonna get?”

“My usual. Tomahawk steak with garlic butter and mashed potatoes.” (Y/N) groaned and rested his head back. “I haven’t had a good steak in months, and I can just taste it already.”

“So, you’re a meat and potatoes kind of man?”

He grinned, keeping his eyes closed. “Unlike the cup noodle and Hawaiian roll man beside me.”

“Ouch. Hit me where it hurts.”

“C’mon Kyle, hit me with your best shot.”

“Better watch it, (Y/N),” he grinned. “You might be the next notch in my pencil case.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

***

“Holy crap,” Kyle breathed, hands resting lightly on his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

(Y/N) moaned. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”

“Done?” their waitress laughed. “You haven’t even finished your desserts yet!”

“Oh God, don’t make me,” the Lantern whined. “I’ll explode.” He looked over. “(Y/N), take one for the team.”

“Pass,” he replied. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds just looking at the rest of the cheesecake.”

The woman laughed. “I’ll wrap the leftovers for you boys.” She wandered off, leaving them alone, and a blaring ringtone filled the space between.

(Y/N) jumped a little, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I get this really quick?”

Kyle shook his head. “Go ahead.”

He slid his thumb along the bottom and rested the phone on the bar. “This is Wayne.”

Captain! Finally. I’ve been texting you all afternoon.

“I know,” he snorted. “I’ve been ignoring it.”

Yeah well, the longer you ignore me the slower it takes for the radar dish to get replaced.

“What are you talking about?” (Y/N) asked. “I thought you’d procured one.”

I did. Then the buyer told me I wasn’t registered for official military hardware.

He frowned. “That’s odd. You did contact Thomas, right?”

Yeah. Beady eyed looking motherfucker who serves on the George Washington, right?

“That’s him.” (Y/N) hummed. “Tell you what, I’ll call him later this evening and get it all sorted out, yeah?”

Sounds good. Hey, did you take that guy out yet? Your little brother won’t stop texting me about some twinkie you’re into.”

(Y/N) froze as he felt Kyle’s eyes drilling into the side of his head and he stuttered, “Uh, Nadeen, now’s not the best time.”

What do you mean best—oh…ohhhhhh. I, uh, I gotta go, Captain.

“Yep. Bye.” He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, refusing to meet Kyle’s eyes. “So…you catch the baseball game?”

“Which one of your brother’s thinks I’m a twink?” Kyle asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. It’s Jason, isn’t it?” he grunted in his throat, deadpanning, “I can’t believe my best friend thinks I’m a twink.”

“It’s Dick, actually.” (Y/N) grinned, turning to face him and he reached over, pinching Kyle’s cheek. “It’s just ‘cause you’re so cute and perky.”

The Lantern merely glared at him, griping, “I’m not as strong as you, put I can punch pretty hard.”

“Ooo, those are fighting words,” he shot back with a smirk, letting Kyle go. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

“I feel like I’m talking to Hal.”

(Y/N) whined, all but collapsing onto Kyle who started snickering. “I’ve just been murdered.” He buried his face in Kyle’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I was just compared to Highball. The world must be coming to an end.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby. You’re not dying.”

“I am!” he turned his head, gazing at Kyle. “You’ll have to carry me to safety.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I did not say that.”

“You did, but in more words.”

“Alright, now I’m talking to Guy.”

“THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE!”

***

He leaned against the door frame as Kyle unlocked his front door and pushed it open, turning to look at him. “I had a lot of fun today, (Y/N).” he murmured. “Thanks.”

Winking, he replied, “I’m glad you did. I’d like to do it again soon if you want.”

Kyle nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stared at each other for a few moments and (Y/N) smiled, patting the door frame. “Well, I’d better be heading out. Have to get home in time for dinner.” He paused, giving the man a warm look. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Kyle.”

He’d not gotten two feet from the door when Kyle’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” He turned and the Lantern leaned forward, pressing his lips to (Y/N)’s cheek. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will,” he murmured, watching Kyle wave and disappear into his apartment, the door shutting behind him.

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (END 6: Heart-throb)

“Do you really think that I think there’s no helping you?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ Check the fallen model ⊹

I didn’t think too much about it, instead, hurrying over to where the car model had fallen.

I picked it up and inspected the damages.

There was a long crack in the middle and several parts had broken off, scattering compartments all over the floor.

MC: Can this… still be saved…?

Just as I was thinking of how to break this bad news to Osborn, his low voice sounded from behind.

Osborn: What a big commotion.

Osborn: What? Did Mitt get into an accident?

I steeled myself and stopped covering the scene of the “car accident” that had occurred. I got up and handed him the car model that I held.

MC: The “culprit” knocked this car model down and fled.

Osborn frowned, reaching me in a couple of long strides.

He took the model and turned it around a couple of times, observing it with an indifferent look on his face.

MC: Is it too damaged to fix?

Osborn: I can just send it for repairs over the next few days. Let's go look for the cat first.

He calmly placed the broken car model back onto the shelf, taking a “let’s talk about this later” stance.

This model had been placed together with many other car models that looked new, pristine, and without a scratch. Not to mention, the glistening trophy that had been right next to it. A wild guess entered my mind.

MC: Do all the car models here hold some sort of commemorative meaning?

Osborn: Hm? Why do you ask?

MC: I mean, if they are some sort of special memento to you, then they should have been subjected to routine maintenance, right?

MC: If so, then you should also have the tools for it along with any part replacements, yes?

Thoughtfulness slipped into his eyes.

Osborn: You want to help me fix it?

MC: Yeah! That cat was just spooked real bad, and it wouldn’t do us any good if it got a bigger fright the next time and reacted even worse to it if we continued chasing after it.

MC: So, why don’t we leave the cat hunt for later and fix the car model back up first?

MC: Plus, I’m pretty dexterous with my hands. Wanna give me a chance to show you my prowess?

He raised an eyebrow, his pale green eyes glinting.

Osborn: Okay. Here's your time to shine.

Osborn stretched his arms over my head. For a while, all I could see was his broad chest. I felt my breath hitch.

Then, he suddenly lowered his head. His face was incredibly close to mine.

The scent of black cedar assaulted my nose. I blinked. My brain was lagging.

MC: Oh, okay.

Osborn: Take it.

My gaze slid to his hand. Turns out that he’d just been fetching the toolbox that had been in the cabinet above the display shelves.

Osborn: I'm waiting.

I took the toolbox from him and opened it.

I was greeted by a multitude of components in all shapes and sizes. Some of the tools in it were similar to the ones I used when making my designs, but there were also some that I’d never seen before.

I picked up a tool that looked like a cross between a pen and a knife, looking to Osborn for advice.

MC: What's this?

Osborn: An exacto knife. It’s used to cut off excess parts of the joints when required.

MC: Mmhm, okay. I've remembered it.

Osborn: This is a cutting plier, screw sanders, tweezers...

Osborn picked out a couple more tools from within the box and introduced them to me.

Osborn: Anything else you can't recognize?

MC: Not for now.

Osborn: Okay. Then let's remove the damaged compartments first.

MC: Okay.

First, we used a screwdriver to remove the damaged compartments. Then, we replaced them with brand-new spare parts.

This race car model was really different from those being sold out in the market. It was made with exquisite craftsmanship, and its internal makings were far more complicated than I'd initially thought.

When it was time to add colours to it, Osborn prepared the required paints and set them out in measured portions onto the palette with ease and finesse. He smoothly handed me a brush.

Osborn: Do you know how to touch up the paintwork?

I hesitated.

MC: I've painted outfit designs before for design needs, but I'm sure it's completely different from actually painting a model.

MC: I don't know if it works the same…

Osborn: See my demonstration first then.

He dipped his brush into the red paint, carefully painting it onto the model. It came out very uniform and smoothly layered.

I'd stared at him, watching him do it a couple more times. But, no matter how much I watched the same process, I couldn't quite grasp it. Even if I tried mimicking his actions, my paintwork always turned out patchy and uneven.

Osborn laughed, placing his hand over mine and directing the brush I held.

He directed my brush, guiding me on how I should be painting the compartment with a focused look on his face.

It was all serious and business, except… My focus was inevitably drawn towards his movements and breaths.

Osborn: Get it?

MC: Mmhm...

I tried my hardest to remember the way he did it and followed suit. The end result was much smoother than what I'd been accomplishing before.

After the finishing touches were in place, I raised the model and showed it to him.

MC: Like… this? This should be done now, right?

Osborn: Not bad. You've got standard.

My spirits soared at having received such direct praise from him.

MC: Since I'm such an apt learner, how about enlisting my help again the next time you make another model of a race car?

Osborn slightly raised a brow as he contemplated my paint-stained hands.

Osborn: I'll think about it.

MC: Does this even need to be considered?

MC: I'm pretty quick to pick up hands-on skills, not just fixing up models of racing cars! So I'm a fast learner no matter what it is!

MC: You can test me again if you don't believe me!

Just as I was boasting about my assets in an attempt to make myself appeal to him, Osborn's calloused fingers suddenly brushed against my cheek.

The rough texture of the pads of his fingers made my heart skip a beat.

MC: What's wrong?

Osborn: You got something on your face.

I doubtfully touched my face. Suddenly, I pulled my hand away to find my fingers stained with red paint.

Astonished, I look at Osborn's hands, only to find even more red paint on them…

MC: Don't tell me you drew something on it!!

Osborn: What gives?

MC: Hey! You're biting the hand that feeds!

Osborn: Whatever do you mean by that?

Osborn: I'm just adding some blush and colour to your face. Makes you prettier.

I was taken aback, nonetheless.

MC: Okay. Then, I'll add some colour to your cheeks for you!

Osborn: Whoa, hey! Easy!

MC: Nothing you say now is gonna stop me!

I swiftly picked up the brush and dipped it into the paint set out onto the palette, rushing straight for his face.

Osborn quickly reared back, but I subconsciously followed right after his retreat.

And this was how I toppled him down to the ground with him doing nothing to defend himself.

Osborn was astonished. He'd attempted to get back up, only for my other hand to immediately dart out to pin him down by the shoulder.

MC: No moving!

Surprise flashed through his eyes, as his usual impish smile crawled its way back up his face.

Osborn: Wow, what an aggressor.

MC: That's right. Now's my time to retaliate!

MC: No use trying to escape!

I circled the air with the brush, purposefully observing his face to make my mark.

MC: Hmm, what do you want me to draw on you?

Osborn seemingly accepted the fact that he was going to be an inevitable victim of mine since I already had him "pinned" down. He folded his arms behind his head, giving my question some serious thought.

Osborn: An air drawing?

MC: Dream on!

Osborn: Mercy, please. I beg you.

MC: It's too late to be begging me for mercy.

MC: Hmph. Just watch me improvise on the spot~

Just as I was rummaging through my brain for a glimmer of inspiration, a light bulb suddenly lit in my head.

I had an image now: Mitt as it was fleeing.

❖☆———————————★❖

I leaned down, supporting myself on Osborn's shoulder.

Following the curve of his jaw, I applied colour to his skin, drawing a colourful cat.

Osborn had his guard down, seemingly content to watch me work my "artistic talents" with him as the canvas.

The surroundings lapsed into silence.

I was drawing it on with such rapt concentration, yet I was still able to notice his long black lashes and hear his familiar steady breathing ever so clearly. I could somewhat feel the slight rise and fall of his chest.

I vaguely registered our close proximity to each other. My heart seemed unable to settle with the fact that we were so close to each other that our breaths intermingled, clamouring loudly within my chest.

I blinked twice, finishing off the last stroke before getting up and putting some distance between us.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Done?

I nodded.

Osborn: What do you think of your work of art?

Huh? Is he asking me to rate my own work?

I quickly gave him a once over, only to realize that I'd been distracted at the end, so it'd turned out a little funky. I nearly laughed at it right then and there.

MC: Ahem. I think it's not bad! You've got a big kitty on you now!

He waggled his brows, lazily raising his body halfway back up. His features were suddenly enlarged before my eyes once more as he leaned closer.

Osborn: Happy now?

MC: Mmhm… Pretty happy.

Osborn: Then let me tell you something that'll make you even happier.

He moved even closer, his words gently flowing with the air, wrapping themselves around my ears.

I shuddered as a scalding heat started creeping up my neck.

MC: ...What is it?

Osborn: The other kitty's right behind you.

Mitt: Meow~ Meow~

The last of his words were drowned out by the sudden meowing that sounded.

I snapped out of the trance of the moment, much to my embarrassment. Mitt had actually slinked behind me somehow without my knowing!

MC: Right, we should hurry and catch it before it gets up to no good again!

I quickly climbed off Osborn, flushing red as I fled.

A light chuckle sounded behind me in response.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time we found Mitt, it was already sprawled out beside the TV cabinet with its paws stuck underneath, fiddling with something in the gap.

Recalling the layout of his living room, I quietly tip-toed and whispered my idea into Osborn’s ear.

MC: I’ll take left, you take right. We’ll pincer it.

Osborn: It’s already here, so there’s no need to go through so much trouble.

MC: Huh?

Osborn: Just wait and see.

Osborn took a couple of long strides forwards in the direction of the cat.

I followed after him, quietly approaching the black cat. However, my attention was suddenly caught by the photo frame that the cat had just been playing with.

Picking up the frame, I carefully observed it…

In the picture were Osborn and a couple of familiar-looking teammates. They’d all had an arm around each other’s shoulder, beaming as they held the same trophy.

Their faces all look much younger… Is this a photo from years ago?

The race car in the background had a red and white body with an orange rear spoiler, similar to the car model that Mitt had batted off its perch earlier.

MC: Don’t tell me… Was that car model made based on this race car?

I was lost in thought when a sudden meow broke my train of thought.

Osborn: Still wanna run?

❖☆———————————★❖

I raised my head to see Osborn with both arms raised, gently holding up the cat in question.

The bright and warm sunlight shone in through the window, carefully outlining his chiselled side-profile and the contours of his muscles.

Although Mitt had already been caught, it still glared daggers at Osborn. It was as if a cat and a human were engaged in a silent battle with each other.

After a while, Mitt seemed to register the fact that it’d lost, meowing pitifully in that soft cry once more.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Oh? You know how to beg for mercy now, don’t you?

Osborn carried Mitt to the little corner we’d set up for it. Mitt seemingly gave up on the game of chase, lowering its head to eat the cat food that we’d prepared for it since the very beginning.

Watching it eat its food so obediently, I couldn’t help but kneel down and stroke its round head.

Mitt cast a doubtful glance at me, but turned its head, indulging nuzzling itself into my palm.

MC: !

MC: I touched it! How cute…

Osborn: You’re that excited from just being able to touch it?

MC: Yeah. It looked so naughty that I thought I wouldn’t be able to touch it today.

Osborn: It’ll come running up to you for a lick or two so long as you have food.

MC: Then I MUST let it try the wet cat food! Maybe it’ll get closer to me!

I sped towards the sofa and picked up the packet of wet cat food, purposely waving it before its nose.

It couldn’t resist the offered temptation after all. Its soft fluffy paws batted at my wrist as it opened its mouth and cried its pleas.

MC: Okay, okay. Any more and you’ll end up a piggy.

I recalled something after putting away the remaining food. I picked up the photo frame that I’d set down earlier and handed it to Osborn.

MC: Oh, yeah. By the way, this was the photo frame that Mitt was batting with under the TV cabinet earlier. I don’t know where you normally display it.

He took the photo frame from me and glanced at it.

MC: And on that note, I realized that the car in the background looks very similar to the model we just pieced back together. Are they the same?

Osborn: Oh. The model was made according to this race car.

Suddenly, I recalled having seen the highlights of all his races before.

The year and month in which he’d won his first racing championship seemingly coincided with the time that this photo was taken.

My guess had tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it.

MC: Is this the car you drove when you won your first championship?

He quirked a brow.

Osborn: Why, you know me so well.

MC: Then… Is that car model something of a memento from that race?

Osborn: You can say that.

MC: I heard somewhere before that that car’s engine had to be changed out every two races. It shouldn’t be in use anymore, right?

Osborn: The engine exploded on me during that race, so it was only my companion once.

Osborn spoke lightly of it, but thinking of how exciting and terrifying it must have been back then, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little.

MC: I’m glad the car model’s alright. Otherwise, it’d be such a pity for such a meaningful memento to get damaged like that.

Osborn: So I should thank you properly. Is that it?

MC: Huh? Thank me?

He chuckled lightly, his eyes sliding from the photo to my face. He had a slightly flippant look on his face.

Osborn: Weren’t you the one who made that car model more meaningful?

MC: ……

I was taken aback for a bit. I looked at him in surprise, only to find his gaze calm and gentle. There was a smile glimmering within his eyes.

