#love how dry and crusty her lips look. also very in character

[eye-of-yelough]

BABE IMAGES

Click for better quality etc etc

[jungxk]

crush

filed under. i totally forgot i wrote this. also i like the name eunmi sue me 

notes. thank you to @lonelyending for reading thru this crusty story and making me feel good enough about it again to post it. also @suga-kookiemonster bc im pretty sure i sent u this like a year ago and u told me to post it it but....i forgot abt it shdgjsgd. writing/life in general has been hard recently so pls accept this kookfic to hold yous over until i update just one

genre. fluff, light comedy, light angst, smut

warnings. smut (oral sex: f receiving, penetrative unprotected sex) 

length. 5.1k

the first thing jungkook thinks when he sees you is wow.

he hasn't been up for very long, and you don't even know he's looking at you through the window. yoongi-hyung has wrapped you up in his arms as you sob and sob, muted behind the protective hospital glass. even with messy hair and wet eyes he's starstruck. it's why he recoils slightly when jimin and namjoon explain to him that you're his wife.

"my," he can't even say the word. "my..."

"your wife," namjoon repeats. "you know what a wife is, right? marriage?"

"yes," jungkook huffs, digging his nails into his scalp. "i lost my memory, hyung, not my fucking brain cells." 

he suddenly registers the gold band glistening on his left hand, simple and heavy. he has to take a second to collect himself. "but...but i'm twenty-three. right? i am twenty-three, yeah?"

"yeah. you are," jimin says softly.

"then how the fuck am i already married? not that i'm complaining i just," he suddenly turns pink at the thought of you in a wedding dress, clinging onto his arm, breakfast dates, late night ramen runs at the convenience store, painting the living room in a house you probably share, naked in bed on top of him. jungkook clears his throat. "it just seems a little out of character for me. i can't commit to a pair of shoes for a week let alone-"

"i think it's best if you just spoke with ____," jimin finishes before jungkook can work himself into a frenzy, a comforting hand laying on his shoulder. "you two need to talk anyway and it's best if all these answers came from her."

jungkook gulps at the thought of speaking to you, seeing you face to face. suddenly he's a cripplingly shy fourteen year old again.

"okay." he croaks. "okay."

x

x

x

you were even more beautiful up close.

your tear stained cheeks are glowing and blotchy when you perch on the chair beside his bed, big eyes fluttering up at him nervously. you're soft and plush and shorter than he thought and jungkook has to fist his hands in the sheets and play a counting game with the heart rate monitor in order to maintain eye contact. he feels himself start to sweat when you smile sadly at him. "sorry, i just...i don't know how to be around you normally without making you uncomfortable," you say quietly, wringing your hands together to avoid touching him.

"uncomfortable?" he queries, gaze latching onto the ring on your hand. seeing it on you gives him a nice feeling.

you nod into your lap. "yeah, um..." you look at your scuffed shoes, searching for the word. "we're usually very...touchy."

he can feel himself turning red again. "t-touchy?"

you meet his eyes and a pretty smile breaks over your face at how bashful he looks, making jungkook's cheeks tinge even pinker than they already are. you nod cutely so your earrings tinkle, eyes shining, and suddenly he understands without any context why he fell in love with you, why he married you so young. you let a comfortable silence settle over the room before taking a deep breath, bracing yourself. "how much do you remember, jungkook?"

he tries not to cave under the weight of his guilt. "not a lot about...you, that is," he finishes with a wince, your sad eyes immediately making him wilt with shame. "i remember everything up until a couple of years ago. we had a show at the japanese dome, debuted in america, and then...nothing. and now..."

"and now," you echo softly. your eyes look distant, staring at the floor.

"i'm sorry," jungkook whispers, chin touching his chest. "hyung told me...they all told me how much i loved you and...and i'm sorry i don't remember any of it. i'm so sorry."

you shake your head gently. "don't be sorry, jungkook-ah," the pet name makes his ears perk up. its a familiar, calming sound. "none of this is your fault. you didn't ask to get hit by that car." your expression turns remorseful, tugging at his heart. "if anything, this is because of me. the only reason you were out was because i asked you to go and get eggs and formula even though i should've remembered to pick some up on the way home and-"

"no, no! please don't blame yourself," jungkook tries, wishing he was close enough or even brave enough to take your hand. you look up at him and he catches a glimpse of the endless pool of love you harbour for him, like a punch to the chest. "i don't ever want you thinking this was your fault. so ple-" he pauses. "wait, formula?"

the door bursts open before he can finish, pitter patter steps rounding his bed until it reaches the other side, where you sit. a little girl with big dark eyes and curls of dark hair stares at him in wonder and elation, her cheeks dimpling just like yours before she screeches, "appa!"

jungkook's mouth goes dry. appa?

you're quick to intervene, putting yourself in the toddlers path to scoop her up in your arms. her grabby little hands struggle over your shoulder, fingers wriggling in attempt to get as close to jungkook as possible. he only stares with wide eyes and an open mouth, heart hammering in his chest when he sees the uncanny resemblances: his round nose. your brown skin but just a twinge fairer. his hooded eyes. and his stomach lurches.

"shhh, eunmi," you coo as you carry her away even with her squirming. "remember what i said before? appa is sick. appa is sick, baby-"

"we have a child?" jungkook wheezes, eyes starting to glaze over. there's a bout of silence when you look back at him guiltily, the baby's fumbling grinding to a halt when she registers the tension in the air. jungkook's breath is barely a whisper. "is that my daughter?"

your face crumples with a fresh bout of tears and eunmi looks on worriedly. she pushes her little lips into your cheek in a baby's kiss, like she's seen her father do so many times to get your attention. the word "amma," is muffled into your skin until you get yourself together and press a short kiss to her head.

yoongi rushes in, face twisted in apology. "i swear to god i turned around for one minute and-"

"it's okay, yoongi," you say quietly, stroking the baby's head. "eunmi, stay with uncle just a bit longer, okay? amma will be back in a minute..."

"appa," she whines over your shoulder, reaching for jungkook who sits helplessly in his bed. he watches with tears wetting his eyelashes, heart twisting in agony at the sight of his child he doesn't remember stretching her arms out for him. she begins to cry when he doesn't react or coo her. like he used to.

"take her, yoongi," you say shakily, passing the baby to him. the sound of eunmi's crying makes your heart shatter all over again, yoongi's quiet hushing doing nothing to qualm her sobbing as the heavy door closes behind them.

the silence that falls between the two of you is nothing short of excruciating. jungkook's head spins, completely overwhelmed: is that why you both got married so young? because of a child? was this why jimin and namjoon wouldn't say a damn thing about his life until he spoke to you first?

and then all the other questions that followed: was he a good father? when was his daughter's birthday? did she like kimchi and banana milk too? did he sing to her? read to her often?

would she ever forgive him for not being able to remember her?

"her name is eunmi," you say, looking down at the floor when jungkook starts to cry.

x

x

x

jungkook doesn't understand how his baby could be so pretty. she's golden brown like those sandy beaches on postcards, with chubby cheeks and twinkling dark eyes that resemble yours to a t, and that's when he realises of course she's beautiful. she's yours. you balance eunmi on your hip while you make coffee - decaf, since you're still weaning - and despite the amnesia jungkook feels like he's been here before, in this warm, happy place that is the kitchen.

"she got your nose though," you remind him, dumping the baby in his lap upon her fussing. she always seemed to wind down under his touch, and although nervous about the sudden responsibility of fatherhood, jungkook is compelled to give it. eunmi doesn't understand anything's changed so he doesn't see why he should act like it. "she's whiny before her milk too. like you."

"hey!" he retorts, but can't exactly defend himself. he twirls his fingers around her curly pigtails until she catches on and tries to stand on his thighs, reaching for his hair to yank. jungkook lets her. he's barely known his daughter a week and he's already so smitten he'd let her gut him open with a butter knife.

"she missed you, you know. when you were in hospital all this time," you say, making him look up to watch you stare into your drink. the fear still lingers in your eyes, faint and persistent. he can see it every time you look at him and it makes his body yearn to touch you like he once did, like he once would have before his brain unlearned everything his heart didn't. you laugh while watching eunmi pull his hair again, making him hiss. "even yoongi tried but no one coddles her as much as you."

"really?" he asks, face lighting up. he's so happy to hear that. jungkook hates the way the question bubbles up in the back of his throat, like it'd make a difference or it'd change how he felt. but he has to ask it. "is that why...is that why we got married so early, then?" he says, trying to sound as offhand as possible. "because of eunmi?"

you chew your lip. "yeah. i mean, you said it wasn't a big deal. because you were going to marry me eventually so it didn't make a difference, but...it doesn't really matter i guess, because that's not what everyone else thinks," you pause, tracing the rim of your mug again. "that's certainly not what your fans think."

jungkook doesn't even want to think about it. the backlash, the gossip, the name calling and dehumanisation. for the first time in his life jungkook couldn't give less of a shit about his reputation. "i'm sorry," he says, feeling like the word has lost meaning by now with how much he's said it. "i'm so sorry. not for this, for us or for eunmi. i don't regret any of that i just," he shifts the baby in his lap, still getting used to her weight. "i can only imagine what you went through."

you look a bit bewildered. "...you said that last time too." you smile again reassuringly. "please don't feel solely responsible, kook-ah. you didn't exactly get me pregnant on your own."

he flushes tomato red and you giggle at him until eunmi joins in too.

x

x

x

jungkook can't keep his eyes off you while you play with the baby, comb out her hair, sing her lullabies while you bathe her together. he'd always wanted a whirlwind romance as a teen and it looks like he finally got it, because he can feel himself fall head first in love with you (all over again). it didn’t make sense for someone to be so collected and easygoing after having motherhood forced onto you so abruptly. you tell him often that he's a picture-perfect dad, but jungkook still doubts he compares.

"does she need a change?" he asks, struggling to keep all of eunmi's wriggling limbs in his grip.

"nope, just hungry," you say, reaching out when he passes the baby to you. you're about to stand up and go to the guest room to feed her, but jungkook is already arranging the pillows next to him for you, grabbing a baby cloth on the side too.

"do you need another pillow?" he muses aloud, but he's already grabbing the ones on his side of the bed before you can answer, forming a wedge for you to sit nicely beside him. he looks up at you when you fail to move. "are you okay?"