Osborn: You were pretty clever when fixing the model. Why so stupefied now?

As his words sank in, I felt my heart flutter as I realized what he’d meant by having made it more “meaningful”. Something seemed to have filled my heart. It was a little flustering, yet also a little sweet.

I worried my lip and gathered my courage together before looking up to meet his eyes.

MC: Then, that makes me happier now…

MC: Although I didn’t get the chance to sit in on the race of your first championship and cheer you on…

MC: I was still able to piece the model back together and play a part in that precious moment of memory.

Inexplicable emotions surfaced in Osborn’s eyes, and in the next second, his big hand ruffled my hair with a vengeance.

Osborn: There’s really no helping you, is there?

I shyly ducked my head, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

At this moment, the sun had enveloped us both within its warmth.

The cat quietly ate by our feet, letting out a purr of satisfaction every once in a while.

Slowly but surely, unspeakable feelings started to bloom and spread within the confines of my heart.

I hope, from the deepest points of my heart, that time would always be eternally frozen in this beautiful moment.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #For Night For Freedom #黑色对峙 #Black VS Black

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moonlightlullaby · 3 years

Text

no celebrations?

summary: Corpse and reader celebrate his birthday in the most chill way. Based on this lovely request (ty again for sending it!)

pairing: corpse husband x gn! reader

category: fluff

warnings: food ingestion; alcohol ingestion; loads of physical touch (let me know if I forgot to mention anything)

A/N: Hello (: This is such a lovely concept, I just couldn’t wait to get started hehe Also, I got a bit carried away and just went with it, so I’m really sorry if that’s not what you’d pictured. I do hope you enjoy it tho <3 Take care!

word count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Walking into our shared bedroom, I catch the sight of Corpse exiting the bathroom. As our eyes lock, my lips curl up tiredly and a long sigh I didn’t even know I’ve been holding finally frees itself. He sits on the edge of our bed and extends his hand to me. When I take it, he pulls me so I stand in the space between his legs.

“How was the day?” he asks with both of his hands on my waist.

I hum, quirking a brow and tilting my head a bit “At least tomorrow - you know, the most unspecial, completely ordinary day of the year -” this earns a giggle from my boyfriend “is Sunday and I can just ignore all of that” I wave my hand in the direction of the adjacent room, where my laptop - filled with texts, assignments, spreadsheets and appointed Zoom calls - is.

At my words, Corpse wraps his arms around my figure, pulls my body even closer to him and plants a kiss on my stomach through my shirt. My hands, in turn, caress his upper back and soft hair.

Coming in contact with the string of his eyepatch in the process, I lean back slightly, which causes him to shoot up at me with a small frown and pouty lips. He sits still, though, as I carefully remove his eyepatch, and, while his eyes are still closed, I give each of his lids a peck. He smiles and tilts his head up to meet my lips in a long, tender and effortless kiss. Oh finally.

The idea of quarantining together was welcomed as a blessing by both of us. It meant more time spent together after all. However, with my school and work demands and Corpse’s irregular schedule, we still barely see each other throughout the day in spite of being a few feet apart from one another. And when bedtime rolls in, we’re both so exhausted all we can do is mumble words that could be counted in the fingers of one hand before drifting off. This, of course, when my boyfriend doesn’t stay up until dawn working. Don’t get me wrong, I’m his number 1 fan and admire his passion and all the hard work he puts in everything he sets his mind to, but I’m also not going to lie and say I don’t miss his warmth at night. Hence I want to devote this Sunday to him.

After a while, I break the silence “I’ll be right back.”

I let go of his hold and take my turn to use the bathroom. After doing my night routine, brushing my teeth and getting into my cozy pajamas, I walk back in the dark room and lie down, settling myself back in Corpse’s hug like two puzzle pieces matching together.

~~~~~

The excitement for a new day - not any day, no, but August 8th - washes over me as soon as I open my eyes and get a glimpse of the sleepy boy next to me.

A couple of minutes go by as I contemplate on getting up, torn between prolonging our cuddling for some more and doing something to show Corpse my appreciation for him. The latter wins and I, cautious not to wake him up, slowly unwrap my arms from him and step out of the bed. Drawing the curtains to make sure the summer daylight doesn’t disturb his peaceful state of mind, I make my way out of the room and to the kitchen.

Wondering what to make for breakfast, I take a good look around until my eyes catch the plethora of fruits we’ve bought a few days ago. Fruit salad it is.

Corpse has, for as long as we’ve known each other, made it very clear he isn’t too fond of his anniversary and similar celebrations - and, even if he hadn’t explained it to me, it’s rather evident how uncomfortable they make him. This year, his friends’ and especially his fans’ hype for the date - although unintentionally - has added an extra layer of unease to it all, to which I don’t intend to contribute.

Even though I don’t want to make matters worse and would never overstep his boundaries like this (because, thankfully, I’m not Betty Cooper and he isn’t Jughead Jones), I still want to celebrate Corpse. I want to celebrate his birth and his existence, which I’m immensely grateful for. He’s both the best friend I can confide in blindly and the lover I want to share my lifetime with. He sticks to his truth and dreams higher than I could ever imagine. He turns the darkness in the world and in his mind into light with his words and with his laugh. Having him in my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me and seeing him fly makes me more proud than I can put into words.

There’s a lot to toast to, so the solution is a celebration that is so smooth and so chill - the smoothest and most chill possible - that it doesn’t even feel like one. Just log off and enjoy a laid back day together.

As I chop a kiwi and make a mental list of fun and uncomplicated things we can do that don’t require much time and many skills, in walks Corpse, in an old white tee which is one too many sizes bigger than him and in his black sweatpants. He rubs his eyes and lets a raspy “good morning”.

“Mornin- wow! They really weren’t lying when they said when you hit 24, hotness knocks at your door”

He chuckles and shakes his head “No one’s said that”

“Well, then consider yourself the muse of a new proverb, baby”

He scrunches up his nose in response before grabbing the cup of orange juice I’d placed on the counter and taking a gulp.

“Thank you” he turns my face and gives me an orange-flavoured kiss, neither of us having ever really cared about morning breath.

“For calling you hot? Oh save it to when I’m done with the list of cheesy compliments I have for you” I take a grape and before I can get it in my mouth, he steals it, with wrinkles on the corner of his eyes.

“Then we’d be here for eternity!” he’s not wrong.

Corpse helps me put the fresh fruits in bowls and, with them and our juice cup in hand, we head to the balcony. Sitting next to each other, we calmly eat, take in the light blue sky and the cars and passersby changing the scenery ahead of us. Conversation flows naturally.

As we empty our bowls - after stealing many bits from each other -, I twist in my seat and face him “Hey, Corpse, do you see this?” I point to the very prominent and familiar dark circles under my eyes. “Wanna help me get rid of them?” I ask, knowing damn well it’d take a lifetime for them to actually go away and not giving up regardless.

~~~~~

The bathroom is filled with chatter and laughter and the sink, with hair clips, scrunchies, a sharpie, bowls, hair products and a towel. Corpse hisses as our cool homemade face mask comes in contact with his skin. His curly hair is pushed back and held by a blue hairband and I apply the mask to his face, making sure not to leave any spots uncovered. Well, that’s what I’m trying to do, which becomes an unnecessarily challenging task when my lovely partner can’t be still for more than two seconds.

He kept switching between dancing to Soulmate, by Mac Miller, and mouthing its lyrics. Now that I got him - after a small threat that I wouldn’t hesitate putting this weird mix we made in his pretty mouth - to keep his lips together, the (adorable, admittedly) swaying, however, continues. He stops momentarily, only to shuffle things around right after.

Something cold touches my skin, making it my turn to let out a hiss this time. The sound is accompanied by a small jump, caused by the surprise. Corpse chuckles and, when I glance at the spot on my arm the cold thing came in contact with, I realize it’s just the sharpie. All he does is give me a mischievous smile.

While I keep massaging his face and covering it with the mask, Corpse litters my body with his drawings. Smiley faces, lightning bolts, hearts, clouds... his repertoire is vast and any exposed skin he can find becomes his canvas. Each line causing me to giggle and shudder a little. With him focused on his creations, it’s 10 times easier for me to complete my task.

“Alright, my turn” he states, smiling, and I’m quick to grab the sharpie.

As he adjusts a matching hairband on my head, I put a dainty heart on his neck. And, as he takes the bowl in his hands, I swiftly plant a kiss on top of the drawing. At this, he sighs in content and my chest gets warmer.

I soon understand how hard it was for him to stay still as Stay comes on and all I want to do is have a little karaoke session and dance. Corpse entertains himself with my struggle and, because it’s his birthday, I’ll let it slide. So, to make the whole process easier, instead of focusing on the song, I focus on the gorgeous face in front of me. A beautiful face to a beautiful soul.

One of the various perks of sharing an apartment with Corpse is I get to see this face in all ways: sleepy, completely clean - no makeup, no mask -, all wrinkled in the morning, red when he’s embarrassed or when he laughs too hard… His laughter. Its sound pulls me from my trance “You’re staring, y/n”

“Well, at least I wasn’t moving around, Corpse” I reply with squinted eyes and nudge his side playfully.

We begin collecting the things scattered across the sink and storing them in the cabinet, and the song comes to an end, giving way to Dang!

“How long do we keep these on?”

I hum at the question and check the playlist on shuffle on my phone “How does 5 minutes and 2 seconds sound?”

Facing him, his grin mirrors mine and he spins me around. We laugh and allow ourselves to be as goofy as possible, jamming and moving our limbs around with a green paste on our faces.

~~~~~

After washing off the masks in the shower and painting our nails - so we’re both rocking the black nail polish look -, we’ve set our minds to - finally - finish the puzzle we started two months ago. It’s a 90’s anime setting inspired composition and we’d gotten about 40% of it done before our schedules got more hectic and the game, well, pushed aside. For weeks, the pieces sat on the ground of our living room and silently judged us every time either of us stepped to the side, as we crossed the room, in order not to crush them.

Sitting around the puzzle with comfy clothes, we team up against it and indulge in the wine Corpse’s got us and the hawaiian pizza I’ve ordered.

As the picture comes more and more to life, moments of comfortable silence and of chattery - when we talk about anything from our shopping list and gossip about our neighbours’ lives to parallel universes and the matrix - follow one another. A different playlist on shuffle is our background noise.

Time flies and the sun’s already hidden when it clicks to us that there are only 5 pieces left. Each piece is fitted in the whole with a giddier feeling than the previous. Corpse picks the last one - deep blue with purple and black specks - and turns to me with an excited smile and an eager gaze that I’m sure are mirrored on my face. I nod encouragingly. He places it in the puzzle and celebratory sounds fill the room.

Corpse stretches his arms and pulls me in a hug, but, since we’re both kneeling and because of the distance between us, we end up falling and lying on the ground in rather uncomfortable positions.

“Come on, puzzle, that was easy breezy! Gotta step up your game if you really wanna challenge this duo right here!”

“Oh for sure!” Corpse squeaks as we laugh at our nonsensical brag.

After a moment while we catch our breath, he rubs my back and speaks, pulling my attention to him “Not that I’m not loving this position, but what if we watched some Drag Race?”

Is this man real? If I couldn’t feel his heart beating under me or his arms around my figure, I’d be sure he’s just a figment of my imagination. “But it’s your b- don’t you wanna choose something you like more? Li-”

“Nope,” he boops my nose “Drag Race, or maybe Love Island, would be great right now.” And people still dare say the perfect man doesn’t exist!

“You’re such a dream!” I give him a quick peck before continuing “Ok, so I put on the show and you get more wine…?” He hums in approval and stands up. Our eyes briefly jump from each other to the puzzle and back to each other, then we simply nod. A silent agreement to leave the puzzle here. We’re both too lazy to put all the pieces back in the box and too proud of our achievement to let it go just yet; besides, everything’s been sitting here for about two months, what are a few more hours?

He steps to the side, gets our glasses and makes his way to the kitchen. I lie on the couch and scan Netflix for Drag Race. Corpse comes back, placing the glasses next to the couch, and gently lies down on top of me. He nests his head on my chest and we both hum contently.

While RuPaul announces what the winner’s prize will be, I play with his hair, letting my fingers knead his curls. His right hand flies up to meet mine and I bring our intertwined hands to my lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses. The gesture is cut by a loud laugh that escapes my lips as miss Vanjie Mateo’s iconic moment replays on the screen.

“Hey,” Corpse’s voice makes me look right back at him “I love you. You know that, right?”

My heart melts at his words and at the way he’s looking at me right now. I nod with a smile.

“I love you too, birthday boy.”

#corpse husband imagine #corpse imagine #corpse x y/n

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makoodlesarchive · 4 years

Text

when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

#this is so cheesy lol but whatever i've been staring at this doc for too long and i want it out of my sight #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima eijirou #ghibli au #kirishima eijiro fluff #kirishima x y/n #mha x reader

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ciggylungz · 4 years

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Show me yours

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(Request: Maybe more catholic school H but there bestfriend and there both v innocent and its their first time trying _______ (whatever you want) just a thought? (For the possible blurb night.)

“Did you hear what Lily was saying about Connor?”

y/n looked up when she heard Harry’s voice, the two of them in his room trying to finish their shared art project. They had to do a joint painting of the schools logo for the competition being held to pick a new art piece for the Catholic school. Y/n was currently trying to fix her minor mishap of mixing the purple too dark on the lower corner of the canvas.

“No? what happened?” her attention was divided between the art and Harry’s bite of gossip he was finding the correct verbiage for. “Lily said her and Connor did it!” his tone was slightly lower, whispering the last word so no one would hear a slight blush creeping onto his face. The revelation made the girl snap her head towards her best friend, eye’s widened a bit. The two of them were rather sheltered, they had attended the same private Catholic schools from the time they were in kindergarten up to the present as they were both in their second year of secondary school. The most rebellious thing they’ve ever really done was taking a second sip of the communion wine during mass, so hearing that their classmates may have had sex was very shocking to the pair.

“No way!” the project now took a backseat, y/n now fully invested in the drama Harry was relaying to her. “I swear! She said they did it in the bathroom!” , “Oh my gosh!...did she say anything like detailed?” the girl was just as nosy as her best friend. She wanted every drop of information she could squeeze from him. Harry smiled awkwardly, nervous repeating the words he’d heard from the two teens in question. “Uh…well she said they had s-sex in the bathroom, and Connor said she uh…’went down’ on him at his house..” while y/n knew the basics of sex, she didn’t exactly know much beyond ‘sex is between two married people and makes babies’ , so she questioned his revelation. “what does that mean?” , Harry wasn’t sexually experienced by any means, he was a kiss-less virgin but he would be lying if he said he didn’t know what certain sexual acts involved…he may be a good boy but he’s also a teenage boy with internet access.

His blush grew a few shades darker, opting to clear his throat and make sure the door was closed while he tried to find his voice again. “Uh..well-“ a uncomfortable chuckle escaped him while he tried to choke out the dirty words. “It’s when a girl puts their mouth on a boys private parts…” Y/n gawked at Harry, totally shellshocked at the fact that was a thing! She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to do that, “Wait what?! Isn’t that dirty? Don’t you pee from there?!” the girl was now standing on her feet her innocent mind trying to comprehend this new information. “Well…yea but I don’t think it’s dirty? If you don’t shower maybe, and the boy doesn’t pee in their mouth…” a nervous hand reached up to scratch the back of Harry’s flushed neck.

“that’s so…weird….h-have you ever done that?” Y/n asked him with a slight bow of her head locking eyes with him, “No! I’ve never done it! I’ve just s-seen it before tha’s all…” the boy shifted uncomfortably, “You’ve seen it? Where?”

“in…porn”

Once again, a comically dramatic gasp ripped through the air from Y/n. she knew of porn, her brother had gotten caught watching it once and that’s the first time she found out people have sex on camera. That was another huge shock to her, yet this one seemed bigger.

“You watch porn?!”

“shush! you’re going to get me in trouble y/n” Harry shot her a glare, yanking her forward to sit on his bed with him, his palm moving to cover her mouth. “Don’t yell that! It’s a secret” Harry cast a nervous glance towards his shut bedroom door before removing his hand from her face. Y/n giving his chest a nice swat with furrowed brows. “Don’t do that again, jerk” Harry simply rolled his eyes. “Then stop being so loud!”

Y/n pouted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “Or what?” she challenged “Or ill glue your mouth shut.” His fingers moved to flick her forehead, which was a mistake since Y/n then chose to start yelling “MISS AN-“ yet she was silenced by his hand once more. “I’m serious Y/n stop it!”

Y/n suddenly got an idea, decided she’d bargain her way out of this one.

Harry knew that look, his eyes widened realizing she was about to suggest something that he may not want to hear. Y/n was a sweet girl, but she had a bit of a bossy side too.

“If you show me the video, I won’t tell.”

Well, Harry expected something, but definitely not that one. “W-wait what?” he couldn’t believe Y/n had just asked him to show her porn! What was he supposed to say? He knew if he showed her he’d have to take a cold shower, but he didn’t want his mom knowing he watched the videos either. “If you show me the video I won’t tell.” Her statement was very level, the angelic doe eyes coming back to persuade him, and well Harry was a sucker for that look.

Soon enough the pair were sat against his headboard, Harry’s laptop open to a private tab with Pornhub opened on it. He chose on of his favorites, a simple pretty tame blowjob video.

“are you sure you want to see it?” his palms were sweating, knees twitching every few minutes trying to control himself and keep his pants from tightening. “Play it, Harry.” Y/n took control, tapping the space bar to start the video.

The logo played before it got to the video, a man sitting on his couch filming his girlfriend kneeling in front of him slowly moving to undress the man in front of her. Y/n watched the screen intently while the woman went to work, tugging the mans cock free and stroking it but Y/n being Y/n the video didn’t suddenly change the atmosphere like it does in a romcom, instead she was full of questions and comments.

“Wow, I didn’t know boys privates looked like that. It looks kind of like a snake.” Harry was happy Y/n wasn’t making the situation too serious, laughing a little breaking the tense atmosphere listening to her talk. He tried to focus his gaze more on the wall in front of him then the porn playing on his computer so he didn’t pop a stiffy in front of her. “Uh…kinda? I guess…” , “Does your penis look like that too?”

Harry choked on air a bit, suppressing a cough. He sweats he can feel himself burning alive from the blush on his face. “I don’t think my penis looks like a snake y/n, no. I think it looks like a penis.” His response got him a ‘hmph’ from his friend which he of course, laughed at. Yet he wasn’t entirely prepared for her next sentence.

“Show me yours?”

This time Harry’s eyes were the ones wide as saucers, his jaw slightly slack and body gone tense. “What?!” Y/n giggled, finding his reaction a bit silly since they were already watching two people engage in oral, how is this any more shocking? “What? Show me yours” she shrugged slightly, Harry was trying to keep his head from exploding but an idea popped into his brain right before the urge to combust took over.

“I show you mine, you show me yours?”

“Harry I don’t have a penis.” Y/n replied with a ‘duh’ eye roll, causing an annoyed groan to come from her friend. “I am aware of that, smarty pants. I mean…if I show you my penis, you show me your boobs.”

He expected to get a smack or a immediate refusal from her, but surprisingly Y/n nodded, “That’s fair, I’m not putting your penis in my mouth just for the record.” She gave him a pointed look as her hands traveled up to loosen her uniform tie and start fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

The boy felt frozen in place watching his best friend start to undress in front of him. His teenage boy mind was going crazy, this was the first time he was going to get to see boobs in person, he was a bit scared he might keel over and die from a hormone overdose.

“What are you waiting for? You’re supposed to show me yours. I’m not taking my boobs out if you’re not holding your end of the bargain up ,Harry.” Y/n’s hands stilled, giving him a pointed look that broke his trance quickly fumbling with his pants to shove them off his hips the outline of his plumping cock showing against the white and grey checker print of his boxers.

“Who’s gonna go first?”, his throat felt painfully dry while he talked swallowing hard after he finished. “You duh!” the girl pushed his shoulder lightly and pointed to his crotch waiting for him to reveal himself.

The boy took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he tugged his cock through the flap in the front of his underwear. He grunted quietly, the cold air hitting his swollen tip. For a few moments nothing was said, Y/n quietly observed his organ taking in the details and pondering her thoughts before speaking, “Yours looks better than his, it’s prettier. Still kind of looks like a snake though.”

Harry sighed, he was glad she didn’t make a comment on his size or anything negative but the snake comment wasn’t exactly the erotic language he needed to get himself off, and then he remembered the deal. “Your turn.”

Y/n nodded, giggling a little bit as she unhooked the clasps of her bra and let them slip down her arms. Her breasts finally came into Harry’s view and god his balls were already constricting. He feared he’d really be the guy who cums in 2 seconds just looking at a girl, but this would be the right situation for it. Y/n didn’t have any clue how long boys lasted so if he was to bust then she probably wouldn’t tease him she’d just have more questions.

“God…they’re pretty Y/n.” The girl smiled shaking her chest a little so they bounced in front of his eyes. “Thanks, I grew them myself. I’m a b cup” she was adorable, so blissfully unaware of what she was doing for him. A smile and playful giggles still radiating from her while he was trying to keep himself from passing out.

“Can I touch-“

His request was soon cut off, not by Y/n but by the door swinging open and his shocked mother standing behind it.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry style drabble #blurb night #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles request

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megalony · 4 years

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Teacher’s pet- Part 17

I haven’t written this series in a while but it feels so good to get back into it, thank you for all the lovely messages asking about this series, I hope you will all like this next part. Feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Series taglist: @im-an-adult-ish @gwilymleeisbae @k-k0129 @haileymorelikestupid @glittrixvibe @youngpastafanmug @ultraviolencezs

Series masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) teaches at the school Ben’s boys go to and they soon start a relationship. But they have their ups and downs with the problems Ben faces with his boys and how quickly the relationship progresses.

Enjoy.

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"When daddy gets back, we go home?"

(Y/n) turned on her heels to look behind her when Finn's voice could just be heard over the radio. The four-year-old had been pottering around upstairs for a while but (Y/n) had started to focus more on the songs playing on the radio than the sound of her youngest boy hurrying about, unsure what he should do.

(Y/n)'s eyes glanced over to look at Gwilym before she headed over to where Finn was standing in the doorway, either too anxious or simply unsure about whether he should enter the room or not.

This was the family's fifth day in their new house but both Carter and Finn needed more time to get used to it. Carter didn't like change, it unsettled him and a new house meant getting used to a new room and different surroundings. The living room had a strange layout, he had to get used to the utensils in the kitchen being in different drawers, the dining room was different and so was the garden. (Y/n) and Ben were wallpapering and painting the house so every room was new and foreign and Carter didn't like it yet.

He got to choose what colour he wanted his room, where he wanted his bed and his tv and where he should have a shelf for his figurines and books. But it was figuring out the right place for everything that was unnerving Carter. He didn't know where the right place for everything was, he had to work it all out and have it looking perfect.

For the last four days Carter had scarcely come out of his room, mainly staying put to watch tv and rearrange everything. His room was the only one in the house so far that he was getting used to so it was the only room he wanted to stay in.

With Finn it was different.

He didn't mind that the house was being decorated or that things were in different places and it was new surroundings, he cared that it wasn't home. Finn had been too young to remember the first house he lived in with Ben and Lucy and his brothers but their old house was the one he had grown up in, it was a safe place for him and he had to feel safe. This new house was somewhere he would have to get used to and try and make it feel safe, he wanted to go back to their home, he didn't want to stay here.

Getting the house and moving into it had been done quickly but quietly, the boys were told they would be moving but Ben and (Y/n) had sorted everything and started moving things before telling the boys exactly what day they were moving to try and make it easier. They didn't overthink or panic about it because they didn't have much time to panic.

"Baby, I know you want to go back to the old house, but this is our new home, when it's all finished it will feel better I promise. Why don't you stay in here and help decorate with me and uncle Gwil?"

It had been a little easier for Finn to try and adjust because he was still sharing a room with James. Someone had to share a room and Carter needed to be on his own so he didn't lash out and the baby could hardly share with any of the boys because it wouldn't be fair. James and Finn were close and James didn't mind helping Finn when he was unsettled or panicked so it was the best option for them to share a room. Carter had one of the smaller rooms to himself, the boys shared a bigger room, (Y/n) and Ben had their room and then there was another small room that was for the baby.

Finn looked around the room as he stayed stood on the threshold like he was too afraid to actually take a step forward into the room. The boy's rooms had been decorated first to try and help the three of them settle in, now they were working on the baby's room before doing their own room and then working their way downstairs. It was going to take a while to get the whole house decorated the way they wanted it but at least if they got the bedrooms done it would be easier and more settling for the boys.

With Ben being called into work today due to being short staffed, Gwilym had offered to help with the decorating. The baby's room was being painted dark cherry blossom with one feature wall that had already been painted magnolia to give a bit more light into the room.

"No." Finn shook his head, staying put in the doorway. He wasn't too keen on painting, it seemed rather boring and very time consuming.

If James was still at home today then Finn would have been more settled, he could have watched tv or played games with him but James was with Ellie for the day since he hadn't seen her in over two months. And Finn knew better than to try and play with Carter when he was unsettled as it was.

"Why don't we take a break and get something to eat?" Gwilym spoke up, putting down the paint roller in his hand. They were about due a break by now and it might settle Finn if they watched some tv and had something to eat. "You go down and pick something out to eat and I'll come down in a minute."

They watched the youngest boy nod, looking a bit calmer as he turned and headed to the stairs and disappeared from sight.

"One more coat of paint and it should be done." (Y/n) spoke quietly as she rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. With Gwilym being taller than (Y/n) it was easier for him to paint the top of the walls where (Y/n) couldn't reach, stretching up wasn't an option either with the weight of the baby. Both Ben and Gwilym had tried telling (Y/n) to take it easy but she wanted to paint because the quicker it got done the sooner they could get on with the rest of the house.

"I think another coat should do it, but I think you need a break. Me and Finn will make some dinner, you sit down."

Gwilym ran his hand through his hair, brushing the curls out of his eyes before he moved to put his glasses back on that had been stuffed into his pocket to prevent them from being coated in paint.

"I'm fine-"

"Ben said you didn't feel well this morning, you think I want the wrath of him if he finds out you've been overdoing it today? Sit down and rest, please."

Gwilym and (Y/n) had been friends since she started at the school and he and Ben had been friends for years, they were both close to Gwilym's heart. On the one hand he knew that (Y/n) would stop and rest when and if needed, she wouldn't push herself too far. Gwilym would never want to try and control her or tell her what to do. But on the other hand he knew that sometimes she would push through phases of feeling unwell or under the weather and he knew how protective Ben was about his family. Gwilym wouldn't want to be around if Ben got annoyed that (Y/n) hadn't taken it easy like she should.