"yeah i, um," you chew your lip nervously. "you don't...mind me feeding here?"

you immediately regret the question once it leaves your mouth. jungkook's crestfallen expression hits you right in the stomach, round eyes glittering up at you. he hasn't looked this upset since he woke up nearly a month ago. "why would i ever mind?”

"oh jungkook," you sniff, sitting beside him. he pulls you into the nest of pillows beside him, arm winding protectively around your shoulders. your eyes brim with sympathy tears, tired and angry and upset with treating him like a stranger.

"if i make you feel uncomfortable, i can go," he offers quietly. "if it makes you feel weird i understand..."

"no, not at all," you rush to stop him, suddenly realising how close you are. you could kiss his pink little lips if you just tilted your head up. "i just didn't want to make you feel weird. all this new stuff is happening to you, you're suddenly a husband and a father with no recollection of signing up or it and i just...i don't know how much you want to invest the second time around," you scramble to finish your sentence when he pins you with a concerned expression. “as in, i understand if you don’t want to make the same choice twice. it’s a big decision.”

he shakes his head dismissively. there wasn't a thing in the world that could make him turn his back on his family but it looked like you still needed convincing. he peers at you curiously when you position the baby. "so i can stay?"

you smile at him eagerly. "of course," you undo the nursing strap of your bra before the baby finally latches. "i actually prefer it when you're here. it makes me feel safe."

jungkook watches quietly while you hum for the baby, playing with her little hand while she drinks. the adoration seeps out of him in waves, how serene you look while you rock her, how angelic eunmi looks while she blinks her big doll eyes up at you both. she won't stay this little forever. he feels so overwhelmed by it, gathering you further in his arms with the urge to hold his family in his hands like a diamond. you don't question the little sniffles jungkook buries into your hair, resting your head on his shoulder wordlessly. you missed being held by him, missed his cotton scent and gentle breath.

"i love her so much," he whispers into the shell of your ear, entranced by the baby's little gurgles and gulps. he reaches out to run his knuckle over the velvet of her cheek, round and stuffed with milk. "i feel like i'll die, i love her so much."

"me too," you smile. "it was scary and hard for a long time but...i'm so glad we had her. i wouldn't trade her for anything."

you feel jungkook's lips trace your temple, heart stuttering upon the sudden contact. you hear what he doesn’t say: i wouldn't trade either of you.

x

x

x

"why are you so sweaty?" jimin scowls, noting the dark patches under jungkook's t-shirt when he tries to take the baby from his arms. "it's not even humid today."

jungkook doesn't do anything but gulp and cuddle a sleeping eunmi closer to his chest. she's become somewhat of a security blanket for him; even if she wasn't awake to play, he was always itching to hold her and nuzzle into her head when he's tense or embarrassed. like now.

"leave him alone, you know he sweats when he's shy," yoongi grins.

"stop it," jungkook mumbles.

"shy? what for?"

"because he's got a crush on his wife," namjoon snickers, knowing jungkook would whack him one if his arms weren't around his kid. "why are you looking at me like that? it's true!"

"but you can't just say it! she'll hear!" he hisses.

"you're married," jimin deadpans but it only makes the younger boy curl in on his baby more. "god, this reminds of when you two met. remember how he used to hide behind manager hyung every time ____ came in? and then i had to listen to them fuck in the next room for a year only to end up back here all over again-"

"jungkook," you call. "where did these come from?" you walk into the sitting room with a bouquet of yellow roses nestled in your arms. "did a fan send them? i didn't see a note they were just on the worktop-"

"th-those are for you," he mumbles. "i got those for you."

you look so pretty when you stare it makes him sweat harder and the three older boys all but burst a vein in their head trying not to laugh when leaving the room. there's an awkward silence where you clutch the flowers and he clutches the baby. "thank you," you say finally. "they're beautiful, i love the colour yellow..."

his big doe eyes round up to look at you even though the lower half of his face is smushed into pigtails. "you're welcome."

"can i kiss you?" you blurt out, too fast to stop it. your cheeks are still stinging and you're pretty sure you have baby powder in your hair but jungkook looks at you with awe as he nods so vigorously his earrings shake.

so you do, leaning over the arm of the sofa to press your mouth over his long enough for both your breaths to catch. you pull away, moving to sit next to him so his free arm can wind around your shoulders when you kiss him again. "please," he mumbles when you part. "please don't ask to kiss me. just do it," he leans for another long, warm kiss that leaves you light headed. "stop tip-toeing around me, okay? we're married. i know i scare easy, but not that easy."

you feel giddy, finally feeling the weight being lifted piece by piece. "okay," you peck his mole endearingly before scooting up for another kiss. "i missed this."

"me too," he hums into your mouth. "it feels like the first time but also...not the first time, you know? not just because i don't remember but like," he doesn't know how to say it, wetting his lips thoughtfully. your chapstick is cherry flavoured, his favourite. "like we've been doing this for longer than both of us even realise. longer than this life."

"i know," you nod. "i know."

x

x

x

after a while, you forgot about jungkook's amnesia altogether. even though the chances of him making a full recovery were slim, it all felt so normal and back to routine, all the kissing and the cuddling and the playing with eunmi. there was almost no room for trepidation anymore. until now.

you moan into jungkook's mouth when he pulls you onto his thighs, big hands palming your ass when you grind into him. he's only mildly concerned that he'll cum in his pants at this rate but he doesn't fret too much: that was secondary to undressing you and touching you and pleasing you and making you scream as loud as he could make you without waking the baby. he has nearly three years of re-learning your body to catch up on and he's eager to start.

he's quickly reminded during this process that you are a master. you know exactly where to kiss him, exactly how much pressure to kneed into his cock with your hips, exactly how much tongue he wants in his mouth until he's whining and damp for you. of course you know his body like the back of your hand - your child wasn't conceived from thin air. it makes him all the more desperate to learn, almost antsy to get his mouth and hands on you until you're writhing and breathless beneath him.

you gasp when you feel his hand slip between your legs, rubbing his fingers over your shorts. you automatically rock your covered wetness into his touch, the long whimper you muffle into his neck sending jungkook soaring through the clouds with pride. you're so lost in the feeling, having missed it so much, you're barely able to squeak a stop! when he hooks his fingers inside the waistband of your panties.

his eyes shoot open. "what's wrong?"

"j-jungkook," you shuffle in his grip, feeling so embarrassed under his scrutiny you don't know where to look. "it's not that i want you to stop but. listen, just," you cling to his shoulders, shivering when his hands drag reassuringly up to your waist. "just remember that...i've had a kid, okay? i'm not gonna look like before."

he blinks. "i don't remember what you looked like before."

"no, i mean like," you lick your lips, tasting him there. "it's still something to keep in mind. i'm not gonna be as smooth and perky in places like all those idol girls you perform next to, so just-" he watches you fumble nervously in his lap, the growing disbelief making him blink. "don't expect too much okay? things might not look the way you imagine them to and i don't want you to feel-"

"stop," he cuts off, tugging you so you're seated over his erection again. the look jungkook pins you with is so intense you can feel your pulse thrum in your ears, the harsh rise and fall of his chest making him appear that much more passionate. "this body," he slips his hands up your top, palming your skin. "made my child. i take offence to it being spoken about with anything less than admiration, even by you."

"kook-ah," you say nervously, but still let him remove your pj top over your head before you laying you under him on the bed. you don't know why your eyes suddenly prick with tears when he traces over your stretch marks and discoloured skin with his smooth lips. "this kept my daughter warm," he kisses under your navel, sliding up to your heavy breasts. he kisses each darkened nipple, swollen from the baby's mouth. "these feed her." he rises further still, before planting his mouth on your forehead in a short peck. "and this raises her. so how can i be anything but proud to touch you?"

"jungkook, stop," you sniff, tears wetting your lashes. your eyes fall shut when he wipes them away with his thumb, lips ghosting over your cheeks and nose.

"what did i say about tip-toeing around me?" he whispers, forcing you to look him in the eye. only then do you see the tears there, all the ardour and respect he holds for you pooling in those brown depths. "i'm your husband. let me be your husband."

you kiss him before you can start crying again, letting him part your mouth and taste you long and hard before finally undressing himself and slipping your shorts off. this is all a first for him, and it's been so long since you've done this it's almost like a first for you too, frantic and messy and desperate to feel jungkook lodged inside you where he belongs. you know he must share the sentiment when he splits your thighs over the narrow of his hips, hooking them there while he gets a good look of his erection rubbing through your slick.

no wonder i knocked her up, jungkook muses faintly. i don't think i can ever stop doing this.

"jungkook, please," you run a hand through his hair, grinding against his cock in encouragement but he still won't take the plunge. instead, your voice reminds him of his initial objective, causing him to saunter down between your legs faster than you can process. he's licking into you before you can have a second thought about it, mouth falling open with a loud moan when he traces around your clit in firm circles.

he has your knees over his shoulders and his arms wound around your hips so you have nowhere to go, nothing to do but buck into his attentive mouth, jungkook's groans vibrating against you until you can barely keep yourself together - he's always enjoyed this as much as you have. which is why he takes his time, explores every crevice and subsequent response, relishing in the gush of wetness when he does something right. he even goes as far as holding his tongue stagnant against your folds so you have no choice but to rub yourself into him for friction, so entranced he is by your invigorating reactions. only when you're squirming and whimpering with deliriousness does he finally give in and resume a steady pace over your swollen clit, two fingers sliding in home so you have something to come around. and you do.

messy and wet and shrieking into the pillow by your head so that you're muffled enough to not wake the baby down the hall, your orgasm drawing out longer than normal as you do your best to ride it out. jungkook carries you through it, gulping down as much of your arousal as he can manage until your hips finally drop back into the bed in post-climax exhaustion. on the contrary, the only reason he stops lapping at you is because you tug him away by the hair, bringing him up to you and between your legs again before he can do anything about it.

he splutters with a moan at the sudden contact of your wetness against his cock again, eyes fluttering shut and allowing you to bring him in, arms and legs winding securely around him so that you're flush against each other, hips rocking in tandem. jungkook is so caught up in the feeling - not the sex but the safety of being held, being connected like this - that you're the one to reach down and position his tip against your hot center, before finally running your hands down your husband's back to cup his ass and shove him into you.

jungkook gasps, breath shaking at how tight you are. you're so hot, so snug around him his eyes shut upon instinct, letting your hands guide his hips and showing him how to move in that perfect rolling motion that you're only familiar with after years of practice. and jungkook, of course, is a fast learner. it doesn't take long for him to take the reigns and fuck you just how you like it, adding in a sharp snap of his hips every now and again just to listen to you squeak in surprise. the wet sounds of your joined arousal coupled with you moaning under him is near cathartic, sending him hurtling to his finish line.

but before he can get there you shift him over, thick thighs helping you roll and pin him under you on the bed. jungkook grapples at your waist when you resume a slower but harder rock of your hips that has his length grinding against your clenching walls, his head thrown back at the intensity of it. you ride him through it, peppering the moles on his pretty neck with kisses and sucks, mouth finding his stiff little nipple to give it a swirl too. it's exactly what he needs to finish off, fingers digging into your flesh as he bucks wildly, filling you full of his seed while he calls your name. you slow to a stop when his hands finally fall limp on your thighs, his chest heaving under you and covered in sweat. you giggle. he always got so sweaty.

"you did so well, kookie," you whisper, kissing his damp neck and collar bones. his arms are suddenly around you again for comfort. "you were so good for me...always so good to me..."

"you," he croaks finally, eyes half lidded and a little delirious. "you didn't finish?"

you giggle at his genuine concern, pecking his wet lips. "i got mine, remember?"

"how many times?" jungkook is suddenly alert, tugging your wrist to get your attention before you can climb off him. his other hand is still around your middle so moving was out of the question until he allowed it. he was still inside you. "how many times do i usually make you come?"

you blink in embarrassment. you never really thought about it, let alone counted. "um...i don't know..." he waits for an answer, awfully serious about it. "a-at least two or three, i guess."

you yelp when he flips you back over, fingers immediately prying your cum soaked folds apart to nestle inside. "then don't act like we're done."

[writesowhatnext]

the feeling that we’re meeting // sirius black

Summary: Sirius Black has never liked the reader and this he made known. Maybe it’s because she’s a Slytherin. Maybe it was the bat-bogey hex. Strange, though, how things change with a war in full throttle.

Request: hello :) can i have an angst to fluff w sirius pls? (slowburn) post-hogwarts a few years where y/n was one of the main targets along w snape for james’ and sirius’ ridiculing and bullying, and they were just dreadful to her (she was in slytherin) :( but then a few years after hogwarts she joins the order and sirius acts just rlly immature and mean to her but then slowly starts falling for her as he starts noticing little aspects of her personality :) and at the end can there be like a fluffy cuddling scene where she asks him why he was so nasty to her and he talks ab how guilty and sorry he is :) ty babe!

A/N: I liked this request tbh bc it’s so important to remember that sirius is a brill character bc he’s so realistic with his equal good and bad traits – I was a bit liberal with canon context but I can’t say I don’t enjoy a world with James and Lily alive :) Also I listened to ‘For the First Time’ by The Script when I was writing and I agree

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: female!reader, drinking, death eater parents, innuendo I suppose, also long af, injury, parental abuse, battle, deaths

Every time you tiptoed down the stairs of number twelve Grimmauld Place, you had to remind yourself that the war was far more important than whatever colour you’d like to dye Sirius Black’s hair. You considered pink, but thought better of it when you realised, he’d probably enjoy it.

It had been months, but you remembered the first time you set foot into the Black family home like it was yesterday. Following Dumbledore through the strange threshold, your nerves climbing as you heard the strangely familiar voices of the boys that had tormented you till you cried from the other room, you found yourself pulling at your sleeves, desperate to be anywhere else. The silence that fell as you stepped out from behind the Head of the Order was suffocating, and you could feel all eyes were on you. Biting the bullet, you glanced up from the crusty carpet, facing people you’d never wanted to see again. You recognised them all despite the years passed, standing together equally unenthused to see you. Remus was taller, impossibly, than you remembered him and Lily’s face was all angles now. Sirius’s hair was longer and styled differently, more like a muggle’s, but James still had the same half-broken glasses, and Peter the same child-like roundness to his cheeks.

“This, as I’m sure you know,” Dumbledore began, crossing his arms over his front. “Is Y/N-“

“Dumbledore, Sir,” James interjected, his tone as incredulous as his expression.

“You can’t be serious!”

You exhaled sharply from your nose at Sirius’ words, dipping your head when it seemed no one else saw the irony.

“Y/N is an excellent witch and she’ll be an excellent addition to the Order.”

“Sir,” Sirius huffed, shooting you a glare before stepping forward towards Dumbledore. “Her parents are death eaters; you can’t possibly trust her.”

“Remind me, Sirius,” you said, your voice echoing in the room for the first time. “What was tattooed on your brother’s arm.”

Although you were entirely correct, you felt a pang of guilt at the hurt that flashed in his eyes before the ever-familiar Black scowl creased his brow. Dumbledore’s presence beside you suddenly felt less and less comforting.

“She was always excellent in Charms,” Remus said gently. You faced him sharply, surprised to see his eyes so apologetic.

“And Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Lily’s tone was light and you were oddly pleased to see a smile on her face. You hoped that meant you would have at least one friend here.

“I wonder bloody why,” Sirius muttered, storming past you into the kitchen, shoulder hitting yours. You clenched your jaw, biting your lip to avoid saying something you’d reject.

“I hope you will treat Miss Y/N with the respect all allies deserve in this time. She’s risking her life to spy for us. You are all aware of what she’s put on the line for this,” Dumbledore said, an air of finality to his tone before he left you there, in the lion’s den, alone.

“Well,” Lily said, standing up from the armchair she’d been nestled into. She offered you a calloused and freckled hand with a smile. “Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix.”

It didn’t take long for the older members of the Order to trust you; they didn’t care about petty squabbles and rivalries, only the information you could provide. The story, however, wasn’t the same with your old Gryffindor pals. Lily, you accepted with equal parts hesitance and glee, was a fast friend. She had got into the habit of asking you how you were daily and offering you tea in the mornings. Sometimes, after a long mission, you found yourself talking into the night with her.

“Wait, wait,” you said, hand sloppily gripping the stem of an old wine glass you’d found in the cupboards. “You and Potter are married?”

She giggled at your response, leaning her elbow on the armchair next to her as she careened forward, the carpet crunching at the shift.

“Yes,” she nodded, smiling brightly. “I was just as surprised as you, at first, but he-“ a hiccup escaped her lips, earning a round of laughter from you both. “He’s a sweet guy. A tosser, by all means, but loyal and brave and kind.”

You’d never considered James Potter any of those things at Hogwarts, but now, in the real world, you found yourself slowly warming up to him.

“He’s changed, you know,” she said earnestly, suddenly a lot soberer than you felt. “They all have.”

You pursed your lips, taking another sip of the dark wine in your glass.

“Sirius hasn’t.”

She sighed, rubbing her eye with the knuckle of her thumb.

“He’s always hated me.”

Speaking of the devil, a familiar shadow appeared in the doorway before you could carry on your conversation. Sirius stared at you for a moment, his dark eyes locked on your face. He swallowed, mouth curling downwards slightly as he looked at your messy hair and casual position, sat in a place he’d hated for years. Something stirred in his chest and his expression shifted ever so slightly, but before you could question it, he disappeared up the stairs. You huffed, shaking your head as you turned back to Lily.

“See?”

It wasn’t another twenty minutes before James walked in, an amused grin playing on his lips at his wife’s tipsy state.

“C’mon, love. Let’s get you to bed,” he said, gently taking Lily’s arm to lift her up.

“Wow,” she said, whispering very loudly to you. “James Potter with a good idea; there’s a first.”

“Oi!” he laughed, poking her in the ribs and catching the wine glass before she could throw it onto the floor. It would’ve been a shame, you thought sarcastically, if someone ruined such a lovely carpet. He turned to you then, still smiling.

“Cheers, Y/N.”

He shot you a wink before escorting Lily upstairs, her drunk rambling fading the further away they got. You chuckled under your breath, pleased that maybe you weren’t such an outcast as you took another sip. Your mood soured dramatically, though, as you remembered the time, not exactly excited to be returning to your parents.

The next week, you had a few days between missions. Although you probably should’ve been resting at home like everyone else was, Remus included, you ended up on all fours in the Black family living room, pulling up carpet. Remus sat in the armchair at the other end of the room, a newspaper in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Occasionally, he’d throw a teasing remark at you or ask for help with a tricky crossword clue, but mostly the silence that settled between you was comfortable. You were halfway across the room, surprised you hadn’t thrown up yet at the awful stains on the underside of the carpet, specifically avoiding the one that looked like blood.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked you from the doorway. You looked up, blowing a loose strand of hair from your face as you met Sirius’ eyes. You frowned, sitting back on your feet, carpet still in your hands.

“The laundry,” you replied dryly, a smile tugging at your lips to hear Remus snort into his mug.

“My mother loved this carpet,” he said, a strange look on his face. If you hadn’t known him better, you would’ve mistaken it for approval.

“And a charming family keepsake it is.”

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. You doubted whether destroying the carpet without asking him was such a good idea.

“Thank you.”

Without giving you a second to process, he turned left, the front door slamming not a second later. With wide eyes and your jaw on the floor, you looked to Remus, who seemed just as surprised as you.

“Did that just happen?”

He nodded slowly, his brows drawing together. You hummed, matching his frown before you started pulling roughly at the carpet and he returned to his paper.

“Six letter word for a muggle screenplay?”

You didn’t think that much more about Sirius’ gratitude in the next few days, too busy with keeping your lies straight and the war to waste time on why you hated each other. You did notice, despite yourself, that he seemed gradually less and less opposed to your presence. His conversations seemed to dry up less when you entered a room, his glare settled on you less often in Order meetings. As things got more and more difficult at home, the pressure from your parents to get the dark mark growing, it was the small things that helped.

“Y/N,” Peter said one morning, crossing his arms on the breakfast table. You’d warmed to Peter; he was always a little lost, a little wayward. It made you smile most of the time and you couldn’t help the motherly instinct you felt toward him, despite your similarity in age.

“Do you have a spare towel?”

“Why? What did you do with yours?”

A blush covered his cheeks and immediately you found that you really did not want to hear his answer.