"Hmm, fine." (Y/n) narrowed her eyes playfully with a tired but playful smile as she took a few steps over to sit down on the rocking chair in the corner that was draped with an old paint-stained sheet.

(Y/n) wouldn't admit it but it did feel better to sit down and rest for a bit, stretching up to paint the walls or bending down to get the bottom near the skirting boards was tiresome. And she couldn't allow herself to stop until the first coat of paint was done or it would dry funny and patchy and that would grate on her nerves.

Her eyes followed Gwilym as he raised a brow at her before he made his way out of the room, leaving her to sit and listen to the radio which she had forgotten was still playing in the background. She leaned her head back until the wooden back of the chair was resting lightly against the base of her neck to support her head. Her eyes fell closed to try and relieve the headache slowly beginning to form behind her eyes and she slowly shifted her weight from her heels to her toes to slowly rock the chair.

All morning (Y/n) had felt her headache come and go like it was testing her, visiting her to see how she would react to the intrusion and it didn't help matters how much the baby was shifting like she couldn't seem to get comfy.

A sigh passed through (Y/n)'s lips before she pushed herself to stand up, wondering if having a drink might take away her headache in case she was starting to get dehydrated. Weaving around the pots of paint and rollering boards, (Y/n) moved to get her drink that rested on the windowsil next to the radio. The room was starting to look more homely now that the first coat of paint was finished and (Y/n) knew once they'd got some pictures put on the walls and everything in its place, the room would look much better.

The one thing that (Y/n) didn't like about moving was how impatient she became. She wanted to paint and decorate the whole place in one day, she wanted to put up pictures and place books on shelves and make it feel like home. Downstairs wasn't even started yet so there was no way (Y/n) could start putting up pictures yet which made her agitated and impatient.

There were three canvas pictures that (Y/n) was desperate to put up in the living room, they were of Ben and the boys and all four of them were smiling and laughing in the pictures and they were something that would make it feel more like home for them all.

(Y/n) also knew that once their girl was born, she wanted to get a canvas picture of her and have it on the wall above the cot.

Putting the glass back down, (Y/n) took a moment to look out the window which showed the drive and front garden. Her hand moved to rest on her lower stomach when she could feel the baby shifting again proving that she simply couldn't get comfy today which in turn made (Y/n) uncomfy.

Her eyes focused on the light grey carpet she knew they needed to change and her feet slowly padded around the paint, not wanting to spill any since they had gone ahead and painted without any sheets being put down on the floor to protect the old carpet. But her free hand quickly reached out for the cot resting unused on her left when she could feel the room starting to spin.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) tried to breathe deeply and see if it would take away the feeling that was as if a fog was clouding her mind and stirring trouble behind her eyes. She slowly shuffled her feet to try and get to the rocking chair, knowing it would be better to sit down than to keep standing and let the blood drain from her head.

(Y/n) didn't know what her foot got caught on, she didn't see what snagged at the toe of her slipper but whatever it was made her toes bend completely under her foot which felt like it snapped in half as it folded over itself. The top of her foot scraped against the carpet as the bones clicked either into or out of place before her body was suddenly tumbling forward off balance.

There was nothing around that she could use to steady herself and her eyes immediately snapped closed from both the pain and shock and from instinct when she started to fall. Some sort of gasp or even a screech instinctively left her lips before it felt like everything was turned off.

She could hear the static in her ears like the radio had lost its signal but turned its sound up to the max. Her eyes were tightly closed to the point they were stinging but it took (Y/n) a moment to realise she was no longer falling.

She knew for certain that she was motionless now and she was no longer flying forwards through the air, but she didn't remember stopping.

Opening her eyes was a struggle, they felt like they were weighed down like coins were pressed down on her eyelids to prevent her from seeing something. And the rest of her body felt heavy and was trembling like she was feeling the after effects of an electric shock. She could see the painting tray a few feet in front of her and the curved foot of the rocking chair was next to her. Everything felt numb and heavy but (Y/n) forced her arms to move so that she could shakily grab the seat of the rocking chair, she needed to pull herself up from the awkward way she was laying. She had to get up and check herself over to make sure she was okay, she couldn't lay here like this.

"Mum, did you knock something over again?" Carter's voice barely reached (Y/n)'s ears that still felt like they were full of static.

The eldest boy walked out of his room and up the three small steps that led to the upper two rooms. He leaned his head around the room on the right before moving towards the nursery room since he knew they had been painting that room this morning. But Carter froze in his tracks, his eyes blown wide with confusion and fear when he looked at (Y/n).

She was on her knees in front of the rocking chair which her arms were heavily resting on and she was trembling. It looked as if she was going to be sick or even faint and Carter could see that her eyes weren't seeing everything properly like her vision was blurring.

"Mum?" There was a lot of concern in Carter's voice but his expression was rather neutral. He didn't seem able to express any emotion but anger in his face and right now he looked unfazed but sounded scared and was stunned and unmoving.

(Y/n) wanted to talk, she wanted to try and tell Carter she just felt dizzy and had tripped. She wanted to calm him down and reassure him she was fine, but the only thing she could do was close her eyes and let her head fall onto her arms that were resting on the chair. Her throat was constricting and her head couldn't formulate a sentence or allow her to even move any more than this.

Carter's brows sank down until they were almost resting in his eyes as he pressed his lips together tightly. What was she doing? He could feel a bout of anger burning through him because she wasn't telling him what she was doing, she was kneeling like she was praying but she looked ill. Curling his hands into fists, Carter huffed his next breath before he turned on his heels and jumped down the three steps to get onto the hallway. He took long strides and rounded the corner to the right before he stormed down the stairs and swung round the bottom of the bannister.

He skidded a few times when running through the hall to reach the kitchen where he could hear Gwilym and Finn chatting away.

"Uncle Gwil, mum's sat on the floor and she won't talk to me. It sounded like she kicked something but she won't move."

A frown etched onto Gwilym's features and his eyes narrowed at Carter behind his glasses. It was always necessary to take Carter's words with a pinch of salt, especially when he tried to explain something because he could never say what he meant or explain what he had seen. He sounded cryptic a lot of the time like he did right now and he looked angry as if (Y/n) was purposely ignoring him which Gwilym knew she wouldn't do.

"Um, right... Finn why don't you sit and eat at the table? I'll go talk to your mum."

Gwilym didn't know what was going on but he knew he didn't like the sound of it, there was a bad feeling in his gut telling him that this wasn't going to be good. He headed over to Carter, resting a hand on his shoulder before he bypassed him and made his way upstairs to go and see (Y/n).

The moment Gwilym reached the nursery his body recoiled in shock and his lips parted but no words came out. He moved like he'd been pushed into the room, stumbling forward but catching himself before he moved to bend down on his knees beside (Y/n) who felt more awake than she did moments ago. He cautiously moved his arm to wrap around (Y/n)'s upper back and placed his other hand on her arm, trying to coax her to look at him and tell him what the problem was.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" He sat back on his legs and leaned up a bit straighter when (Y/n) slowly straightened up and moved so she was no longer resting her head on the chair.

"I- I tripped a-and fell..."

When her eyes locked with Gwilym's it was like he was trying to have a silent conversation with her because he knew Carter was stood in the doorway, but (Y/n) couldn't work out what he was trying to say.

"Let's sit you down and make sure you're okay." Gwilym took it as a good sign that she wasn't sobbing in pain or cradling a part of herself that was hurt but he still didn't like how she seemed like her mind was somewhere else. She looked drowsy which told him she had blacked out or fainted even if it was only for a few seconds. He knew that look well, he had experienced it a few times in his life.

Moving his arms, Gwilym made sure they were securely around (Y/n)'s waist as she slowly moved her trembling arms until her hands were holding Gwilym's upper arms. She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to plant her feet properly on the floor so she could stand up. Gwilym took most of her weight to help stand her up but he froze in place when a moan left (Y/n)'s lips and her head fell forward into his chest.

"Does something hurt?"

"N-no... oh no..." (Y/n) breathed through her words before it sounded like she was choking on a sob. Her words sparked worry in Gwilym and he shifted her in his arms so he was holding her against his chest, not wanting to risk her falling to her knees and hurting herself again. But he could feel himself starting to shake when he saw that (Y/n) had moved her hand to press to her stomach.

She didn't?

"Gwil i-it- oh, it hurts."

She'd fallen and hit her stomach on something. She could have hurt the baby, the pain might be something to do with the baby.

"Okay, (Y/n) listen to me it's okay, let's get you sat down and then we'll take things from there. You could have just grazed yourself, it might be nothing." She may have just caught her stomach on something very lightly, it might just be something that would bruise and cause no problems so there might not be a reason to panic yet. If they got her sat down and calmed down, they could see if the pain got worse and then take things from there, probably go and get her seen by a doctor just to make sure.

When he felt (Y/n) nod against his chest, Gwilym took a deep breath before slowly shuffling (Y/n) back and carefully setting her down in the chair she had been leaning up against moments ago.

"Carter, why don't you go-"

"No! I wanna stay with mum." Carter took a few steps into the room to show that he didn't want to leave in case (Y/n) wasn't well but at the same time, he didn't want to get too close in case she didn't want him to be here. She might be like Ben and wouldn't want Carter to see her in pain, he didn't want to go but he didn't want to upset (Y/n) either.

"Why don't you go and check on Finn and then bring me my phone so I can call your dad, let him know what's happened?"

Carter debated Gwilym's words, wanting to stay desperately but he also wanted Ben to come home. Ben always said that he took care of everything and that he looked after them all, if (Y/n) wasn't well then she needed Ben here so he could look after her. He pursed his lips before he nodded and turned to hurry downstairs, the thought of Ben pressing on his mind more and more.

"Can I take a look?" Gwilym crouched down beside (Y/n) before he motioned to her stomach, not wanting to touch her or try and check her over if she was in too much pain or felt too uncomfortable.

When (Y/n) nodded through gritted teeth, Gwilym slowly moved her shirt up so he could see her stomach. He pressed his lips together into a thin line as his nails dug into the palms of his hands so he could trya nd remain calm. The left side of her stomach was starting to mix red and white in an odd but large shape. If he had to guess, Gwilym was rather sure that she had fallen hard and smacked her stomach straight into something. There was no graze and no cut but she was bleeding under the surface of her skin, but there was no way for him to see if it had done any damage to the baby except for the pain that seemed to be getting worse.

"I think we should get you checked out, just to be safe."

(Y/n) didn't have the will or the nerve to argue because the pain was getting worse and when the baby moved it only made the pain increase and an uncomfortable feeling start to arise. It felt like her side and her lower stomach were on fire and the fire was slowly starting to spread and get worse. It was overpowering the pain in her foot which was throbbing from how awkwardly it had bent when she fell.

"Finn's watching tv, can we call dad now?" Carter's sudden interruption made them both jump before Gwilym nodded and reached his hand out for the phone in Carter's grip.

"Yeah, I'll call him now but I need to stay up here with your mum while we sort a few things so can you go and stay with Finn please? If he comes up here and sees your mum's hurt he'll get scared and we don't want that."

If they were going to take (Y/n) to hospital then they needed to sort out the boys. James would be coming home later this afternoon and none of the boys could be here on their own. If Ben couldn't come home from work then Gwilym needed to take (Y/n) to get checked out and taking the boys with them wouldn't be the best idea. Gwilym didn't want Finn finding out just yet because he would get unsettled and frightened and he also didn't want Carter listening to him talking to Ben because that would unsettle him too.

Gwilym pushed himself to his feet, trying to smile at Carter to calm him down before the eldest left the room, slamming the door behind him to show he wasn't happy about being told to leave.

Anxiety started to dwell up in the pit of Gwilym's stomach, he'd never had to call Ben before when he was at work. (Y/n) had only done that once and that was a few weeks ago when he had to come straight from work to the school to talk to Carter. Gwilym had no idea if Ben would actually answer or if he would be too busy and if he didn't answer then they would have to find someone to look after the boys so Gwilym could take (Y/n) to get checked over.

If that happened then Ben would be a nervous wreck when they got through to him and said they were at or had been to the hospital.

A sigh of relief left Gwilym's lips when he heard Ben's voice on the other end of the line, he had answered.

"Hey mate... look, I know you're at work but something's come up... no, the boys are fine, um, (Y/n)'s had a fall... well I think-"

Gwilym stuttered through his words, trying to stay calm and not overpanic Ben because they didn't know if something was drastically wrong yet or not. But he stopped himself short when (Y/n) made a noise that sounded like she was stuck between crying and wanting to scream. When he looked at her, she was doubled over in the chair to the point she was surely going to fall off and land on her knees. Her right hand was pressed tightly against her stomach and her other hand was gripping the arm of the chair, her chin tucked tightly into her chest.

He tried to follow her line of sight, pulling the phone away from his ear so Ben's concerned words didn't deafen him. But when Gwilym tried to see what was wrong and he looked to where (Y/n) was looking, a shiver ran down his spine and he jumped when (Y/n) started to sob.

"Ben, I think (Y/n)'s water just broke."

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #dad! ben #gwilym lee #teachers pet

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the-peachpit · 3 years

Text

Another chapter from the Ender Mirror Series:

FIRE FLOWER SCAR

Romance: Ranboo/Tubbo kinda? The husband thing but slgihtly more romantic

TW: Scars/Constant Pain

Slicing through a golden apple the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board echoing around the kitchen. The sound of Michael babbling to himself in piglin gentle and barely registering in Tubbo’s damaged ear. Sounds of birds outside the open window silent to his brown floppy ears, drowned out by the ringing that would come and go in the left and buzzed constantly on the right.

Tubbo grabbed his right wrist dropping the knife watching it slightly fall against the floor narrowly avoiding his socked feet. Cursing under his breath Tubbo stretched out the fingers of his right hand watching them slowly curl back to his palm. The tips were numb, and he knew it would be a good hour before feeling returned even with a health potion, it would alleviate the burning tension in his charred tendons though. Placing the apple slices on a plate Tubbo turned to Michael in his highchair. Michael paused his unrecognizable speech pattern watching Tubbo with a curious blue eye. Setting the plate down in front of his son Tubbo smiled rubbing the soft cloth they kept over Michael's exposed skull to protect it.

Seeing the small piglin Tubbo remembered how attached he felt at first glance. A zombie pigling on its own missing an eye with skin peeling away from the right side of his face. it was like looking into a grotesque mirror. His skin itched all over remembered what it felt like as it peeled away in large scabs over time. The pain as he picked away large chunks of himself. Until Ranboo found him Tubbo was no better than a pathetic animal fighting away everyone out of fear. Lashing out with his untrained left hand desperate to hide his injured body that refused to heal. Ranboo had lured the monster out of its cave to give him healing potions every day and change his bandages. When Tubbo saw Michael, he wanted to wrap his arms around the trembling piglin and let him know he wouldn’t hurt forever. Now Tubbo made sure Michael would never hurt again.

“Here you go big man,” Tubbo smiled feeling the pain creeping up his arm. Heat radiating in his neck.

Watching Michael’s hooves gently grasp a golden apple slice Tubbo smiled.

Pushing aside bottle after bottle in the medicine cabinet Tubbo groaned standing on his tiptoes pushing another strength potion out of the way. The bottle slipped past the edge crashing to the floor.

“Damn it Ranboo, why do you have to put everything so high?” Tubbo grumbled remembered to give his husband an ear full when he got home.

Sliding the last bottle to the side Tubbo sighed closing the mirror. Fuck. Did Ranboo say he was going to make more healing potions today? Did he forget to tell Ranboo they were out early enough to have one leftover? The pain seized his right arm making him flinch stiff in one place as he willed himself to relax. Standing in the bathroom Tubbo let his gaze shift to the mirror he always avoided. A monster he hardly recognized gazed back at him through thick dark scruffy hair. One broken jagged horn with a gold band accompanied a white horn with cracks that curled around the fluffy mass of hair. Long ears with matching brown fluff almost got lost in the mass of hair just distinguishable. At least one- the ripped ear was hidden. The ear that wasn’t damaged sported an ear tag, the only part of his past he couldn’t seem to part with no matter how much he wanted to. The tag was bright yellow with dark bold lettering that read peace. Being forced into his ear during the festival to taunt him, remind him he was nothing but a pawn, an expendable animal no one was really listening to. Tubbo wanted nothing but peace for L’manburg, he wished he believed the people who said it was impossible.

With his left hand, Tubbo pushed his tangled bangs from his face. Red, angry, chewed up, and spit back out. From the right edge of his nose to the tip of his ears and down across his body Tubbo was walking scar tissue. The eye in his right socket milky and lazy lolling to the side useless. The bright yellow one he had left got fuzzy if he concentrated for too long on one thing. When he first joined Ranboo back in a home Tubbo avoided all mirrors unable to deal with the state of himself. Growing his hair long to cover the scars clothes couldn’t, he just wanted to forget.

Groaning again Tubbo walked to the bed he shared with an enderman hybrid laying down on his left side curing up. Unsure of the time he wasn’t sure when Ranboo was coming back from his lesson with Technoblade. Grinding his teeth -the way he wore down his top canines- it made him shiver every time he pictured Ranboo enjoying himself at Techno’s. Ranboo had denied it hundreds of times, calling it an opportunity to learn potion-making to help Tubbo. A way to keep the family safe if he was in Techno’s good graces. Tubbo knew it was all bullshit Ranboo liked hanging out with the Blood God, but Ranboo didn’t know he had that title.