“Yeah, I’ll fetch it,” you said, moving to exit the kitchen with a great deal of haste. You’d stayed at the headquarters a few times after hard or early morning missions and Sirius, despite your history, had been kind enough to give you towels to use. You’d been sure, though, that Kreacher, the house-elf, was behind that.

You hadn’t anticipated seeing Sirius in the corridor, muttering to himself as he stood next to the velvet curtain on the wall. His arms were full of what could only be described as junk, the nail of an old bed-frame catching on the fabric. He didn’t notice you behind him as he struggled and with a decidedly irritated yank, he pulled the wooden post free. However, much to his chagrin, and everyone in the house’s eardrums, the curtains fell loose and an extortionately loud screeching filled the air.

“This house is full of blood traitors! Mudbloods!” it hissed, echoing through all the rooms. Seeing Sirius’ arms full, you bent down next to him and gripped the metal rod of the curtain, eager to put it back into place. He jumped a little when he saw you, stumbling out the way slightly, his eyebrows threading together as the high-pitched shouting continued. You took one look at the ugly, yellowing woman in the portrait and shoved the curtain in front of her face, hoping you’d never see it again. It took some jiggling, but soon the portrait was covered and you could only hear rustling behind the fabric, muzzled yells rattling the frame.

“A charming woman, your Mother was. I’m surprised you don’t leave the curtains open all the time,” you said, a distasteful expression tainting your features. Sirius looked at you for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly.

“It’s okay,” you said, smiling a little. “You can laugh.”

He didn’t, but the slight upward curve of his lip didn’t escape you.

“Did you ever have the pleasure to meet her in the flesh?” he asked. Your brows raised at the first real question he’d asked you since you joined the Order.

“No, sadly not,” you crossed your arms and leant on the door. “My parents spoke highly of her, though, which is never the best sign.”

He only nodded, standing awkwardly for a moment before turning to leave. You blinked, before remembering where you’d been going.

“Sirius,” you began, the light tone not suiting his name in your mouth. “Do you have spare towels? Peter-“

Sirius smirked, a strangely handsome expression on him.

“Peter dropped chocolate frogs all over his again,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Just ask Kreacher.”

You barely paid attention to him leaving as you wandered upstairs, in search of the grumpy house-elf. You were pleased to know that Peter’s towel hadn’t been ruined by something more suspect than chocolate, but you couldn’t deny that you were even more pleased that you’d finally had an interaction with Sirius that didn’t involve a row.

Your next interaction, though, was less than ideal. You stumbled toward twelve Grimmauld place with a throbbing headache and shaky legs. Your parents had not been kind when they discovered your treachery, your place in the Order; you were lucky to escape with your life. That’s all you could tell yourself as you dragged yourself up the steps, knocking loudly on the door. It was just your luck for Sirius, of all people, to open it. His expression was at first worried before he realised it was you and a frown settled on his features. As you looked down, trying to concentrate on the swaying floor, you didn’t notice the concern that returned upon seeing your injuries.

“What the blood-“ he began, grunting slightly as you collapsed into him, no longer able to keep your body upright.

You woke the next day in a clean bed with a dull headache. The house-elf shuffling around your room had garnered your attention, and you blinked at him as he placed towels, sheets and clothes in a pile next to the bed.

“Kreacher?” you asked, your voice sore in your throat. “Why am I here?”

“You’re a blood trait-“

You shot him a dry look.

“I mean, how did I get here? Why are you putting clothes out?”

The house-elf sighed, a grizzly sound.

“Master Sirius ordered me to,” he said gruffly. “Said you shall be living here.”

“Oh.”

You frowned, barely registering Kreacher as he made to leave.

“Thank you,” you called after him, earning a grumble in response.

You and Sirius never spoke about the fact that you were now living in the Order Headquarters, in his house, but you never forgot the kindness he showed you. It was a strange feeling, to be grateful to Sirius Black, especially after everything he’d done to you as a student. The topic of your parents didn’t even come up until the night before a particularly difficult mission planning to infiltrate a meeting of death eaters.

“Lily,” you said, sitting on the counter in the kitchen with the others dotted around, even Sirius. “I don’t know if I should come on this mission.”

“What?” Remus asked, placing the chocolate he’d been aiming from his mouth down on the tablecloth.

“I was useful to the Order when I knew things and now,” your voice broke slightly at the memory of the last time you’d seen your parents. “Now I have no information and I might have to… I might have to fight the people that raised me tonight and they don’t have any qualms about killing me or any of you where we stand.”

“Exactly!” James said, moving his arm from the back of Lily’s chair to rest his elbows on the table. “They don’t care about killing us. They killed Gideon and Fabien. You saw what they did to Frank and Alice.”

Your chest tightened. Frank and Alice had always been kind to you; now they were at St. Mungo’s.

“Information or not,” Sirius said, surprising everyone. “You’re a good fighter; we need that.”

The silence that followed his words made you feel like you were missing something as you stared at him, seeing his eyes soft for the first time.

“Sirius is right,” Lily said, nodding. “We have to do all we can; you know that more than most of us.”

The mission had been horrendous.

It had been a bloodbath of proportions you’d never seen before. You’d lost Benjy and Caradoc and Dorcas; people you looked up to. You’d expected losses in a war, you weren’t stupid, but you’d never anticipated the weight behind a spell thrown by your own parents. Despite your own casualties, you’d taken out six death eaters and despite yourself, you were glad your parents weren’t among them. The journey back to the house was a quiet one: Lily busied herself with James’ broken arm and Remus wiped the blood from Sirius’ forehead, dabbing delicately at the cut above his eyebrow. You all disbanded when you got inside, tired and aching, disappearing into your rooms with heavy hearts.

You couldn’t sleep, though, too haunted by the flashes that appeared behind your eyes. It must’ve been past midnight when you tiptoed downstairs, more desperate than ever to not agitate the portrait. You didn’t notice Sirius in the kitchen until you’d shut the door behind you, jumping out of your skin to see him sat there with a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, lifting his glass and taking a swig. You’d come down for tea, but the idea of numbing your senses appealed. He must’ve noticed the way your eyes lingered on his glass and without a word, he reached behind him to grab another, pouring you a liberal shot. You sat down almost tentatively, fingers gliding around the edges of the glass.

He watched with an amused smile as you downed the whole thing, wincing at the burn before you rested it back on the table. He filled it again immediately.

“Rough night.”

“Indeed,” you said, rubbing your eyes and sighing. “I never thought we’d be here.”

He raised an eyebrow, stretching the bandage on his forehead as his lips pressed against the rim of the glass.

“Me and you,” you laughed a little. “Drinking together.”

“Not something I’d have bet on,” he muttered, laughing too. Your smiles both faded as you looked at each other, though, across the plastic gingham table cloth.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The question tumbled from your lips before you could stop it.

“I don’t hate you.”

You shot him a very dry glance. He shook his head and sighed, putting his glass down a little too loudly before running a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but you.

“You’re a pureblood Slytherin,” he said, running his hands over his face. “And I hated it. I hated anyone that reminded me of this place. And you- you were everything my parents wanted me to be: smart, loyal… dark, I thought.”

You nodded, sipping your drink quietly.

“You were an easy target, too, for a pillock like me. Didn’t have that many friends-“

“That was because they were all stuck-up death eaters.”

“I know that now. It didn’t matter then, though. I was a kid, though, and I thought it was just kids’ stuff-“

“You know, that time you exploded my cauldron in the final Potions exam, I cried for a whole week.”

He had the good sense to look guilty for a second before amusement lifted his cheeks.

“You did bat-bogey hex me for that.”

Your cheeks heated up at the memory, your fingers fiddling with the glass more.

“Which is entirely illegal.”

You smiled, pressed your lips together as you shook your head. It all seemed so long ago; so childish, now. You leant your elbows on the table, resting your chin on your interlocked fingers.

“It was a good shot, though,” you mused, enjoying the way his lips spread into a dazzling grin.

“A bloody good shot,” he laughed. He leant back slowly, tilting his head to the side and biting his top lip. The mood dropped again as he stared at you.

“What?”

“I’m really sorry.”

You wanted to take the piss, but something about his tone or the look in his eyes trapped your words in your throat. You just watched as he stood up, moving towards the sink.

“I made your life hell because I hated my own,” he said, pressing his hands to the counter, leaning forward. “It wasn’t fair. I’m not surprised you hated me, I deserved it.”

You stood up slowly, softly stepping toward him.

“I did hate you,” you said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I hated you for so long it was all I could think about. Even here, I hated seeing your face.”

He turned to you, expression hard and tears sparkling in his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I do anymore.”

He turned around slowly to lean back on the counter as your hand slid down his arm. He caught it gently in his, surprising you.

“I want you to forgive me,” he whispered, staring at you so intensely a lump formed in your throat. You felt like you’d never even met this Sirius before.

“I-“

“I want to earn your forgiveness.”

You were at a loss for words as you looked at him, frozen in place. His hand was warm in your own and you couldn’t, for a moment, think about anything else. You bit your lip and nodded, stepping towards him gently.

“I’d like that.”

You leant into him, your side pressing against his, enjoying his warmth and the new feeling in your chest. You’d been in the war so long you forgot what real life felt like. You felt his hand hover around you nervously before it settled against your back, his hand resting on the counter next to you. And there, with the moonlight pouring in behind you, is where you stood till the sunrise peeked over the horizon; your hands clasped together with Sirius’ arm at your back, silent as you both felt a hope you’d not felt in a good few years.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness​

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@xinyourdreamsx​

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@hariosborn

[yeah-klave]

Love Batter

Summary: Klaus comes home early and catches Dave up to something in the kitchen.

Genre: Pure, tooth rotting fluff.

A/N: This is set in a Dave Didn’t Die AU. He and Klaus made it back to 2019 (somehow) where they’re now living happily ever after.

Word length: 2.6k

Warning: Some light innuendo.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of The Umbrella Academy characters or settings.

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

“Oh, umm.”

Klaus closed the front door quietly and stood for a second in the hallway, head on one side, listening.

“Umm… yes.”

Klaus frowned. He heard the smacking of lips, shortly followed by another low groan.

“Yes. That’s good. There we go…”

He could hear movement in the direction of the kitchen. Suddenly, the tone of the noise changed.

“Oh, no! Don’t do that! Oh dear. Oh, that’s not good.”

There was a clatter and then muffled grumbling.