Ranboo didn’t know a lot of things about his past from two years ago. He didn’t need to know and never pried. Tubbo tried once asking him to not hang out with the piglin and when his husband asked why Tubbo didn’t have a good answer. For some reason, he believed Ranboo would just obey what he said. Ranboo also thought it would be good for Techno to be around Michael maybe it would bring the little piglin out of his shell or give him some comfort. Tubbo was still fighting that idea as if Technoblade could be a comfort for anyone. Grimacing at himself in the mirror he knew the blood god was a comfort to his best friend in his time of need when Tubbo wasn’t there. Tubbo tried to take Techno from Tommy commending the pig to death in a public execution. Holding an ax against his exposed throat felt right, it felt good. He had power, control, all the fear in the back of his mind melted away. His scar didn’t burn in shame.

Techno escaped that day fucking scot-free no answering for a single crime. Not that Tubbo gave a shit about what he’d done the small ram just wanted to watch his boogie man get what he deserved. Eye for an eye, public execution for public execution. Tubbo is certain he is the only man to see fear in Techno’s red eyes and he’d been itching to see it again.

Snorting and squealing alerted Tubbo to Michael being sick of his highchair. Sighing sagging his one good shoulder Tubbo hated doing anything with Michael when he was immobile. The young boy would squirm kicking Tubbo who begged him to be still just for one second. Currently, his right arm was numb to his shoulder with a quick zap of pain-causing his neck to twitch to the same side. Out of the highchair one fluid movement, he could do it.

“I know I know,” Tubbo smiled at his son, “You want out and I can do that, just work with me,” he begged knowing it would be for nothing.

Slowly worming his left arm under Michael’s arms Tubbo held his breath as he started to lift upward. He’d been working hard on his left arm strength holding heavy objects, gardening, and writing with his left arm. To his surprise, Michael stayed relatively still ignoring a few squirming kicks. Nestled under Tubbo’s arm like a bag Michael giggled and Tubbo was proud of himself.

The screen door opened in the minute making Tubbo spin on his heels to a figure ducking under the door frame to enter the house.

“Didn’t we ask Foolish to make this bigger?” Ranboo stretched his back out stepping into the kitchen.

Tubbo smiled looking at the gold ring around Ranboo’s white horn on the non-enderman half, “He’d been busy with Quakity from what I’ve heard. I’ll try asking him again.”

Ranboo cocked a brow and Tubbo had forgotten Michael spitting raspberries under his arm snout squished up.

Lowering the piglin child to the ground Tubbo rolled his shoulder back, “I’m getting good at the one arm dad thing.”

“Fuck,” Ranboo started digging through his canvas shoulder bag, “I’m so sorry, is it bad?”

Shaking his head Tubbo smiled, “Not unbearable, good thing you came home at just the right time.”

“Here.”

Ranboo held out a little round potion bottle with a cork in the top, Tubbo tilted his head to the side and Ranboo used his claws to swiftly uncork it. Grasping the bottle in his stubby fingers he noticed how dull his own nails had gotten. He used to have sharp nails that could cut through the skin too easily. Ranboo held him down the first time he filed his nails down crying more than Tubbo did. The ram boy had sued his long claw privileges to pull thick pieces of skin away from his body. The enderman said he’d never heal that way. At the time Tubbo hadn’t wanted to heal and it was fine with him if he stripped himself to the bone.

Downing the pink liquid Tubbo shuttered poking his pink tongue from his mouth.

“You guys still can’t make this taste any better?”

Ranboo shrugged, “I tried bringing it up to Techno, he seems to look down on strawberry flavored health potion.”

“He looks down on anything that fits outside of his perspective,” Tubbo could feel the right side of his body at least.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Ranboo avoided any more Techno talk ushering Tubbo to the living room.

Pouting Tubbo wanted to continue his regularly queued-up Technoblade rant knowing it would accomplish nothing. It just felt good to make his opinion known again. Falling back onto plush couch cushions guided by Ranboo’s gentle hand Tubbo felt his right side tense up again. Forcing his back against the couch he focused on the way his left side felt relieved after being busy on his feet since he woke up. Busy with Michael, running an Inn and doing maintenance, planning out a greenhouse for when winter made its swift return, and gardening. The day had gone so fast and he’d gotten so much done, why did he still feel like he could have done more? The pain settled in his shoulder and neck making him wince.

“Ranboo can I have another health potion?” Tubbo groaned leaning his head back against the couch.

“You know the rules,” Ranboo placed his slender fingers on Tubbos shoulders, “You have to wait twenty minutes between each potion.”

“Just let me double dose this once,” Tubbo whined, “It’s been a long day Boo.”

“Doctors orders.”

Ranboo pushed Tubbo forwards and Tubbo slumped on command feeling Ranboos fingers kneed across his back. He hummed basking in the massage his husband was always so willing to give. Tubbo had tried massage therapy before with Niki she was sweet and tried every way she knew how to get Tubbo less dependent on health potion on bad days. He never felt less pain though, and slowly stopped going too embarrassed to tell her it wasn’t working. The moment Ranboo watched Tubbo down three full health potions in five minutes like a glass of water the enderman hybrid put his foot down. Hiding the health potions Ranboo took notes from Niki using his strength to kneed into Tubbo’s muscles making him melt. In minutes Tubbo was sprawled across the green couch Ranboo hated because Tubbo found it outside and said it was the color of puke. Tubbo thought it was the comfiest couch he’d ever sat on and told the older it relaxed him. That was all it took and Ranboo gave in when it came to physical comfort Ranboo would do anything to alleviate Tubbo’s pain.

Tubbo frowned.

“Why haven’t you ever asked me what happened?” Tubbo mumbled into his crossed arms.

“Hm?” Ranboo paused.

“Even the day you found me, you’ve never asked what happened,” Tubbo slowly started to sit up feeling a dull ache in his back.

“I figured you would tell me when you were ready,” Ranboo pressed down a little harder keeping Tubbo from straining himself.

Ranboo was too patient with Tubbo who could never bother to be patient with anyone. Maybe it was time.

“Do remember the firework festival last year?” Tubbo mumbled.

“Vaguely.”

Tubbo sat up feeling the hitch in his back choosing to ignore it, “You’re kidding! How could you forget that?”

Ranboo rolled his green and red eyes the horizontally divided bottoms showing, “I’m more prepared this year. I got earmuffs.”

Tubbo played with the extra-long sleeve of his shirt- actually it was Ranboo’s shirt.

Every year a firework festival is held when all corners of the map experience spring or summer simultaneously for a week. The air is hot and sticky with not one cool place left to run to. Tubbo had spent the week in every year since he was a kid sensitive to temperatures. Moving to Snowchester had been good for him he thrived in the cold. Snowchester had four months of warm weather before being fridged the rest of the year. Six years ago, everyone found the hottest week of the year was the same no matter who you spoke to and to celebrate something altogether they started putting on firework shows. Ranboo had begged Tubbo to sit outside and watch and he thought he’d be fine. With Ranboo to protect him, he was rarely afraid of anything.

Tubbo pulled a strong on his sleeve, “You know it wasn’t the noise, by itself at least,” he scratched his ear, “I love loud noises. I can’t hear quiet things anymore.”

When he saw that first flash in the sky it all came flooding back and his vision tunneled. Every spark was coming right for him ready to fall on his head and set his hair ablaze again. Heat pooled across his skin feeling it melt and slosh off to the ground. He felt exposed and vulnerable as red illuminated the starless sky. For the first time in two years, he swore he could see out of his right eye, and he saw his demise. Over and over again he watched himself die. He grabbed his hair and screamed letting it echo in his ears over the bursts. They had set up a blanket on the roof of their home. If not for Ranboo holding his small waist letting him curl and cower into his tall frame Tubbo would have jumped. He felt it in his bones he would have gone out on his own terms because he’d gone out on everyone else’s so far.

“Lights too bright?” Ranboo cocked his head to the side, “I can fix that,” he gently coaxed Tubbo’s hands out of his baggy shirt to hold them.

Tubbo squeezed Ranboo’s hands, they were always so cold. His hands were dwarfed in comparison, Tubbo knows they’d never seen bloodshed. He wondered what it was like to not lose a piece of yourself to others' violence. To not get swept up in others' regrets as they clung to morals that never meant much in the end. Not enough to destroy nations and livelihoods. Tubbo wanted to get lost in Ranboo’s world it wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe. He squeezed Ranboo’s hands gently with his black tainted ground down claws.

“I was executed Ranboo,” Tubbo felt his heartbeat stutter, “In front of everyone in L’manburg during a festival.”

Silence.

Looking over at Ranboo his eyes were glassy water collecting in the corners Tubbo wiped them gently. There was no sense in him crying over something that happened long before they met. Nothing he could change now it was written in stone, but Ranboo made the past bearable.

“A firework was shot directly at me, I had nowhere to run labeled a traitor. The impact killed me, and I didn’t revive quite right. With no one to heal my wounds while I was returning. I was thrown to the side a causality really.”

Ranboo squeezed Tubbo’s hands tighter his eyes no longer held tears, but something strong, steely. Anger, it was a rare look for the soft enderman hybrid he could find the good in a nuke.

“Who was it?” Ranboo’s voice sounded strained a sound Tubbo had never heard before, it made him nervous. He was never nervous around Ranboo.

Tubbo couldn’t look at the man shaking gently hoping Ranboo wouldn’t notice. This is all he wanted, to tell his husband to get him away from the piglin hybrid, but Tubbo knew. He knew how much Rnaboo enjoyed the others' company, who was he to take away his husband’s happiness? He was his father.

“I-I-I,” Tubbo babbled.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo shifted from his spot kneeling on the floor holding Tubbo’s shoulders firmly.

Tubbo’s good eye connected with Ranboo’s beautiful gaze his green and red eyes had a fire lit behind them making them shine.

“I can’t tell you,” Tubbo’s throat felt dry and scratched.

“You can tell me anything,” Ranboo promised.

Tubbo opened his mouth again shocked that nothing came out. This was the moment he was waiting for, he never shut up about what a terrible influence Technoblade was. Why couldn’t he drive the final nail into the coffin?

“If I say then I’m no better than Schlatt,” Tubbo turned his face from Ranboo.

“Who?”

Tubbo flinched, “Oh yea, that’s my dad.”

“I’ve never heard you use his name.”

“But you’ve heard everyone talk about how awful he was,” Tubbo was sure of it.

“Y-yea,” Ranboo stuttered.

“He manipulated just about everyone, Me, Quakity,” Tubbo’s throat hurt as he forced his voice not to waiver, “ Technoblade was manipulated into killing me.” Daring to glance at his husband Tubbo was met with a shocked expression. Ranboo’s eyes were clouded again with tears dropping silently against his cheeks leaving red thin trails that would take weeks to heal. His Adams apple bobbed gently over and over Tubbo was afraid he was choking back on his words.

In a desperate attempt to comfort the lanky enderman hybrid Tubbo took his clawed hands in his again a physical comfort.

“Boo,” Tubbo frowned hiding behind his long bangs, “I’m sorry, really I- it wasn’t his fault.”

“You don’t think that,” Ranboo’s voice was raspy, “You always ask me to stop hanging out with him. You’re mad at him.”

“No,” Tubbo hurried, “Techno was a good friend of mine, I’m not mad, I’m. I’m afraid.”

The thought of the large piglin hybrid alone sent a chill down Tubbo’s spine.

“I’m afraid of what he could take from me again. I’m afraid of what he thinks after that day.” Tubbo pulled his hands back fidgeting.

The silence was ringing in Tubbo’s ears. He just wanted Ranboo to say something.

“This,” Ranboo started his voice too loud suddenly, “This probably doesn’t mean much, but he asks about you.”

Tubbo felt his lungs seize his good ear straining to listen.

“He asks about your injuries, how you’re healing if you’re in pain. He’s upped the strength of several health potions and tested them before letting me bring them home. He asks if you need anything. I think in a weird way, he’s sorry.” Ranboo’s voice was soft, and it sounded like Tubbo was underwater.

“Really?” Tubbo’s voice cracked.

Ranboo nodded.

Tubbo felt his lip quiver and knew there was no way to stop the flow of tears that mimicked his husband. To finally talk about the day he died the pain of losing more than his life, but the comfort of a friend. To be afraid of Ranboo suffering a similar fate or being told Tubbo was nothing but a kid pretending they knew how to run a nation. He knows what he became on accident a dictator bred with fear of losing everything by his father. The man also lived in crippling fear of an uprising. Tubbo knew that seeing Techno again would feel like a hot iron to his skin, it would be terrifying. Even with Ranboo beside him, it would take everything for him not to collapse at the feet of his executioner. Yet Ranboo stood beside that man every day, and if he wasn’t safe Ranboo would keep him far away. He would never tell Tubbo he thought the man had remorse if he didn’t believe it to be true.

Tubbo lunged forward knocking Ranboo back against the hardwood as he landed on top of him burying his face into his suit collar as he cried.

“Baby steps,” Ranboo rubbed Tubbo’s back, “Right now let’s get you another health potion.”

Tubbo nodded feeling the pain in his arm, but it didn’t sting as bad as before.

#dsmp writing #dsmp fic #au #tubbo mcyt #ranboo #clingy duo #writing #fan fic blog #fan fic author #update #i literally released this the day after they talked about scars #ender mirror #enderwalk state #bee duo

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semperintrepida · 4 years

Text

100% Relative Humidity

Kassandra had just finished inspecting the fenceline along the back forty when she saw the flash of red — not the orange-red of fire or the arterial red of blood, but the deep bright red of ripe berries, the kind that caught the eye and made the mouth water with imagined sweetness. The berries stood out against a backdrop of Kermit-green leaves the size of her hand, and she grinned with recognition: thimbleberries. Kyra's favorite.

Perfect. She'd been daydreaming about Kyra all day. Kyra, bent over the kitchen table. Kyra, pressed against the bookshelves downstairs. Kyra, splayed across their linen sheets, her skin dusky with arousal, whispering—

Soon. She'd have Kyra in her hands soon enough. She dug out a handkerchief and set to picking, despite the cloudy skies threatening rain, and she was careful to keep from damaging the fragile fruit as she placed them into the sling of fabric. All sorts of berries thrived in Oregon, but the thimbleberry had resisted all attempts at cultivation. Too wild, too graceful to tame, it carried its nature within its delicate flavor. All other berries paled in comparison.

A big handful was all she risked picking — too many in a pile and they'd crush themselves — and then she journeyed through the woods back to the house she and Kyra had built on a hillside overlooking a hollow in the Coast Range, in one of the last stands of wild forest left after the timber companies had clearcut every mountainside and replanted them with nothing but Douglas fir.

There were Doug firs here, yes, but also western red cedars, hemlocks, spruce, and pines, and she'd even found a few Pacific yews scattered across the acreage. After a career of trying to save forests from wildfire, she'd finally gotten some trees of her own.

Raindrops pattered the grass around her as she knocked the sides of her boots against the post at the bottom of the stairs up to the house. Even in Oregon it was rare to see rain so early in August.

Inside the mudroom, the door to the kitchen was wide open, and she shed her boots without making a sound. Kyra was standing at the kitchen sink, humming as she cleaned a paintbrush, and Kassandra crept up behind her, silent in her sock-covered feet. She carefully avoided the squeaky floorboard near the woodstove, then slid her body against Kyra's, pinning her against the counter so she couldn't turn around and deck her after being startled.

"What—" she gasped, then blew out a breath of exasperation. "Did you have to scare me?"

Kassandra smirked. "You'll forgive me, 'cause I have a present for you," she said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Close your eyes and open your mouth."

Kyra did. No hesitation. And Kassandra rewarded her with one of the thimbleberries.

A moment later, she turned around as far as Kassandra's hips let her, her face beaming with delight. "They're finally ripe?"

Kassandra smiled and nodded.

Kyra had a smudge of dark green paint above her brow and another under her chin. "We need to go picking."

"Yep." She held another berry to Kyra's lips. "Maybe tomorrow. Rain's starting up."

Kyra sucked Kassandra's finger into her mouth along with the berry, and she flicked her tongue against the pad of fingertip she'd captured, her warmth erupting into heat. Then she set Kassandra free, gifted her a silky smile, and turned back to the sink.

Kassandra's heart revved up, valves opening wide, the pump coming online. She set the berries on the counter. "Are you done for the day?"

"Yeah." Kyra flicked the brush, the water in the sink milky with paint. She'd spent all day working in her studio. It was once the old machine shed, and they'd knocked out the wall that faced the valley and put in floor-to-ceiling windows. If Kassandra knew mountains and forests by the miles she'd walked across them, Kyra knew how to capture them with paint, in large-scale landscapes of rocky crags and misty woods and still waters.

Ten years they'd been together, as Kassandra worked her way up from her first Hotshot crew to leading a crew of her own, and Kyra began making a name for herself with her paintings. Ten years, but they'd spent much of it apart for months at a time, as Kassandra's crew shipped out to fight fire from Washington to New Mexico. She'd even gone to Australia a couple of times.

There was nothing else like it, the way a wildfire moved like a living thing, how it could be benevolent when contained, or demonic when left to its own devices. And she'd loved her work: the camaraderie of her crew, the challenge of 16-hour shifts over days and nights, the satisfaction of a fire contained. She'd even loved the danger.

But a couple years back, when that deadfall had caught her and nearly taken her arm off above the elbow, Kyra had begged her to quit if her arm didn't come back right.

Her arm healed, almost good as new. She'd always been good at that.

But she still quit anyway.

The wildfires were bigger now, the terrain more rugged, the seasons longer. She used to work for six months at a stretch; now she could work almost year-round if she wanted to. But every shift was a gamble of life and limbs, and Kyra had already spent years waiting for her at home, dreading every phone call.

It was time. Her life was no longer hers alone to risk, not if she wanted to spend a good long chunk of it with Kyra, and she needed her limbs, to do things like slip her hand inside the waistband of Kyra's trousers, to slide along the curve of Kyra's ass, to find the source of Kyra's heat. She'd always been good at that, too.

Kyra was damp and only a little swollen. Disappointing. "You didn't think about me at all today, did you?" she whispered into Kyra's ear, a pout in her voice, milking it for all it was worth.

Kyra's ass pushed back against Kassandra. "I... had to focus." She'd been finishing up a painting, the canvas almost as tall as Kassandra, bound for some rich man's house up in the San Juans. The sale would pay their property taxes for the year.

She'd been working so hard lately. She deserved a reward.

That was something Kassandra could give her. "How about focusing on this?" she said, and she slid her fingers close to Kyra's clit, close, but not quite touching, and grinned when Kyra dropped the paintbrush into the sink and pressed her palms into the countertop.

"Fuck," Kyra said, her voice quivering, and soon her muscles were quivering too, as Kassandra's fingertip set a fireline around her clit and Kyra's body answered with wet, sticky heat.

"Patience, love."

Kyra's laugh was short and incredulous. "Patience? That's rich, coming from—"

She slipped two fingers inside and stole the rest of the thought, and Kyra gasped and rocked her hips in reflex. Kassandra leaned forward and pinned Kyra harder up against the counter, and she buried her face into Kyra's hair, breathing in the toasty scent of her, warm and familiar and perfect...