“Oh, no. Why can’t you just…?” There was another clatter. “Oh, oops, oh no! Don’t...”

There was a dull thunk, and Klaus heard Dave say, “owch.”

Klaus dropped his keys in the bowl and walked down the hallway to their kitchen.

He pushed the door open and stopped in the entrance, his eyebrows shooting up.

Dave froze in place. He looked up guiltily, eyes wide, a finger in his mouth and his other hand clutching his foot. He was also wearing a frilly apron.

Dave brought the finger out of his mouth with a wet pop. “I… I… I thought you said you were going to be back late tonight?!” he spluttered.

“I did,” Klaus said bemused.

“But, but…” Still balancing on one foot, Dave waved his free arm wildly. Something gloopy flicked off a finger and landed somewhere near the toaster. “But this isn’t late at all!” he finally said, the tiniest hint of accusation behind the words.

“Allison had to cancel,” Klaus said evenly. “I did text you. But maybe you didn’t notice. I mean, it looks like you’ve been a little busy in here.” He looked around the kitchen, taking in the full scene. “Daaaaavve,” he said finally in a light, sing-song voice, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, a gleeful twinkle in his eyes, “whatcha doin’?”

Dave deflated a little. He let go of his foot and looked glumly at the chaos surrounding him.

“I was,” he started sheepishly, purposefully not catching Klaus’ eye. “I was trying to bake you a cake.”

Klaus’ face lit up even brighter. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” Dave nodded, twisting his face into a rueful grimace. “A surprise cake for your birthday tomorrow. I thought I could make it tonight while you were out and hide it in a cupboard overnight and surprise you in the morning.”

Klaus’ heart clenched and he looked at Dave fondly. “My darling, dearest Dave,” Klaus gently teased, “light of my life, fire of my loins,” he broke off and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Even if Allison hadn’t cancelled, I’d have been back in an hour or so anyway. Did you really think you could finish up and then get our kitchen looking normal again by the time I got back?”

They both looked around. Dirty bowls were strewn across the counters, along with various utensils, eggs shells and empty packets. Cake pans were discarded near the hob, a brown, baked-on crust coating the inside. There was a palette knife on the floor, gloopy icing dripping from the flat blade into a small puddle. Also, a layer of flour and icing sugar seemed to have settled over everything.

“Hmm,” Dave said in a mock solemn voice. “I take your point.”

Klaus laughed.

Dave bent down and picked up a cookery book that was splayed open, upside-down, by his bare feet. Dave’s fingers left sticky marks on the cover as he tried shuffling things around on the counter, looking for somewhere clean to lay it down.

Klaus stepped forwards and took the book from Dave. It was surprisingly heavy in Klaus’ hands. “Did this drop on your foot?” Klaus asked quietly.

“Um, yeah,” Dave reluctantly admitted.

Klaus looked down at the book. His nostrils flared and he suddenly felt an irrational wave of anger wash over him.

“Right,” he said with a hiss, baring his teeth, “well that settles it.” He held the book between a pinched finger and thumb and unceremoniously dropped it in the trash can.

“Klaus!” Dave said shocked.

“It hurt you,” Klaus said simply. “It has no place in our home anymore.”

Dave’s face softened in fond bemusement. Klaus watched his eyebrows crinkle together as he gave an exasperated little shake of his head.

“You know I’m just going to have to go digging though the trash to rescue that now?” His words had no bite.

“Don’t you dare!” Klaus looked scandalised. “It’s dead to me now. Goodbye evil instrument of pain…” He waved his Goodbye hand at the bin, but then looked back up at Dave and grinned.

“You really are something else,” Dave said fondly.

Klaus’ eyes twinkled and he reached out and traced a finger over Dave’s cheek, following a gloopy smear of pink icing.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but right now, Mr Katz,” he said, “so are you.”

Klaus trailed his eyes down Dave’s body, taking in the floury handprints and unidentifiable smears that covered his clothes. Something pale brown and gloopy was drying in crusty matted clumps in his gloriously mussed curls.

Klaus reached up and tried to pull a bit of the stuff out of Dave’s hair. He raised a questioning eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah,” Dave said. “I forgot about that.” He glanced up and Klaus followed his gaze to where splattered streaks of cake batter formed a modern art masterpiece on the white paint of their kitchen ceiling.

“How…?” Klaus started.

“I tried to use that mixer Vanya gave us,” Dave explained. “But I guess I didn’t fix the lid on properly.”

Klaus looked around the kitchen again. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at a couple of thin, dense-looking – vaguely cake-shaped – disks, half hidden under an empty bag of flour.

“Oh, that was my first attempt,” Dave grimaced again. “Back when I had high expectations. Apparently there is a difference between plain and self-raising flour.”

“Think the clue’s in the name, babe,” Klaus smiled.

Dave huffed. “I can follow a recipe,” he said indignantly, “but I just forgot about the flour thing.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wanted to get it right.”

“And did you?” Klaus asked.

“Yes!” Dave nodded vigorously, a little shower of flower falling onto his broad shoulders. But then he paused and pulled a face. “Well,” he clarified, “the cake worked okay… eventually.” He looked over his shoulder and then back to Klaus. “The decorating part, not so much though,” he admitted. He scrunched his nose, contorting his face into an expression of dejected disappointment. Klaus thought he looked positively adorable.

“Can I see?”

“Well, the surprise is ruined now, so might as well,” Dave sighed. He stepped away from the counter, revealing the thing behind him that had previously been shielded by his body.

Klaus looked down. “It’s brilliant,” he said automatically. Then, after a beat, he added gently, “what is it?”

Dave grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face, but when he brought it down, he was smiling.

“That bad, huh?” he said.

“No,” Klaus corrected himself quickly. “I mean, it looks great! I can see you’ve clearly put a lot of effort into this. I was just wondering…” he paused, “well, it’s very... I was just wondering what the thinking behind it was?”

“I know you never had your own birthday cake,” Dave said slowly. “Because you and your siblings all had the same birthday. I remember you saying Grace used to make one big cake for you all to share. But it’s not like having your own cake, just for you, with your name on it.”

Klaus’ eyes scanned Dave’s face. Dave was determinedly looking at the cake in front of him. Klaus reached over and took hold of his hand – his sticky, messy hand – and squeezed. The corner of Dave’s mouth twitched in a smile and he shook himself slightly.

“So that’s what I tried to do,” Dave carried on, “make you your own cake. Because you deserve a cake of your own, with only your name on it.”

“Is that what’s going on here?” Klaus pointed to an amorphous smear of blue icing that was bleeding into the runny pink icing underneath and then dribbling off the edges and pooling on the plate below.

“Yeah,” Dave sighed. “It was supposed to say Happy Birthday Klaus.”

“Thank you,” Klaus said, squeezing Dave’s hand again. “It’s perfect.”

Dave snorted. “Hardly!” he said. “In hindsight, I think I should have waited for the cake to cool down before trying to ice it. Plus, I think this icing is too runny.”

“No,” Klaus said firmly. “It’s perfect.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Klaus,” he said firmly, “you don’t need to humour me. I know it’s pants. I’ve seen how well your cakes turn out and this – most definitely – is nothing like them.”

Klaus frowned. “Firstly,” he said, “you grew up in the 50s! I hardly think it was part of the curriculum. Secondly, you’ve met my mom! There’s no way she wasn’t going to make sure all her kids could bake a mean sponge cake! And thirdly – now brace yourself, because this is going to be as corny as the corniest corn bread – Grace also taught us that the most important ingredient in any great bake is the love you stir in along the way.” Klaus looked down, ran a finger through the dribbled icing, brought it up to his mouth and then licked it off his finger, maintaining eye contact with Dave the whole time. “And it’s clear that this cake, Dave, is positively overflowing with that. So, on that logic, this is the best cake that’s ever been baked.”

Dave’s eyes got a little glossy and he pulled Klaus into his arms, burying his face into the crook of Klaus’ neck.

“I love you,” Dave said. It sounded thick and muffled.

“That’s because I’m so damn lovable,” Klaus joked, running his fingers through Dave’s hair. “At least, that’s the overwhelming feedback I’ve got so far from all the people in my life. Oh, no, wait…” Klaus trailed off, grinning.

Dave pulled back, his hands resting on Klaus’ hips. “Well, I find it exceedingly easy.”

Klaus smiled. He reached up, wiped another smear of icing from Dave’s cheek with his thumb then leaned forwards and kissed the tip of his nose.

Dave blinked and looked down at himself again, then at the flour and sticky streaks he had transferred to Klaus’ clothes during their hug.

“Oh dear,” he said, trying to pull away “I’m sorry, baby, I’ve messed up your outfit.”

“I don’t care,” Klaus replied, pulling him back fiercely. “Do you hear me? I don’t care.” He rested his hands on Dave’s chest, his fingers playing with the collar of his soft tee. “And for the record,” he added, “I never want to hear anyone calling my special, surprise birthday cake pants ever again. My boyfriend made me that and I love it,” he nuzzled the tips of their noses together. “I love every sticky inch of it.” He kissed the frown lines between Dave’s eyes, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You still talking about the cake?” Dave asked, his thumbs gently stroking over the strip of exposed skin at Klaus’ waist, his mouth curling up in a smile.

“I can’t imagine what you mean!” Klaus’ eyes twinkled.

Dave grinned and caught Klaus’ mouth in a kiss, a sweet press of slightly parted lips.

Klaus let out a sigh and pressed forwards, their lips moving in a lazy slide. They broke apart, resting their foreheads together and took a moment, just holding each other and breathing the same air.

“Well,” Klaus said, his lips brushing Dave’s as he spoke. “I think we both know what we need to do now.”

“Umm,” Dave hummed his agreement. He paused, then added, “I’ll fill the sink.”

“Good idea,” Klaus grinned. “I’ll grab a tea-towel.”

Dave huffed a laugh and pulled back, grinning. Then he turned to start filling the washing-up bowl with hot soapy water.

Klaus reached up and, with practiced ease, twisted his hair into a loose bun on the top of his head, securing it with a black glittery scrunchie from his wrist. He flicked the radio on and the room was filled with the soft sound of something light and boppy. Klaus flashed a smile and started dancing around the room, collecting the dirty bowls and utensils between enthusiastic little shimmies and finally stacking them in a pile next to the sink.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, laughing and chatting – Dave elbow deep in sudsy water and Klaus drying the items and placing them on the draining board – they were the very picture of pure domestic bliss.