Then she heard Kyra's voice, saying, "How long can you hold out, really," the burr of it vibrating into her own chest and lodging there as Kyra clenched her muscles tight around Kassandra's fingers.

"Sounds like a challenge," Kassandra said, and her free hand brushed Kyra's hair aside to expose her neck, stroked across her solid shoulder and bicep and forearm down to her hand, and their fingers entwined as Kassandra bent and started branding hot kisses into the arc of her neck. And sometimes it wasn't a kiss — it was the sear of raked teeth, or the burn of suction, Kassandra's wants flaring against her surface.

Oh, how she wanted. The heat in her belly burned along her veins, like fire spreading through tree roots under the forest floor. She wanted to fuck Kyra hard until she came, then fuck her again and again. But the gauntlet had been thrown. How long can you hold out?

Now Kyra was trembling and panting as Kassandra worked her up with short, teasing strokes that climbed but never peaked. But as rarely as Kyra ever begged out loud, her body always did it for her, her mouth falling open, her thighs spreading wide to expose how fucking soaked she was.

Oh, how Kyra wanted, too.

She was so wet that she ran down Kassandra's fingers, pooling in the palm of her hand. Ready and willing. And so Kassandra smiled, flexed her fingers, and...

Stopped.

Outside, it was raining hard enough for fat droplets to splash in through the open window. Kassandra pulled her hand away, her heartbeat doubling up at Kyra's whimpers of frustration, and she reached across the sink and tugged the window closed.

Her hands on Kyra's hips, firm, pulling her around so they stood face to face. A kiss as she loosened buttons, tugged trousers down. And then she lifted Kyra up to sit on the edge of the counter next to the sink, and Kyra stared at her, breathless and flickering.

She ran her hand through Kyra's slick heat, eased the tips of her fingers inside. Kyra sighed and her thighs spilled open wider. Wanting more. God, she was beautiful this way.

Then Kassandra leaned closer so their foreheads touched, and Kyra lifted her arms and circled them around Kassandra's neck, and they breathed each other in, and Kassandra closed her eyes and listened to the surge and splash of her own blood.

"Kassandra?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't do something in the next two seconds, you're sleeping in the studio tonight."

Kassandra played dumb. "Oh, was there something you wanted?"

Kyra rolled her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?" She always had an attitude when she was being done to.

"Something like this?" Kassandra asked innocently. And she stroked deep deep inside, easily, languidly, until Kyra tilted her head back and let out a moan in perfect counterpoint to the rain drumming against the roof.

Kassandra was retired now. She had all the time in the world, and she made sure Kyra knew it, knew that the stamina that had powered Kassandra up and down mountains while carrying fifty pounds of gear and a chainsaw was now going to keep Kyra right on the edge of orgasm as long as Kassandra wanted.

Rain on the roof, dripping from the eaves, soaking the earth, the air scented with dark rich soil and the musk of need as they moved outside of time. "Oh god," Kyra said at some point, as she wriggled on the countertop, eyes closed, arms a circle of tension around Kassandra's neck. She was close, too close. Kassandra pulled back. Slower now. Not so deep. Feel Kyra quivering around her fingers, feel Kyra want.

All Kyra had to do was say please. She knew it, always had. But she was stubborn, so stubborn that it gave her secret away.

"You love it when I do this," Kassandra said, and then she leaned forward and kissed Kyra, helping herself to that sumptuous mouth while her fingers kept moving in the rhythms of build-up and denial. "I haven't been taking care of you well enough, if you could go all day without thinking about me."

"'s not true."

"Maybe I should wake you up every morning like this." Her fingertips sought the deepest place, that soft, hidden spot, and she lavished it with gentle attention until Kyra was writhing against her. "Work you up so you're just about to come, and then... stop." And she stilled her fingers to match her words.

Kyra buried her face into the side of Kassandra's neck, shuddering into her in long, rolling waves.

"You'd think about me then, hmm?"

Kyra groaned into her skin.

"I like this idea."

Kyra lifted her head and stared at her, eyes dark as loam and filled with pure, naked wanting. Her lips parted, and her mouth moved soundlessly as she breathed, showing flashes of tongue that made Kassandra's clit burn. Later. They'd plenty of time for that too.

Kassandra smiled. "So remember this part," she said, and then she fucked Kyra for real.

It was glorious, the way Kyra arched her back in offering, the way the muscles in her neck and arms corded as she held on tight, the way she cried out with the fierceness of a hawk as she came. She rippled around Kassandra's fingers, her pleasure imprinting itself into Kassandra's skin, and Kassandra pulled her close, held her as she trembled and caught her breath.

"Fuck," Kyra whispered.

"I was planning to," Kassandra said, and she scooped Kyra up from the counter and carried her in her arms.

"Oh yes. More," Kyra said, smiling her slow, silky smile. "But this time in bed."

Kassandra was already on her way.

Part of the Heat Index...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #wildland firefighter kassandra #yes lol yes yes yes #shameless smut #plot what plot #distracting myself from this hell week by writing smut #*slaps the top of this fic* this bad boy can hold so much self-indulgence #this is what sellout was supposed to be before i screwed up that story #yes mom I'm writing smut now #heat index

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theasstour · 5 years

Photo

𝓡𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓽 𝓫𝔂 𝓗𝓪𝓴𝓸𝓷 𝓢𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓭𝓮

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 10.8k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: biggest thanks to @shepherald for being bb’s italian auntie!

Sunday, 11 August 2019

The only light came from the abundance of various candles Harry had spread all over his loft. After countless hours of them chatting, getting to know each other, and laying in silence, Y/N had come to realise Harry preferred candlelight to electricity. When she questioned him about it, he had simply just cocked his head to the side, studied her for a few seconds, and said, “There is freedom in not being revealed everything to. In art it lets your imagination wander, ‘cause not being told everything means you have to figure it out on your own. There are untold stories and secrets in the shadows on a canvas.”

Y/N had only laughed at him, to which Harry had just looked at her, demanding an explanation to her outburst.

“You don’t like the dark,” she had reasoned. “How can you say secrets lay in the shadows when you’re afraid of the dark? Why do you paint it?”

Harry had looked at her, studying her intently before he said, “I’m not so afraid of walking in the dark anymore.”

Y/N had thought about that answer for a few days now. Though people could learn to get rid of their phobias and the like, it was unusual to rid oneself of one so fast. Harry had leaned into water just a few days after confessing to her he didn’t like it because he couldn’t see the bottom and where he was walking, and now he told her he liked the dark parts of a canvas because of the possibilities they held. It was weird to her, but she liked the fact he was defying his fears. She was proud of him.

But right that second when she started thinking of this again, Y/N was laid on the floor of Harry’s loft. Night surrounded them, all the windows and the doors leading out to the balcony were open, filling the house with the humid yet refreshing air of the summer evening. Her eyes were on Harry as he stood above her, biting her lip as her mind started wandering again.

She had been laying in bed when he had called her name. The two had spent all day in his house, doing nothing but talk, fuck, and soak up in the little time they had left like this. Next Sunday she wouldn’t be there. Next Sunday, she’d be at home in Maldon, packing up her stuff to go back down to London and to her last year of University. But neither wanted to think about that, they’d rather relish in this time they had together. But Y/N had been laying in Harry’s bed, about to get back to Portia on a text she’d received earlier that day when Harry called her. She’d been a bit surprised at first. After all, he’d told her, he needed to actually do some work today and not only spend his sweet time between her legs (“Though I very much want to do just that,” he’d mumbled). It had been about an hour when she heard her name, so she put her phone aside and stepped into her summer dress. When she reached the loft, Harry had been standing by the balcony door, looking out over the landscape. He was wearing his white overalls, the top half tied so low on his waist she could make out the beginnings of his bum. And when he turned around, the dark trail of hair leading downwards was also very much visible, contrasting drastically with the light colour of the paint-splotched overalls.

“What’s going on?” she’d asked.

“Nothing,” he simply replied. “Just want you here.”

She hadn’t been able to contain her smile, and at the sight of hers, he smiled back. He was about to turn to the canvas he’d placed on the easel outside on the balcony when he stopped himself. His eyes landed on her again, trailing her form.

“Lay down.”

She furrowed her brows, looking at the floor of the loft. “Where?”

Harry walked over to one of the cabinets and brought out what must’ve once been used as a huge curtain. It was white and seemingly very old; dust having greyed it with time. He placed it on the ground for her motioning with his hand for her to lay down on that. She was about to when he interrupted her movements with a low, “Take off your dress.”

She’d stopped in her tracks, feeling her heart beat a little faster and a tingle of excitement all over her body. But she didn’t hesitate. Reaching for the bottom of her dress, she dragged it upwards till she revealed herself completely to him. Harry didn’t say a word, just watched her like he was in a trance, not able to look away. She felt so powerful when he looked at her like that. It made her believe she was the ruler of something, like she possessed some sort of prestige and grace no one else in the world would ever have or had ever before her or after her. She laid down on the floor, looking up at him for further instructions.

“On your back, baby.” He said, voice filled with a sort of affection and demand that could make her do anything.

She laid on her back and Harry came over, down on his knees before Y/N and reaching for her again. He took a light grip of her right thigh, moving it till her leg was bent and knee resting in front of her other, her foot hooked behind her calf. He then moved on to her arms, trailing a hand up her front and between her breast as he shifted his attention.

“Teasing.” She giggled, making Harry grin.

Harry took both a hold of both her wrists, pinning them above her head, leaning down till his lips were hovering above hers. “It’s not teasing if I follow through later, is it?”

“That’s later, not now.”

Harry giggled, kissing her lips, cheek, jaw. “You haven’t had enough of me?”

“I could never.” She said, letting go of a deep breath as his hands tightened around her wrists, smiling. “What about me?”

“What about you?” he mumbled against her skin, nibbling at her neck.

“Have you had enough of me? Since you asked the question first and all.”

Harry huffed, moving up so his lips were above hers, placing her hands like he wanted them without breaking eye contact. “I’m the one asking you to undress. So no, I won’t ever get enough of you.”

He left her laying there, getting up and fetching his easel again along with a new canvas. He placed them exactly where he wanted them before he walked off to get his paint, brushes and palette. He pressed soma paint out of some tubes and Y/N furrowed her brows, they looked different from the small tubes he usually used.

“Trying a new sort?” she asked, not being able to help herself.

Harry brought all the paint over, along with a cloth, a glass of water, and his palette. Only he didn’t place all his stuff beside his easel, but rather on the floor next to Y/N. He sat down beside her, dabbing his brush into some dark blue before he started painting away on the bent leg, on her thigh.

“I’m a canvas now?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head at her. “Got an idea.”

“Mind sharing it?”

“I’m sharing it right now, ain’t I?”

“How?”

“By showing you my painting.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re painting on me, I think I need a better explanation than that.”

Harry smiled, dipping his brush in more paint before returning to her thigh, painting in what looked like half circles up her thigh. He let the brush rest in water for a few seconds before he wiped it, swirled it on his hand, and dipped it back in a lighter blue. He did the same with this one, paying very close attention to each of his movements.

“You aren’t using your regular paint.”

“You noticed?” He almost seemed a little shocked she knew his brands and routines.

“Of course.”

He glanced up at her, giving her a small smile before returning his attention to her thigh. “This is acrylic paint.”

Y/N waited for more, and when he kept his mouth shut, she urged, “Yeah?”

“It dries quicker.”

“Quicker than oil paint?”

“Way quicker. 20 minutes, 30 tops. Oil takes hours.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said. “I remember you telling me that.”

Harry huffed a short laugh, dipping the brush in more paint and detailing a bit more before he moved positions. He came to sit further up her body, getting some more paint on his paintbrush before he started drawing on her stomach. Y/N was suddenly very aware of how her stomach looked laying like this, how soft it was. Harry started painting in a hypnotising circle of sorts. Circles that focused in on the spot right in the middle of her torso, one single vein reaching out and wrapping around her left ribcage. He did the same with the blue, outlining the lighter colour.

“Will you ever forgive me for how I mistreated you?” Harry asked, voice ever so tender. He sounded scared, as if he was horrified by what the answer might be.

“I won’t forgive you for making me uncomfortable when we first met.”

Harry looked up at her. “How did I make you uncomfortable?”

She clicked her tongue, glancing away from him.

“Y/N.”

“You don’t remember?”

“What did I do?”

Their eyes met again. “You asked me if the dress would fit.”

Harry stopped painting, furrowing his brows a little.

“I didn’t like that.”

Harry put the brush in the water before glancing back at her. “I was just asking to be sure it would, if not I would’ve had Jamie contact a costume designer and had another dress made.”

She sighed. “It’s… more than a dress, Harry.”

“Great. Tell me what it is, then.” He asked, about to place a hand on her thigh when he realised it was covered in paint. “Talk to me.”

“You don’t understand how awful it is to be reminded by people – people you don’t even know – that you’re bigger. It doesn’t even have to be a rude comment, it can just be a ‘Will it fit’ and someone’s confidence can come crumbling down. People who haven’t had problems like that don’t get it.” Y/N explained, sighing. “That I’ll never fit into my partner’s clothes ‘cause I’ll always be bigger than them, or how if I buy a shirt in a size small for a present for a mate the cashier will look at me like ‘you sure about this’. It just sucks to be reminded, and I don’t want people to think that because of my body I’m lesser than them. That they can talk to me in a disrespectful tone because of how I look.”

Harry frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, but I won’t forgive you for making me feel uncomfortable. And I’ll never forgive people who think they’re better than someone who doesn’t see fat people, POC, LGBT, or anyone else, as their equal.”

Harry nodded. “Good, you shouldn’t.”

She smiled a little.

“I’ll never make you feel uncomfortable again. I promise.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Harry smiled back at her, reaching for his brush and dipping it in a lighter colour before doing the same he’d done with the paint previous. He followed the swirl, tilting his head as he focused on her, covering her in dark to light blue. The swirls almost reminded Y/N of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. She knew Harry admired the Dutch painter a whole deal, he’d told her as much during one of those long and deep conversations the two of them had shared. But she really saw it now. All from the calf and all the way up her body, up her arms, neck, breasts, tummy; it was all covered in shades of blue. The circle came to focus on a round form in the middle of her torso. It seemed to be glowing in different hues of gold, like some sort of life force. And the little vein that had escaped the swirling storm surrounding the gold blob, was a similar yet smaller swirl of pink. Harry continued to paint on her, the two just staying there in silence, letting Harry paint out the image inside his head. It wasn’t till her leg, torso, and arms were almost completely covered in paint that Y/N spoke.

“What’s the inspiration behind this piece then?”

“Adoration.” Harry answered, not even batting an eye.

Y/N didn’t know what that meant, something Harry understood by her silence. He dragged the brush over her tummy, stopping as he reached the circle of gold in the middle.

“The parts of you I adore.”

He took her breath away, he truly did. The cold and closed man she’d met earlier that summer was gone completely. Before her sat the most tender, most open, most beautiful person she’d ever met. It startled her how much a person could change in a matter of a bit over a month. Or was this the person Harry had been before everything with Salvatore? To be frank, she didn’t particularly care. As long as Harry was as happy now as she was, and as long as he felt the same way she did, as long as he got to live his life the way he wanted to, she didn’t care about the person he’d been before this. He was happier now than she’d ever seen him, and that was all she cared about.

She never cried. If there was one thing she rarely did, it was let something get to her to such an extent that it took over all her emotions. But something about Harry taking two hours to merely paint on her naked body in detail, something about him paying such close attention to her and painting the parts of her he adored the most, it got her feeling something she never had before. No one had made her feel this important.

Though she tried to be as quiet as possible and not make loads of noise, Harry heard her sniffles. He looked up at her, a concerned furrow to his brows. “You alright? Am I stepping over a line-“

“-No, no, no, you’re alright. You’re great.” She assured him, afraid to move her arm and wipe a tear away in case she ruined his painting.

He seemed to know her predicament however, because he reached up and wiped her tears away, one at a time. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?” He stroked his fingers over her cheek. “Don’t cry, my love. Please.”

She couldn’t help the sob that rocked through her body, and she managed a small smile with a wobbling bottom lip. “It’s just it took me years and years to accept my body and to respect myself enough not to put myself down every single day over how I looked, how I was fat, how everyone was thinner and prettier than me.” Her smile widened as Harry wiped yet another tear away. “And here you are, doing it so quickly and without hesitation.”

Harry took a grip of his brush again, dipping into the gold yellow before looking into her eyes again. “It’s easier to be critical of yourself than of someone else. You can be your own worst enemy.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He let his eyes wander her body, taking in the painted areas and the areas he had left naked. She could tell by his stare that he hadn’t left some places free of paint because he didn’t adore those, but rather because painting her entire body would take too long. Also, painting some areas would not be very ideal. He inhaled, bringing his brush to her tummy. “I could never paint you. Could never do you justice in any way. I’ll try. I’ll fucking try till the day I die, but…” he circled the gold with the last layer of paint. “But I won’t ever be able to capture your beauty fully. No painting could ever do you justice. Art is beyond you. This…” he put the brush in the glass of water, outlining her body with his finger like he had done that time they had first woken up together. “There isn’t a word for this yet. Not a phrase powerful enough. I used to think paintings were fantastic ‘cause they told you more than a text ever could, but you’ve challenged that idea. You’re more powerful, more beautiful, more timeless than art. You’re more than everything.”

Y/N hadn’t known what people meant when they said they could remember the exact moment you fell in love with someone. She knew she was in love with Harry, knew she admired him beyond any comprehension. But looking back, Y/N knew this was the exact moment she started loving Harry. Hearing him say that, feeling his tender touch, being covered in his art, it all came together and created an emotion she was unsure she’d ever felt before.