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

“And you’re sure I can’t just use the mop?” Klaus squinted at the ceiling.

“Yes, sugarplum, I’m sure,” Dave looked over at him fondly from where he was putting the cutlery back in the drawer. “As is undoubtedly clear from the way I butchered that cake, I’m hardly a domestic goddess. But even I know you shouldn’t mop your ceiling. I’ll pick up some stepladders from the store tomorrow.”

“Or,” Klaus said, “I could just ask Luther to do it. What’s the point of having a giant for a brother if you can’t ask him to clean cake batter from your ceiling every now and again?”

“A completely normal sentence,” Dave said with a grin. Klaus rolled his eyes.

Dave wandered over to the counter and looked down at the cake.

“I’ll just bin this,” he said.

“What?! No!” Klaus said shocked, hopping down from the counter he’d been sitting on and trotting over to Dave. “Don’t throw away my cake!”

Dave suppressed a little smile, looking down at the sticky mess. “Don’t worry, pumpkin, the love-cake speech was very much appreciated. I got the message loud and clear. But you don’t actually have to eat this, you know.”

But when he looked up, Klaus was already holding out two plates and a knife.

“I’m selfish and impatient and can’t wait until tomorrow,” Klaus said.

Dave snorted, but moved aside.

“Make a wish,” Dave said, as Klaus cut two large slices. Klaus turned his face away slightly, smiling to himself. Dave wasn’t entirely sure, but he though he heard Klaus whisper, “No point, I already have him.”

They took their cake and a couple of forks into the living room and settled onto the sofa, their knees touching.

“Ummm,” Klaus hummed, his mouth full. “This is amazing.”

Dave took a careful bite, considering. “I guess it doesn’t taste too bad,” he said.

Klaus sprayed a mouthful of crumbs in his haste to reply, “It tastes so good!”

He swallowed and added with a grin, “One thing I still want to know, though, is why you decided to do all of this while wearing the apron from my sexy maid costume?”

Dave looked at Klaus and deadpanned, “Well, knowing what that costume’s been through, I didn’t think it would matter if I got a little more love batter on it.” Then he winked.

Klaus let out a cackle of laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Klaus looked over at Dave slumped next to him. Tired and dishevelled and warm and happy and alive. And his.

“Like I said before,” Klaus declared in the most dignified voice he could, while simultaneously trying to lick icing out of his beard. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dave looked back at Klaus fondly, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth, and replied, simply, “I wouldn’t have my cake any other way either.”

[xxxmaydayxxx]

Shigaraki Tomura x Reader Dry Humping Headcanons NSFW

This is my first headcanon post...so it’ll be shite, especially since I’m writing for this cute lil freak. Just wanna add there will be spoilers to Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia) and I do not own the character at all.                        

Trigger warning: Bad language (I swear a lot), Shiggy being creepy, spoilers, NSFW dry humping scene but not full on sex, also Shiggy’s a bit OOC...

also cringe ahead.

- When you first met Shiggy, you came to the LOV’s hideout with Dabi ‘n’ Toga (how original)

- You weren't rude like him or batshit crazy like her, you were...normal?

- What was someone like you doing in a place like this?

- Does he ask? No. Did he want to? Yes. Why didn't he?

- Too busy.

- Not that important.

- The truth was the mere thought of talking to you one to one made him feel like his heart was in his throat. So much so he couldn't breath.

- His face would feel hot.

- His mouth would dry out.

- His leg would bounce up and down uncontrollably.

- And just everything would become distorted. Sound, sight, touch and smell.

- And don't get me started on how you'd make his cock twinge ever so slightly.

- Jesus, was he sick? Why did you start making him feel like this?

- He didn't properly talk to you until after a stressful mission, he came back tired, stressed and out of breath.

- Everything was hazy and moving in slow motion. 

- But when he bumped into you... 

- Everything felt safe, comfortable, complete.

- If you asked him he'd just say you made things better. That’s all.

- He didn't remember how the conversation started but somehow you both got to why you joined.

- You had witnessed hero society first hand when you and a few friends decided to conduct an experiment that could've gotten you into trouble with some heroes.

- You had walked around the city looking like you'd been attacked and wounded while your friends filmed the bystanders reactions from afar.

- No one helped, all they did was look away.

- You found it pitiful, you wanted to make everyone suffer and teach them to help others in their time of need.

- You didn't care if you had to become the bad guy to do some good.

- Things had to change.

- You didn't realise you were ranting until you turned to Tomura.

- He was just staring at you, a look of interest and admiration on his crusty face.

- He thought you were so innocent yet so determined and brave, almost heroic even though you were part of the league.

- Everything about you drew him in.

- Your beauty.

- Your smell.

- Your beliefs.

- God your fucking eyes.

- Smile 

- Hair

- Body

- Ass 

- Tits 

- The way you breathed.

- And talked.

- The way you talked so softly and passionately at the same time.

- He started noticing so many things about you.

- These new feelings were getting overwhelming.

- Everything made him want to touch you. 

- Kiss you. 

- Rub you.

- Fuck you.

- God this isn some crush anymore it’s a fucking obsession.

- He doesn’t want you, if anything he wants you to stay away.

- He needs you, so much so he’s scared he’ll lose control.

- He doesn't want to do anything too harsh to scare you off. Just enough for him to know you’ll still be around and not dispise him completely.

- Maybe he coul-

- “Shigaraki-san?”

- He snapped back into reality.

- He was now sitting closely to you on the couch, your thighs touching his. His face a breath away from yours.

- He didn't realise he had gotten so close.

- “Are you, ok? You kind of zoned out while I was talking”.

- Tomura stiffened as sound of you voice sent strange feelings straight to his member.

- Now or never, might as well get it over with.

- He carefully leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

- His lips were chapped but that didn't matter, they had barely even touched yours and it was so brief you'd have to blink to miss it.

- He stared at you and you stared back intensely. 

- You hands quickly wrap around the back of his scratched up neck and pull him in roughly for another kiss before he could leave.

- He’s in shock for a split second. so many thoughts were racing through his brain.

- Why weren't you running?

- He coud kill you right now.

- You’re making a big mistake.

- But he was already in love with the feeling of your lips on his.

- He let his hormones take over.

- And kissed back just as hard.

- He let his arms wrap round you waist and rested his hands on your hips, making sure to lift up a finger on each hand. 

- He pulled you onto his lap without breaking the delicious contact with your lips as his hands made there way down to your short skirt.

- Your hands tangled themselves in his light blue locks, though they looked knotted and unkept they were pretty damn soft. You gave them a slight tug and he gasped quietly and swiftly moved his hands under your skirt to your panty clad ass, grasping it tightly and grinding it on his clothed erection.

-Which was now hard as a rock, and fucking huge.

- The only things between that and your dripping, tight little pussy was your underwear and his sweats, which were doing absolutely nothing to cover his large, aching cock.

- As your hips moved in sync, his mouth had made its way to your neck, littering it with kisses and love bites. He hummed aggressively against your sweet spot as your ground your wet panty covered pussy on his bulge. 

- You were moaning like a bitch in heat as the feeling of his sweats over his hard cock rubbed your swollen clit over and over again sending shockwaves throughout you body. Your keep one hand in his hair, softy clutching it and massaging his scalp while the other snuck down between her legs.

- Tomura’s eyes widened as you lifted yourself up and pulled your underwear to the side and started grinding on his clothed dick again, moaning even louder than before, not caring if anyone could hear.

- “F-fuck Y/N, this is-is incrediBLe”

- “Hah, Shi-Shigaraki-s-san”

- “Tomura” He growled out. Fuck he was getting so close.

- Before you could speak, he forced his tongue into your mouth and battled your own for dominance and muffling your erotic cries.

- He was now humping up at your naked pussy fast and hard, desperate for release, you could feel his hard cock pulsing and throbbing through his sweatpants.

- You could also feel yourself coming undone on his lap. Your pussy was about to-to!

_ “Tomura I-I’m cumming!”

- “Me t-too, Fuck!” he cried as his strong thrusts became unhinged and erratic. With a final three thrusts he filled his pants up with his hot cum, over and over again as you shook against him, soaking his pants with your juices.

- Tomura sat on the couch breathing heavily, his quivering member shrinking in his pants, completely drained. His body shined with sweat and his heart was beating rapidly. He turned his head to look at you in his lap.

- Sweat covered your body like his and you twitched a couple times after your release. Your sleepy eyes glossed over with lust as you looked back at him with a lovesick expression, which he gladly returned. 

- It took a little while afterwards for you both to get your energy back, but once you did, Tomura and you made your ways to the shower to “clean up”.

Ok, done, this is my first time posting so I’m well aware this isn't a piece of art. Feel free to request one-shots, head canons, nsfw I’m not too bothered, I do need time to figure out what I won't do. Also if you know anyways I can improve please let me know, I’m clearly very desperate for help.

Anyway thanks for reading!! Love you!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Only Angel [h.s.]

A/N: this one shot has been in the works for a while and i finally managed to finish it up :-) i hope you all enjoy it! sorry for any typos! feel free to leave your thoughts by my inbox and happy reading! all the love, andrea 💝

There are a lot of things that Y/N loves in the world– enough to fill up entire pages of a book, possibly. Not a thick book, though– no, more like a short chapter book like the ones she used to read back in first grade.

She adores general things, such as her family and friends, along with more specific things, like her cozy knitted blanket and the new season of Supernatural. And then there were the detailed, intimate things, such as popping her sweaters into the drying machine for a few minutes before slipping them on so that they would be toasty for the road, or petting her two-year-old Burmese cat, Sybil, in the curve right behind his left ear and feeling his deep purring against her thighs.

Then there was Harry, which Y/N tended to file under all three categories. For general, she fancies him for his quirky sense of humor and lovingly idiotic personality. For specific, she’d state that she loves the size of his hands because they were huge– big enough that one of his could easily hold both of her wrists together. And for intimate, Y/N has always been fascinated by Harry’s ears. A tad odd, perhaps, but she could never live down how small and adorable they were, and super sensitive, too. Whenever she would bite at them he would always let loose something in between a childish giggle and an anguished whine, signifying how torn he was between the pain and pleasure that derived from that certain area.

However, there is one exact thing that Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to categorize because her attachment to it is simply too much to put into words: riding Harry.

Fucking Harry was something completely different from everything else. It wasn’t so much for the physical pleasure, but more for the cognitive one– what really got her off was the way he would respond to her. How his body would seem to bend all out of shape in just the right way to cause her ego ecstasy, just as much as it would in between her legs.

It would start from the obvious aspects, such as the fact that she was able to get him to come for her without much of a struggle, and then the smaller things, like how the muscle on his jaw would tick as he stretched his neck, his head hitting the back board of the bed as his hips would buck up against her, trying to extract the most pleasure he could from her warm body. The sounds, too. The teeny whimpers and watery hiccups of rapture that would tear at his throat as Y/N would bounce steadily on his hard cock, his face burying itself into the skin of her neck to muffle pitiful moans as he would writhe and thrash under her command.

She loved it for the fact that whenever Harry asked her to ride him, it meant that he was especially needy that day, which also meant that he was a wound up mess for Y/N to unravel as she chose. At times like these, he’d become incredibly vocal, whining and whimpering as loud as his voice would allow– loud enough that even she was embarrassed for him. He would be extremely docile, letting Y/N do away with him without a second thought, as long as she promised to let him come at the end.

She would always take full advantage of these situations, pushing a doe-eyed, quivering Harry into the bed, sitting in between his legs and usually just jerking him off nice and slow, watching as he would throw his head back in desperation, pulling at his sweaty curls wildly, clenching his thighs, and leaning his head forward to look at her as she got him off. His lips would be set into a deep raspberry pout that held the slightest bit of amusement, laying back on his elbows as he stared at her with vulnerable yet controlling eyes while his hips would give short bursts of bucks here and there, trying to finish himself. Lots of praising, as well. The gooey, warm air would fill with teeny wisps of, “Jus’ like tha’, pet. Getting me off nice and hard. Always know how to make me feel so fucking good, don’t ya? Know how t'make Daddy spill, hm, baby?” as well as, “Atta girl, petal. Fuck me so bloody good. No one can do it like you.” 

Most times, when he saw he couldn’t swindle her into doing what he wanted, he’d end up begging for it. Y/N would usually ignore him, going even slower just to make the view last– God, did she want it to last.

Harry, when whittled down to this utterly primal state where he had no more teasing and praise left in him, was one picture of many she wished she could permanently etch into her eyelids so that she would be able to see it any time she pleased. He would lie there naked, with his legs spread out widely, feet flat on the bed with his knees bent, fingers tight around the railings of the headboard per Y/N’s instructions. His chest and abdomen would be flushed a painful shade of red as his skin would drip sweat onto the sheets, his eyes watery and pleading as his back would arch off of the mattress, hips jerking from side to side in an attempt to reach his goal. Y/N would lay next to him, her body tucked into his side, stroking him off as she would plant sloppy kisses down the length of his jaw and neck, biting at his lips and swallowing down the pants of “Wanna c-come. Feels so good– please let me. Been hard all day, kitten, please?” or “Fuck me faster, baby. Faster! Y'know the footie match later tonight? I’ll eat you out during every commercial break, I promise. Just p-please!”

Y/N would usually give in (who would be insane enough not to?) and finish by riding him off quickly, laying over his post-orgasm-weakened body and running her fingers through his tangled, damp hair, planting gentle kisses to his pink-splattered cheeks as he’d let his eyes lull shut, swallowing thickly and murmuring a raspy, “Shit, you’re amazing.”

Today was different, however, in the sense that she was feeling a bit more sympathetic because of the way Harry had stumbled in through the door of their bedroom at 12:44 at night, utterly beat from a full day of filming and practically oozing neediness. His usually twinkling seaglass eyes were dimmed to a dull, mossy green, his short hair a floppy mess, and his shoulders sagging heavily as he tripped over his big feet, slumping face-first into the bed with a defeated grunt.

“Hard day?” Y/N crawls over to where he is, nudging him onto his back and snuggling up against his depleted form, hugging his torso and sponging her lips against his forehead, brushing away the creases between his eyebrows.

“’M so fucking tired,” Harry mumbles weakly, slinging an arm flimsily across her waist and pulling her further into his warm embrace. He turns his body to the side, coming face-to-face with her concerned expression and kissing the very tip of her nose lovingly. “Everything went to shit today.”

“What happened?”

“Well, for starters, I asked for two packets of ranch dressing in my salad but they only gave me one, and it wasn’t even ranch! It was blue cheese!” He huffs in exasperation, crinkling his nose up in disgust. “You know how much I hate blue cheese!”

Y/N rolls her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “You’re such a diva.”

“I am not!” He screeches, proving that he is, indeed, a diva.

“I specifically asked for ranch and the assistant said she wrote it down. She had one job!” Harry exclaims, throwing his arms up into the air for emphasis and then letting them fall onto the bed, splayed above his head. “I didn’t complain, though. I kinda just lounged around set pouting. But as if that wasn’t enough, while we were doing the scene where we’re all covered in mud, one of the cameras busted and we had to sit there for almost an hour while they searched for the replacement. The mud was making my skin all itchy and it dried into my hair. Took me forever to get it out.”

“My poor baby.” Y/N wails dramatically, cupping Harry’s cheeks in her hands and pressing kisses all across his nose and eyelids.

He narrows his eyes at her, a begrudging huff puffing warm air against her cheek. “I am a poor baby. Mud, Y/N. Crusty, smelly, itchy mud.”

She rubs her thumb over one of his cheekbones and brushes her lips against the corner of his mouth, knowing that the best thing for her to do during this type of rare temper tantrum is to comfort him. “I know, dear. But aside from that, did you have any fun?”

Harry’s ears perk up, his eyes lighting up faintly as a teeny smile carves a dimple into his face. “Nolan complimented me on my scenes today. Said I was a great choice for the character.”

Y/N can’t contain her smile, fondness completely taking over her face. He had worked so hard (religiously going over lines in the mornings while brushing his teeth and at night in the shower, hiring a vocal coach to help him with the accent for the role, and some hardcore method acting at home, refusing to get out of character) to get this role and the fact that he was getting recognition for it made her so incredibly proud.

“That’s amazing, honey. So amazing, I think we should celebrate, maybe in the form of a creamy dessert.” She pats his strong chest happily, getting up to go get the jug of Rocky Road ice cream she had bought earlier when she was out doing the groceries.

Harry’s hand stops her, his fingers gripping hers and yanking her back on top of him. Y/N blinks down at him with confusion as he cradles her jaw in both of his humungous palms, tucking strands of her hair behind her ears.

“I was actually hoping for another type of a congratulatory gift,” he bites into the skin just under his bottom lip, the edges of his mouth tilting up coyly as he arches his eyebrows up suggestively.

Y/N’s lips purse, trying to hide a grin of her own as she sits up to straddle his lap, eyes skimming down his body temptingly. “Rain check on the ice cream?”

“Definitely,” Harry lifts his arms above his head, waiting for her to take charge. His black Ramones t-shirt drifts up his torso, revealing a sliver of tummy where his happy trail hides. She follows the tiny hairs with her sight, watching them disappear alluringly under the waist band of his red Calvin Klein briefs.

She glimpses up at him as his eyes twinkle with mischief, craning his head to the side to allow the veins in his neck to become more prominent under the silky, slightly tanned skin, inviting her to take a bite. He’s teething at the corner of his mouth (knowing good and well how much that gets her going), his sharp cheekbones and jaw on full display. His legs shift under her weight, toes curling impatiently.

Y/N loops her fingers into his belt, toying with the metal buckle teasingly and reminiscing in the low, desperate whine that comes from deep in his chest. She grips the hem of his tee, coasting the soft material up his body, feeling the warm muscles of his abdomen tighten at the feathery sensation. Leaning down, she pastes wet, hot kisses on his simmering skin, suckling up along each fern tattoo, up the spine of the butterfly and giving a rough lick to his puffy left nipple, smiling against his flesh as he keens quietly. She pushes the shirt over his chin and runs it up his arms until it is level with his eyes, using it as a makeshift blind fold.

“Y-You gonna…?” Harry’s voice is trembling and unbelievably thick as he swallows heavily, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His arms are still above his head, hands now gripping the railings of the headboard, knuckles white with anticipation.

“I dunno. Should I?” Y/N skims her hands up his biceps, her words tickling the shell of his right ear. “Or do you think you can be a good enough boy not to need them?”

Harry inhales as if he has just been shot, chest rising but not falling as he seems to choke on a breath. He doesn’t answer– no nod of his head or sound of agreement– which leads Y/N to believe something else.

“Unless…do you want to be cuffed?” She asks, mildly shocked.

Harry is the type of person who, alongside being the dominant in the relationship, is very touchy-feely in general, meaning that trait amplifies during sex; whenever she handcuffs him, it’s usually as a punishment. But, apparently, he fancies it at the moment.

“Yeah,” he finally huffs out, nodding his head meekly and even though she can’t see his eyes under the blindfold, she knows he probably has shut them in embarrassment. His cheeks tinge even redder and he turns his face to the side as if to break eye contact. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Y/N can’t help but snort out a laugh, squeezing his shoulders jestingly. “You can’t even see me!”

“But I can feel you looking at me.” He mumbles, his jaw tightening.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, it’s just…you’ve never asked so I’m kind-of in shock right now,” she reaches over him, opening the drawer in the mahogany night stand and sifting around until she feels the distinct coldness of the metal slide against her fingertips. She brings them out along with the keys, unlocking them and looping one velvet-covered cuff around his left wrist, locking it, looping the middle chain over one of the railings and repeating the procedure with the opposite wrist.

“Check ‘em for me,” she orders as she reaches back over to the drawer to return the key and pulls out two more toys– a new bottle of lube and a vibrating cock ring.

Harry gives the handcuffs a couple of tugs, proving their security. His arms then slump into the bed, fingers looping around the excess chain link as a way to keep a grip on himself. “They’re good.”

Y/N hums her response, having set the cock ring to the side and being distracted with getting the plastic seal off of the lube cap. He waits as patiently as possible, hips jerking every now and then when he feels her weight shift along his groin. The distinct sound of plastic crumpling nips at his ears and his brows furrow.

“New box of condoms?” He asks, blinking behind the cloth, slightly confused because he swears they just opened up a new one last week.