“If you lay still, I’m gonna go paint you now, yeah?” Harry got up from the ground, bringing all his equipment with him. She just watched him, admiring how he lifted his white overalls further up his hips, and how they fell down a bit when he tied the arms around his waist again.

“My nose is itchy.”

“Don’t fucking-“ he was in front of her in a second, scratching her nose.

She laughed. “What are you doing?”

“You said your nose was itchy! I’m helping you out! No bloody way you’re ruining my paint.” He said, scratching still. “Alright?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“Brill.” He turned back to his canvas again, looking down at her. “Don’t move. I’ll be very mad.”

Giggling, she bit her bottom lip, watching as the tiniest of smiles stretched out over his lips as well. He dipped a new brushin some oil paint, took another look at her, and started painting. And watching him do exactly was he was born to do, what he did for a living, those three words echoed in the back of Y/N’s head. Like a soft chant that would be on repeat till the say she died. His name alone triggered the words; triggered her to say them and feel them and let them surround her. Harry, I love you, she thought, hoping he somehow could hear her or sense how she was feeling, but at the same time scared how he’d react if he didn’t feel the same way. Harry, I love you.

Tuesday, 13 August 2019

“Long time since I’ve seen your face.” Portia said as she appeared on Y/N’s phone screen. “How are you?”

Y/N nodded, looking down on Viola resting in her lap. “Good, a bit sunburnt. And you?”

“Alright, not very sunburnt. Haven’t seen the bloody sun in over a week.”

Y/N laughed. “How’s mum? Has she been looking after you since you got the casts off?”

“Yeah, she’s at my flat all the time now. It’s nice of her to be here and make sure I don’t fall and break both legs again, but that won’t happen when I’m laying in my sofa!” She shouted the last part, clearly hoping that Elaine, who was somewhere in Portia’s flat, would somehow hear and get the memo.

“Is she being a pest?”

“Babe, you have no fucking idea.” Portia hissed, looking over her shoulder to make sure their mother wouldn’t hear her. “She won’t leave me alone.”

“She’s just looking out for you, though.” Y/N reasoned, watching as Viola jumped down from her lap and walked over to sit in the windowsill by the open window.

“And I appreciate that, but I don’t want her around all the time. She does my head in.”

Y/N chuckled, getting up to make herself a glass of iced tea. “Mum’s always done your head in, that’s what it’s like being the favourite.”

“Oh, lay off, I’m not Mum’s favourite.”

“Is that Y/N, dear?” Elaine walked into the room and suddenly she was visible over Portia’s shoulder. “Hello, love!”

Y/N did a little wave. “Hiya.”

“Why are you spending a sunny day inside your flat?” Elaine asked, and Y/N instantly dreaded coming home to those kinds of questions constantly till she left for uni again.

Y/N sighed. “I’m talking to Portia, Mum. It’s a hassle having to FaceTime someone when you’re out and about.”

“Still, you should be outside.”

Y/N was about to say something when Portia interrupted her. “Y/N is outside all the time, Mum. She’s outside hours on end working with H. Styles, aren’t you, babe?”

It wasn’t often Portia stood up for Y/N. They both knew that their mother wouldn’t listen to reason unless Portia was the one delivering it. Which didn’t happen often, but moments like these, when Portia actually spoke up for Y/N when their Mother wouldn’t have it, it made Y/N appreciate her sister in a way nothing else could.

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, giving Portia a small smile only the sister knew what meant. Thank you. “I spend most of my days outside, don’t worry.”

“Hope you do, air is good for you.”

“So I’ve heard.” Y/N sighed, placing the camera on the kitchen counter as she made her iced tea.

“What’re you up to today?” Portia asked, wanting to steer the conversation in another direction.

She was about to tell them what she was actually going to do. About to tell them how Harry had promised to take her to La Spezia, the biggest town close to Fosdinovo. That they would most likely go to dinner there and he would drive them back to Fosdinovo so he could work some more on his paintings. But before that, he’d take her to bed and they’d get tangled in the sheets, sweat, whimpers, and each other. That she’d most likely spend the night with him. She didn’t tell them that. Didn’t tell them how close she and H. Styles had gotten. Didn’t tell them she loved him. Didn’t tell them she’d never felt as whole yet free as when she was with him.

“Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Portia raised her eyebrows. “You zoned out for a sec there.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She cleared her throat, mixing her iced tea. “I’m not doing much. Maybe taking a stroll through town, say hi to Rin, Meo, and Carina.”

“Carina is the one who got married, yeah?”

Elaine frowned. “Married?”

“I told you, Mum,” Portia said, looking over at Elaine. “Y/N went to that wedding and the bloke turned out to be a complete nutter. Anyway,” she glanced back at Y/N. “Did Carina ever leave him?”

“Think they’re signing the divorce papers soon. I’m glad she decided to leave him.”

Portia groaned, leaning her head against the back of the sofa. “You’ve given me more goss this summer than I could’ve hoped for. How dull it’s going to be getting back to work again.”

“Aren’t you looking forward to it?” Y/N asked, walking back over to her kitchen table.

“In a way, but it’s been very nice to have you do all the work for me.”

Y/N chuckled; Portia joined in. Her face suddenly grew very serious and she looked at something in her lap. Elaine got up and walked off, having chores to get to and Portia waited till their Mum was out of earshot before she spoke again.

“I never thanked you properly.”

“For what?”

“For doing this for me.” She glanced at Y/N again. “It’s meant heaps. You always do these things and I take it for granted.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, stirring the metal straw around in the tea. “You do.”

“I’m sorry.” Portia sighed. “I don’t mean it.”

“I know you don’t.”

Portia gave Y/N a small smile. “Will you ever forgive me for it?”

“For…?”

“For treating you like shit. For expecting you to do things for me.”

Y/N smiled back at her, taking a long sip of her old tea. “Just please don’t do it again and we’ll be fine.”

“I promise.” Portia nodded, sounding relieved, as if she’d thought of this for a long while now. “I won’t send you off to Italy for an entire summer to work with a grumpy painter ever again.” She laughed, but Y/N had to force her own. If Portia had never gotten herself injured, then Y/N would never have met Harry; would never have fallen in love; would never have loved as foolishly and completely as she did now. But the summer was coming to a close. Would it all have been for nothing in the end? Would she have fallen in love only to be forced out of it?

“Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Portia huffed. “What’s with you today? You’re not paying attention.”

“Sorry,” Y/N shook her head. “Go on. What were you saying?”

Harry placed the brush in her hand, enclosing her fingers around it before he brought it to the canvas. Trying her best not to disappoint him, she bit her lip, leaning her head against Harry’s as she concentrated on the painting.

“That’s it.” He mumbled, guiding her hand.

“Is it okay?”

“Well, I’m steering your hand so I’m basically painting. It’s brilliant.”

She nudged his shoulder, giggling a little and Harry looked at her, smiling. The two were sat on a small piano bench outside, Harry’s easel before them and an almost white canvas placed neatly on it. Y/N was wearing one of the tee shirts she’d left at Harry’s over the week and Harry had put on his dungarees, the cool evening air a refreshing break from the suffocating heat of day. Since they’d come home and shared their first kiss of the day, night had surrounded them again, and they had shagged multiple times before making their way to the balcony upstairs. They were so desperate for one another that it took everything out of both of them to hold back till they got home, so when they were completely alone, they simply could not help themselves. It felt right being together like this, without filters, without apology; just them.

“Look,” Harry took the brush from her hand, dipping it in some more orange and running it over the canvas. “To paint a sunset, you start with the colours of the sky. What colours you think will fit best?”

“What’re we painting?”

Harry huffed a small chuckle. “A sunrise.”

“Orange and maybe even some yellow.” Y/N answered, tilting her head as she watched him fill the blankness with more colour. “Oh, and blue! But just a tad.”

“You’re imagining a very sunny morning then?”

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She huffed, turning away from him to look at the painting. A slight noise of complaint left Harry’s throat and he put his finger to her chin, guiding her face till her lips were right in front of his. At the feel of his breath against her skin, all hairs on her body rose. She wanted to move closer to him, to kiss him, but she wanted to see what would happen if she held back. Harry had come to make the first move quite often since they started… whatever they’d started. But she quite liked it when he took control. He so rarely let himself have control over anything that wasn’t his profession. Though he seemed to take great pleasure in taking control of Y/N and them every once in a while. Y/N liked that very much.

“You haven’t seen one, how can you say that?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows to challenge him.

“Because an Essex sunrise would pale next to my standards of the most beautiful sights in the world.” Harry mumbled, rubbing his nose against hers as he closed his eyes.

She smiled. “Which is?”

He smiled too, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It felt like touching silk, tasted like a lifetime, and Y/N couldn’t get enough of it. She leaned into him, breathing him in. It felt so familiar, so right. As he pulled away, pressing a kiss to her nose, they both opened their eyes at the same time. She bit her lip, resting her head on his shoulder as he turned back to the painting. He dipped the brush in some yellow, spreading it out over and just below the orange.

“Did I ever tell you about my dreams?” Harry asked suddenly.

“What dreams?”

“Those I’ve had of you.”

A tingling sensation, excitement mixed with confusion, filled Y/N’s chest and she sat upright, looking at him. “I’ve… been in your dreams?”

“Multiple times.”

There was something so intimate, Y/N remarked, about hearing of your visit into someone else’s mind and dreams. Knowing you’d somehow been on their mind and made it into their unconscious state was flattering in a way a mere compliment could never live up to. It was beyond that. Harry put more paint on the brush before he took her hand again, guiding her hand over the canvas.

“Elaborate, please.” Y/N pleaded, biting her lip as she could make out Harry looking at her in her peripheral vision.

Harry cleared his throat a little, clearly just figuring out what he’d gotten himself into. With a curiosity like Y/N’s, she would demand every single little detail. He wasn’t hesitant to give them all to her though, it was just a matter of putting words to moments in his head and dreams that he had otherwise, till now, kept to himself.

“Most of my paintings are born from dreams.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he dipped the brush in more paint, letting her mix it with the orange on the page. “I get these moments in time, like watching something in slow motion almost.”

“They inspire you?”

“Yeah, it’s like a situation or a person inspire a songwriter to write a song.” Harry explained, letting go of her hand. “My dreams and… ultimately, you have inspired most of mine.”

She felt her cheeks heat up a bit. “Did you dream of me every time before a new painting?”

“Not in the beginning. I had most of them planned out.” He admitted, and though Y/N felt her heart sink a little at that, she still knew that she hadn’t been able to stand his person in the beginning as well. She couldn’t blame him. “But as time went on, you appeared in most of my dreams. The plan I had for my collection changed after I got to know you.”

She stopped painting, looking at him. “The collection’s changed?”

Harry was about to say something when there came knocking from the front door, soon followed by Jamie’s loud shouts. “Harry!” they called. “I know you’re on the balcony, mate!”

Harry sighed, glancing at the painting before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t get a nod in before Harry was off the piano seat and walking down the stairs to let Jamie in. After everything, Harry had started locking his front door the second after closing it, without fail. He didn’t let anyone into his house, and if someone paid him a visit – which people rarely did – he would usually not leave them alone in a room. Y/N understood his weariness, and though she hated seeing his trust having been bruised like this, she wasn’t about to explain to him that there was no use. The only person in this town who would dare to do something like that was now in jail a few towns over, meaning Harry and his paintings were safe. But that was easier understood from an outside perspective than an inside one. Harry would have his guard up for people he met and let into his life from now on. It was only Y/N he allowed full access to all of himself. He wasn’t ashamed or scared of letting her in. She felt so honoured to be part of his life like this.

Y/N heard Harry let Jamie in, and instantly, the two started chatting. Their voices were heated right off the bat, but it was like they didn’t want her to hear, their voices sounded like angry whispered hisses of sorts. Y/N places the paintbrush in the glass of water, getting up and walking slowly toward the staircase leading downstairs. Maybe she would hear what they were talking about better that way. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I swear,” Jamie said, listening in on what must be the middle of their conversation. “It’s like you don’t even understand what I’m trying to tell you.”

“That’s exactly what’s going on.”

Jamie groaned, the next part he said inaudible. Y/N stepped over the floorboard that she had come to learn was a bit creaky, and walked down the set of stairs to be closer to the two talking.

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Jamie said, trying to keep their voice down.

“Which part?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Harry, don’t try and act innocent now.”

There was a pause, like the two had a sort of staring contest, daring the other one to say something. Y/N put her hands on the railing, biting her lip in anticipation of them starting to talk again. She heard Viola meowing downstairs and Harry sighing heavily, probably picking her up as he always did. He liked having her close. Just yesterday she’d taken her cast off and though she’d gotten used to not having it in a matter of a few hours, Y/N and Harry both liked carrying her. Y/N didn’t want the little cat to be at hers alone, so she’d brought her here. There wasn’t much in Y/N’s flat anyway now, almost everything was packed, ready for Friday.

“Y/N is upstairs, if you could-“

“-I know Y/N is upstairs.”

They fell quiet again, and Y/N wondered why Jamie’s voice sounded so harsh. What was going on? Had something happened?

“Harry, you can’t…” Jamie trailed off, groaning a little in what must be frustration.

“Can’t what?”

“I don’t want to have to say it.”

A slight pause before Harry growled, “Then don’t.” It was like he knew what Jamie was going to tell him. Y/N wished she did. She leaned a little more over the railing, willing them to speak up and put words to the situation.

“I think I might have to.” Jamie sighed. “Harry, you can’t-“

“-Jamie, I swear to God-“

“-You can’t shag your client.”

The house fell quiet once again and Y/N suddenly wished she hadn’t eavesdropped. Her heart sunk, sending a pain running through her entire body like one she’d never known before. Viola meowed again, Harry clearly having put her down on the ground again.

“Why?”

“You know why, Harry.” Jamie sounded defeated. Y/N had never imagined Jamie to act like this, but then again, listening to what they had to say, she understood. “It’s unprofessional.”

Harry huffed.

“What, H?”

“It’s unprofessional to fall in love?”

There was a slight pause before, “No, it’s unprofessional to go against the contract you yourself made Y/N and Portia sign.”

“Enlighten me.”

There was a rustling of papers as Jamie had clearly come prepared. “Want me to read you her contract or the agreement?”

“Aren’t they the same? They’ve both come back to bloody haunt me.-“

“-‘This agreement is made on the date of last signature below between: 1) The Employer: Harry Edward Styles, of Via Mizzani 1, Fosdinovo-“

“-I know my own fucking address, Jamie.-“

“-2) The Employee: Y/N Venus Sweeney, of 43 Overstone Road, Hammersmith, London, W6 0A-“

“-Jamie-“

“-The relationship between the two parties is to be strictly professional in nature, non-existent.’” There was a pause as Jamie ruffled through some more papers. “’The employee is not to distract the employer. They are not to form a bond outside the confines of the painting sessions.’” Jamie sighed. “Harry, you made this yourself. You decided on this contract and the agreement. There are tons more about her needing to ensure she’s not distracting you, how she’s not to come to your house, not to talk to you whilst you’re painting, not to invade your personal space, not to ask questions-“

“-I fucking get it.”

There was a slight bang, as if Jamie had slammed their hand onto the stack of papers on a table surface. “Do you, Harry?”

Silence sounded again, just Viola’s small paws against the metal staircase as she walked upwards toward Y/N. Viola meowed as she saw her, Y/N put a finger to her lips begging her not to make any noise. This whole situation was bad enough as it was without the wo downstairs knowing she was listening in.

“Can’t you just ruin the contract and the agreement, make another? I made these so I should be able to make a new contract.”

“People will find out, Harry.”

“How?”

“Because they always do. Especially when you’re a massive painter and people, tabloids, news reporters, all know your name.”

Harry groaned. “Then what will you have me do?”

There was a pause, as if Jamie was giving Harry some sort of look. Y/N bent down as Viola reached her, hugging her to her chest for comfort.

“No,” Harry growled. “No, Jamie.”

“You have to.”

“I’m not breaking it off with her.”

Jamie sighed. “It’s not a matter if you two want to or not; you have to. This isn’t what she’s here for, as is said in the contract. You didn’t want a relationship with her at all. People will find out about this, you will lose clients because of your unprofessionalism and your inability to keep to the rules of your own contract, and your success and reputation will be ruined. How are you supposed to listen to others and how are they supposed to take you seriously when you can’t even take yourself seriously enough to listen to your own words?”

Silence filled the house again; Y/N didn’t know what to do. She felt so helpless, so stupid. Viola purred against her, and Y/N wondered how someone could feel so content while the world of the person holding her was falling apart.

“I…” Harry stopped himself, clearing his throat some before he continued. “I must’ve forgotten.”

“If she’s in your bed right now, she’s undoubtedly forgotten as well.”

“Don’t fucking talk of her like that.” The words were venomous, telling them to watch their tone.

“This won’t just affect your career, Harry, it’s going to affect hers as well.”

This made Harry shut up, the quiet that followed was filled with agony. They had both been so blinded by the fact that Y/N would be leaving Italy and Harry soon that they hadn’t even thought of anything else. The contract she had been told to sign and what it had said, it had slipped Y/N’s mind. In truth, she didn’t properly read through it, thinking it couldn’t possibly be that strict and bad. Turns out it was, and now the two of them would have to live with the consequences. They couldn’t be.

“You know I want nothing but the best for you, Harry. Always have. That’s why I’m still here, why I’m working with you. You’re my best mate.” Jamie said, Harry sighing heavily at their words. “I don’t want to see you fail.”

“How about happy?”

“What?”

“You said you don’t want to see me fail; do you want to see me happy?” Harry asked. “I’ve not smiled as much as I have in the months she’s been here, then the entire year since the Salvatore incident. Or the years prior when I lived, worked, breathed completely alone.”

Jamie clicked their tongue. “I want to see you happy, but I want to find a way for you to be happy and still be able to paint for a living.”

“And I won’t be able to do that if I continue to be with Y/N?”

“No!” Jamie shouted, not caring anymore if Y/N could hear them or not. “You’ll be fucking miserable! I know you well enough to tell you this: without your work, without painting, you’ll be fucking miserable, Harry. If you flake on your own contract, what does that say about future professional relationships?”

Silence.

“You know I’m right.”

“Don’t fucking rub it in, Jamie.” Harry said, voice as low as Y/N remembered it to be when he was out of his mind angry. “Leave, please.”

Jamie let out a small groan. “Harry, don’t do this-“

“-Leave!” he repeated. “We’re not… doing this now.”

“Then when?”

Y/N heard Harry’s bare feet against the floor, already making his way towards the stairs. She quickly started walking up towards the loft with Viola against her chest still.

“In three days.”

“Why three days?”

“Because I said so!”

Y/N sat down by the easel, putting Viola down on the ground beside her, and pretending not to have listened at all. She heard the front door slam shut and Harry’s frustrated sigh as he reached the loft again. He stopped at the top of the stairs and she felt his eyes on her back, felt his frustration.

She knew why Harry wanted to talk to Jamie in three days. Knew why he was postponing it. She was leaving in three days. On that very Friday morning, she would say bye to Harry, be driven to the airport by a driver she’d never met, and probably never see Harry again. And she knew exactly where Jamie was coming from. Even when Harry sat down next to her, pretending not to have argued with Jamie minutes earlier about her and their relationship, Y/N was unable to think about anything else. Jamie was right. Harry and Y/N could simply not be together.

Thursday, 15 August 2019

All her stuff was at Harry’s. It would be easier for the driver to come to his place as the road by Y/N’s flat was very narrow and a nightmare to find a way out of unless you were driving a moped. It was the morning of her departure and Y/N had lied awake for a couple of hours, not wanting to move or get out of bed. She needed to take a bath before travelling to the airport, fully aware that because of the stress of her leaving as well as anxiety of never seeing Harry again, she’d been sweating more than usual that night.

Beside her, she hadn’t heard Harry all night. He usually breathed heavily, not quite snoring, but you would definitely know he was asleep if you ever heard him. She wondered if he’d slept lightly or not at all. Either way, she hated that she might be the cause of that. As she glanced over at him, his gaze was fixed on the ceiling overhead, deep in his thoughts. She didn’t want to disturb him or to break him out of his reverie if he was thinking of something important. Just barely, she could feel his hand in her hair, fingers running along her scalp in a soothing manner. If she hadn’t been so set on the fact that she was dreading leaving, she would’ve fallen back asleep.

Y/N sat up, about to get out of bed and walk to Harry’s bathroom when-

“-Where are you going?”

She looked down at him, his eyes fixed on her now. “Need to take a bath before I leave.”

Harry nodded slightly, and she was about to try and leave bed again when he took a grip of her wrist, sliding his hand down to hold hers. She waited for him to say something, but instead he just looked at her hand in his, stroking his thumb tenderly over her.

“Harry.”

“I need a date.” He suddenly blurted out. “I need to know the exact date I’ll get to see you next after this.”

She bit her lips together, glancing down at their hands as well. “I’ll be in London or Essex; you know where to find me, you have my addresses.”

“I do, but…” he paused, frowning. “I’ll only be in London for a week, max. And that’s at the end of tour. Six months away.”

“And I need to focus on my studies.” Y/N said, aware that if she was going to knock some sense into both her and Harry, she had to be harsh about it.

Harry’s frown deepened and he looked up at her. “I know that. I’m not telling you not to, it’s important.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

He sat up as well, wanting to get a closer look at her. “Y/N.”

Her glance didn’t waver from their joined hands.

“Celeste.” He squeezed her hand some, making her look at him. She couldn’t help herself when he called her that. “We’re going to be okay.”

She looked away again, feeling her eyes sting. Why did Harry get her to feel so much all at once? She was both filled to the brim with the loveliest feelings in the whole entire world, but she also felt her chest about give out, like an oncoming earthquake that would shake her up and cause havoc for weeks, months, years to come.

Harry’s grip on her loosened. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“There’s more than that.”

She was quiet.

“Y/N-“

“-I heard yours and Jamie’s conversation the other day.” She looked at him again, and the instant she did, she saw sadness appear at the corners of his lips and desperation pooling somewhere in his eyes. “About the contracts.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes.

“They’re right, Harry.”

“No,” he brought her hand into his lap, holding it tightly. “How can you say that?”

“Didn’t you hear what they were trying to tell you?”

“Yes, I did.” Harry said, eyes meeting hers. “But how can you say that?”

She furrowed her brows, exhaling slowly.

“If you feel even half of what I’m feeling, how can you say that?” Harry held her hand to his lips, not leaving a kiss there or anything alike, he just left it there as a reassurance that she was still with him. She hadn’t left yet. His eyes fell to the bed again. “I refuse to let you leave me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re never going to see each other again.” He said, sighing heavily against her hand. “Y/N, why are you saying this?”

“Because,” she blinked a few times, willing the tears away. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

“You don’t think we’re it?”

“I think I signed a contract months ago not knowing I would ultimately come to catch feelings for the person who wrote it.”

He looked over at her. “What does that matter?”

She sighed again. “Harry-“

“-How does it matter in the slightest?” he asked, moving closer to her and resting their hands against her chest so he could feel her heartbeat. “How does anything matter besides how much we feel for one another? Love is stronger, greater, truer than anything else, and no matter what the world throws its way, it will win. Love will always win.”

She felt her eyesight get blurrier. “How can you say that for certain? There are countless stories of people who were meant to be but couldn’t be ‘cause of circumstances.”

“And I’m sorry for them,” Harry said, a sad crease appearing between his brows as he saw the effect his words had on her. “But most of them at least tried to fight.”

She exhaled shakily.

“I’m ready to fight for us, Y/N. For you.”

She sobbed. “For me?”

“I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

Biting her lips together, she just looked at him, willing her racing heart and her blurry sight to calm down.

“There is absolutely no limit to what I would do… the lengths I would go…” he moved closer again, resting his forehead against hers. “Celeste, you have to believe that what I feel for you is larger than my mere existence.” He squeezed her hand. “It transcends my single body, it’s more than a simple human lifetime. I understand why people say love can change the world. If felt strong enough, it’s the greatest emotion and tool of the entire universe. It can be someone’s pillar and their downfall.”

She held onto him tighter.

“Don’t let it be our downfall, Y/N. I beg you.”

There was absolutely not a single part of her that wanted to leave. She wanted to stay in Fosdinovo with Harry till they were both grey and old, she wanted to stay here forever. As Harry had said, they were it. Why couldn’t she just tell him she felt it too? That she too knew that no matter who she met after Harry, no matter the attraction or how compatible they were, Y/N would never feel about them the same way she felt about Harry. No one could ever match him, and it would be dumb to even try.

But when would they meet next? Would they be able to stand the distance? Not talking for a few days? They’d basically spent all summer in each other’s company, how did they know a life without the other in it after this? Y/N was sure her love for Harry could conquer everything, but loving someone was different from surviving without them. Her love would still be there, even if they weren’t and never would be.

Letting go of one last sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, and walked to the bathroom. She knew Harry was watching her, and knew she needed to get about her bath before the driver arrived and she had to leave. She closed the door, crouching down beside the bath and turning the water on, checking it was the perfect temperature before she put the plug in, spreading some of her soap in the rising water. She waited, not trying to let her mind wander back to Harry alone in his bed. How she had just left him after that. How he didn’t want them to end things. But how she knew herself that it would be incredibly hard to wait six months before she got to see him again. It would be better for both of them if they just ripped off the band-aid right away instead of slowing the process down.

She got into the bathtub, sliding down the back of it, and closed her eyes. The warm water embraced her, offering a last sort of comfort before she would have to leave. She thought back on her summer. Let the memories wash over her. Sitting there, she tried to understand how this had all come about. How she had fallen in love with a painter who had treated her like nothing but shit the first few weeks of her stay here. How that same painter was a completely different person now. How he wanted her to believe in him and what they had enough to survive time and space. And she was sure their love for one another would. But at some point, time and space was too much and the lack of the presence of the other wasn’t much so.

She was terrified, she had to admit. There was not a single soul she had cared for or loved as much as Harry, and that alone mortified her. Harry had said so himself; their love was bigger than themselves, it was something more. Just by pressing her skin against his, Y/N felt like they were creating entire galaxies. Together they had made something bigger than themselves, something neither of them knew how to properly control if they weren’t together. So what would six months do? Seven months? A year?

Slowly, the door to the bathroom opened, revealing Harry to her. He was wearing his dungarees, something she had come to associate with him along with his pink Converse. She looked up at him, waiting for him to walk inside and do whatever he had thought of doing. What she hadn’t expected, was for Harry to sit down beside the bathtub. He reached for her cheek, caressing her so gently it felt like feathers against her skin. Gradually he reached for her neck, begging her to meet him halfway. And she did. It was the kind of kiss that held a promise. Y/N wasn’t sure what kind of promise it was or why it made her feel both hopeful and sad, but she clung to it. Both her hands rested at each of Harry’s cheeks, holding him to her. All his words earlier tattooed themselves to her memory, her brain, her heart. She would never forget them or the person who said them. This summer had brought her tenderness and thousands of lessons learned, but most importantly, it had brought her Harry, and for that she would forever be grateful.

Harry slid his hand down her shoulder, caressing her breast, into the hot water, and sliding his hand over her tummy. She kissed him harder as he reached lower, as he slid his middle and ring finger between her folds. Letting out a breathy moan, she let the feeling of Harry’s long fingers against her ever-growing sensitive bud take over everything she knew. The thought of Harry just wanting to please her without needing her to give anything back to him like most idiot men did, was everything to her. He just wanted to please her; just wanted to see her come, to see her smile and happy. It made her feel so incredibly much love for him all at once that the butterflies in her tummy went crazy. They flew into her core, flying in a circle so fast and creating a low hum of pleasure between her legs. She closed her eyes, relishing in Harry’s careful movements, letting him take complete control of her. When she opened her eyes again, looking straight into his though the sight was a little blurry, she could tell he hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a single second. He had watched her as her desire and desperation for him rose, as she started moving her hips ever so slightly to get that familiar spark of pleasure running through her.

As his mouth fell open at the sight of her, Y/N suddenly became very aware of just how much she ached for him. Her cunt was slick and very hot as Harry felt her out, and though she was in a bathtub and most areas were already wet, being turned on and ready for someone was a completely different kind. He no doubt felt her need for him rise. Staring at her the way he did, Y/N was sure he was savouring this moment just like she was. He wanted her to get off just so he could remember how well he was able to please her; so he could look back on this moment and her; so he could remember them this way forever. Being wet and desperate for him like this, every little sensation she felt was heightened, especially her clit and hole. A whimper left her lips, spilling onto Harry’s that hovered over hers.

“Yeah?” he said. “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes.” She breathed, not being able to help herself as he pushed his two fingers into her.

With his other hand, Harry took a grip of her hair, holding her face to his as he slid his fingers in and out of her. Though Harry loved getting her off, he usually did so with his tongue and not his fingers alone. They would rather get to it and fuck each other, as they had done senselessly and passionately for a week now. They moved so well together, fit together so well it almost felt meant to be. Nothing felt more right and certain than being with Harry, yet it was wrong and it would require time and strength and patience. How was it that all good things came with a prize? Wasn’t it hard enough that you had to search for your soulmate, but when you found them, they were hard or impossible to be with? Life would always found something and throw it in the way of a person’s wants.

She closed her eyes again, hearing the water splash around her as Harry started moving his hand harder. Pounding her deeper and making sure to get her exactly right. He knew the right buttons to press now, knew the small tricks and what would make her scream if he wanted her to. She loved how well he knew her. Loved that he had cared to even learn the small things about her, what would have her arch her back and repeat his names at the top of her lungs. Loved that he knew how she preferred her breakfast, her favourite drink, colour, her daily routines, and her sense of style. Loved that he had taken the effort to get to know her like she had done to him. She would never forget the small things about him.

“Stay,” he whispered, voice almost breaking. “And if you won’t stay, wait for me.”

She moaned, opening her eyes to look at him. Her grip on the hair at his neck and forearm tightened as the tension in her core did the same. She moved with him and her movements were frantic, needing the friction to increase and the fire in her lower stomach to build up into a huge explosion of pleasure. Water spilled everywhere, and Harry didn’t care in the least. Didn’t even bat an eye when he heard it hit his tiles. All her nerves perked up, a climax not far off.

“Y/N,” Harry mumbled. “Say something.”

She gripped him harder. “Harry.”

He tightened his hold on her hair, bringing her closer to him, moving his fingers a little faster. He was driving her completely mad. Absolutely mental. He knew that gripping her hair like that, moving the way he did, he would cause a reaction from her.

“Stay.”

“Baby, you know I can’t.” She said, moaning loudly.

He curled his fingers, fucking her harder and faster, letting her frantic state grow. She breathed harshly, gasping. He was hitting that exact spot that was like throwing fuel into a flame, because Y/N felt nothing but her orgasm just then.

“Then wait for me.” He said, voice low and desperate. “Please, Celeste.”

The bubble was about to burst, the pleasure inside of her was like white noise in her ears. Nothing but the feeling of Harry’s fingers, the hot water around her, his hand in her hair, breath mingling with hers, nothing else mattered. He was here, making sure she left him knowing what he could give her and more.

“I’ll wait for you.” He said, leaning down and kissing her neck. “Please, wait for me.”

She leaned her head against his, nails digging into his skin, frantic because the orgasm she was about to have would undoubtedly make her legs and entire world shake.

“Come for me, baby.” He mumbled against her, kissing her jaw. “Come. Only for me.”

She breathed harshly and moaned a little too loudly, but she could not control herself. She gasped. It ran up her spine, her torso, down her thighs, and to her fingertips that was clinging to Harry. She felt it everywhere, like it radiated off her entire body. It was like magic had found a place to hide inside her, running through her like every incredible sensation the world had to offer. The orgasm toned down in waves and Y/N only realised once she opened her eyes again that her legs had been shaking.

Harry lifted his head, letting go of her hair and sliding his fingers out of her. He leaned forward, giving her a desperate kiss. She felt it in every cell of her body. Everything within her was reaching for him, not wanting to leave but knowing that she had to. There was a life waiting for her back home, an important one at that, and she simply could not cut that part of her life off because she wanted to stay in Fosdinovo with Harry. They breathed harshly against one another and as Harry pulled away, a small whimper left Y/N’s lips, begging him to kiss her again. He did, just as hard and passionate as the time before. But suddenly he got up, walked out of the bathroom, and left her alone to get cleaned up and dressed. It was a mere 15 minutes till the driver would be here after all.

She got ready. Putting her clothes on, fixing her hair, and making sure she didn’t look as sad as she felt. But in the middle of getting ready, she heard honking outside, and everything within her sank. It was time. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing herself to calm down. She couldn’t walk downstairs a weeping mess. The driver would be horrified and Harry would never let her leave if she was crying. She walked out of the bathroom, but her suitcases weren’t there. Instantly, she knew Harry had carried them down, and she wasn’t sure if she appreciated him doing it or despised him for not letting her do it herself so she could stay there a few minutes longer.

“Sweeney?” asked the driver as she got downstairs.

Y/N gave him a smile. “Yes, sir.” Looking past him, she saw Harry putting the last of her stuff in the boot of the car, a look on his face that could either be of concentration or of restraint to show what he was actually feeling. Harry shut the boot, giving the driver a small nod as they walked down the front stairs and to the driver’s seat.

Y/N stepped outside, letting the Italian summer sun hit her one last time and for once not detesting the fact it hurt her eyes. Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her as she made her way down. His dungarees were still wet, but it was already starting to dry in the heat of morning.

She let go of a heavy sigh as she reached him. “Harry-“

But she stopped herself as he took her hand in his. “Don’t.” He said lowly. “It’ll only make this harder.”

She nodded, very aware that it would be. Whatever either of them said now would make it harder. But what made it even worse was Harry bringing her hand up, and kissing it as tenderly as he had done that first time. Slowly he turned her hand around, kissing it just as softly and bringing tears to Y/N’s eyes that she had tried to hard to keep at bay. Their eyes met and as he saw how glassy hers were, something in his face changed. Before he could reach up and try and console her, something that would make everything worse times ten, Y/N walked past him and to the car. She closed the door, put her seatbelt on and glanced out the window at Harry who had turned around, not taking his eyes off her for a single second.

The engine roared to life, the driver stepped on the pedal, and away they went. Her heart was racing, unable to believe that she was leaving Fosdinovo for good now. The village she had spent all summer in, that she had come to love. The cat she considered a great friend, and the other actual human beings that had made a huge impact on her. Possibly the love of her life. She was leaving it all behind. And as she felt a tear roll down her cheek, she knew that no matter what, nothing would mend the loss of any of it.

She swore she heard her name being called somewhere behind them, like a desperate plea somewhere in the cloud of dust the car made along the country roads. But as she turned around to look out the back window, hoping to see him there, she saw nothing. It must’ve only been a figment of her imagination. She turned back around and went home to England.

NEXT UPDATE: 1st March 2020, 9PM GMT

a huge thanks to my lovely beta readers!

💙 @aileenacoustic 💙 @emotionally-imbruised 💙 @fromyourstrulyh 💙

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #WOOOOOO PLS COME TALK

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