“Lube,” Y/N corrects, letting the wrapper fall onto the floor as she pops open the blue-tinted bottle of KY Ultragel. “It’s the warming kind.”

“Bet that feels incredible,” Harry sighs wistfully, wishing he could feel something else other than the latex of a condom.

“You’re about to find out.” Y/N sets the bottle onto his naked chest and he jumps slightly at the coldness of the plastic. She swiftly unbuckles his belt, tugging his briefs and jeans down and off, returning to her original seat in his lap but now with his semi-hard pressing into her underwear. She takes the flowy material of her Winnie the Pooh patterned night gown, bunching it up her thighs so Harry will be able to get a perfect view of her in a second.  

“We’re barebacking?!” He can’t help the excitement that fills his voice, his arms trying to reach forward instinctively but being yanked back by his restraints.

Going bare for them was something of a rarity because the pills tend to bloat Y/N pretty badly and the last thing Harry wants is for her to be in pain because of him. But there would be times when she would insist on it– said she wanted to feel what he was like without a piece of flimsy plastic– and he wasn’t one to complain.

“Yep,” Y/N reaches up, moving the t-shirt up enough so Harry can peek at her.

A huge lump lodges in his throat as he looks up at his girl, baby pink night gown scrunched up around her milky thighs, the color matching her undies. She looks so innocently fresh-faced and lovely, hair a fluffy, unbrushed mess and the outline of her nipples printed against the cotton of her clothes. The only thing she was missing was a gigantic gift bow.

“I know–” Y/N grunts with effort as she hikes the gown further up, annoyed that it keeps riding down, “–that you like watching me touch myself so…”

She finishes with a little shrug, teething at the corner of her mouth as she eyes him, waiting for a response.

Harry nods furiously, eyes widening as his cock gives a painful jerk and he’s a hair short from collapsing with arousal. “Y'sure? I mean, this is your time to do whatever y'want to me and I don’t want you to waste it trying to–”

“This is what I want to do,” her lips twitch into a sly smile.

He stares at her for a second and then sighs shakily. “Then yes– fuck, yes, poppet, please. Love t'see you be dirty.”

Y/N nods shyly, breathing out heavily. “So, like, do you want me to feel myself everywhere or to just go at it right away or…?”

“Do whatever you feel like doing but just do something.” Harry pants, hips swiveling to rub his now full hard-on against her bum for some minor relief.

“Alright.”

She starts off at her chest, groping her breasts into the palms of her hands and giving each nipple a tentative squeeze, feeling pleasure spike in her spine. She keeps at it for a few more seconds, the only sound in the room being Harry’s franticly growing breathes mingling with her own. Her right hand starts to drift down to her center, fingers stopping just above the waist band of her cherry-printed panties.

“Tell me what to do.” She swallows thickly, air puffing from her stinging lungs. She eyes Harry with fascination, his own irises glossy as his sight is glued to her chest, mouth slightly agape in awe.

He licks his purple-tinted, puffy lips, pulling at the cuffs in an attempt to get himself back in control. “You see the long mirror over there? Grab it and prop it up against the end of the bed to face us. Place a pillow in between my legs and lay down on your back fo’ me, angel. Facing the mirror so I can get a good view of that pretty cunt, yeah?”

Y/N does as told, quick footsteps patting against the floor as she sets everything up, then lays in between Harry’s legs and spreads her own wide open, feeling the cold air of the room caress the wet patch that has pooled in her underwear. She stares at their reflection in the mirror, his hair a disheveled mess, flexing arms tied back, cheeks and neck painted bright red as his sweaty chest heaves. She herself is nothing but tangled hair and damp skin, but her position makes it easier to keep her night gown from covering her crotch so that she’s on fully display for his liking.

“What now?” Y/N tilts her head back, locking onto Harry’s upside down gaze and blinking at him with fake innocence.

“Just rub yourself for me, peach. Nice and slow.” His voice cracks at the end, resulting in him swallowing audibly. His prick is throbbing for attention under the pillow and he ruts up against it subtlety, trying to keep himself in reign.

She coasts her hand down her abdomen, letting it dip inside her wrecked undies and rubbing her wet clit in long, slow circles. Her legs twitch and a slow burn of bliss ignites in the pit of her stomach, causing her inhales to hitch.

“Faster.” Harry croaks from behind, staring at her intently through the mirror.

He wishes he could run his hands through her hair, tugging at it as he whispers what he wants her to do. Wishes he could run his fingers up and down the length of her arms and feel her muscles clenching as she speeds up, helping by guiding her fingers into herself. Wishes he could cup his hands under her creamy thighs and to keep her legs spread nice and wide, digging his nails into the supple flesh and feeling her sweat slide against his fingertips. But he can’t– won’t– because he knows it’ll be so much hotter for her to do it herself. And he likes the feeling of being helpless at times– of not being in control. The adrenaline of not knowing what is to come is better than anything, the excitement tenfold, and the orgasm a hundred times that. So he restrains himself from begging her to release him and focuses on her instead.

Y/N picks up her pace, the weak simmer inside her now dialing up to a mild boiling. Teeny gasps begin to choke out from her throat and she can feel her pulse speeding up, the sound of blood rushing through her head muffling her hearing. She nudges at the tiny bulb within her clit, feeling sparks erupt from the base of her spine and travel up her neck and face, numbing her mind with ecstasy. Her fingers are slick with her arousal, her crotch throbbing as she uses her whole hand to drive herself towards release.

Harry’s voice breaks through her trance, sharp and clear. “Off. Take ‘em off.”

Y/N knows exactly what he’s talking about and it takes every drop of will power to stop her movements. She roughly pushes her panties down her thighs and knees, kicking them off and watching them fall off the edge of the bed. She spreads her legs again, bending her knees up and apart while planting her feet flat against the bed to keep her stable. Her head falls back to look at him, tears of desperation squeezing out of the corners of her eyes as her mouth falls open, stuttered wisps of air blowing out.

Harry can tell she’s waiting for his next order and it turns him fucking on that she will let him run everything she is doing to herself.

“Bring you’re hand up here.” He jerks his chin towards it, watching as she raises her quivering hand up to his face, the dim light of the lamps reflecting off of the cloudy liquid that slides down her fingers. He takes them into his mouth without hesitation, swirling his tongue around to collect her juices. She’s tangy, with an undertone of sweetness– the usual. Her scent fills the air around him and it’s driving him insane.

“Use your other hand, love. Two fingers.” He speaks through a full mouth, sucking on her fingers daintily as he stares down at her enlarged eyes and pink cheeks. “Go on, then.”

Y/N doesn’t have to be told again, slowly sinking her two middle fingers into her tight, slick hole. She starts pumping them, utter euphoria rippling through her entire body and causing her to let loose a shamefully loud moan.

“That’s it, pet,” Harry watches with hungry eyes as his girl fucks herself with her fingers, whining as he sees her dripping out onto the rumpled sheets. “Fuck, you look absolutely beautiful for me.”

Y/N scoots up higher so that her head can fall onto his shoulder, the action causing the pillow in between their bodies to rub against his leaking cock. He hisses, mumbling something along the lines of “God, gonna come if y'keep that up.”

When she’s nuzzled up against him, he turns his head, pressing soft kisses to her forehead with whispers of, “Feels okay? You’re so good to me, moppet– doing this just for me. Love seeing my good girl be so naughty.”

Y/N swims in his compliments, allowing her eyes to lull closed as Harry presses his hot mouth against her temple, his warm breathing puffing against her damp hairline. “Y'gonna come for me?”

“Y-Yeah,” she sighs, curling her digits upwards and a wave of pleasure so intense smacks into her that she thinks she might’ve blacked out for a second. “But not before I’m through with you.”

With that, Y/N smoothly draws her fingers from within herself, flipping over and sitting into his lap, her calves tucked under his thighs. She doesn’t bother wiping off, twisting from side to side until she finds the bottle of lube. She squirts out a decent-sized glob of gel into her palm as she looks down at Harry’s engorged prick, pale green and blue veins pulsing under the thin skin, his head tinted different shades of pink. Not wasting any time, she slathers the liquid onto him, working him from base to tip with quick, fluent flicks of her wrist.

Harry is in what he guesses to be the line where heaven and hell meet because on one side, the thermal lube begins to work immediately, seeming to draw the warmth from his heated skin and using it as a catalyst to intensify the raw pleasure Y/N is already giving him. Precome is beading out of his hole steadily, running over the tip and down his shaft, blending in with the Ultragel, making a cloudy blue-tinted mess. On the opposite side, however, he really rather have her warmth wrapped around him and he fears that if she keeps stroking him, they won’t get to that part in time.

He focuses his blurry sight on a determined Y/N, her head tilted down to give his cock her full and undivided attention. Her hair falls across her ruddy cheeks, lashes casting a shadow across the tops, and he finds her so unbelievably adorable, even while she’s doing the dirty deed of jerking him off. He watches her with adoration, his eyes bright with lust and doey with love, whimpering with utter need.

Y/N’s tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth in concentration and Harry can’t help but yelp out a laugh in between a stream of moans. She looks up, startled, eyes owlish with surprise. “What is it?”

He tilts his head to the side where it rests against his shoulder, the left corner of his mouth curling into a soft lopsided smirk, his nose scrunching up with fondness. “You’re just proper cute, s'all. Even when you’re about to fuck me into another dimension.”

She looks away from his eyes, a gentle smile making home across her colorful cheeks. Her voice is meek and humble. “Shut up.”

“Make me.” Harry waggles his eyebrows jokingly.

“If you insist.” Y/N reaches over and grabs at something that’s just out of his line of view. She holds it up between her thumb and forefinger, swaying the circular rubber contraption  from side-to-side.

Harry’s eyes immediately widen, face paling. “Bloody hell.”

She squeezes a bit of lube onto the rim of the cock ring, spreading it all over its circumstance and setting it onto Harry lightly, where it slides down about a fourth of his length and halts.

Y/N tuts as she shifts back slightly, allowing her a bit more space to grip the ring. “S'gonna be a snug fit, Har. Brace yourself.”

Despite the warning, Harry still screams. It’s not that it hurts, but he’s so fucking hard and so ready to fucking burst that something as tight as that toy is bound to dismantle him entirely. She works the circle down his prick, twisting and turning it, the rubber expanding just enough to accommodate to his size. Once it’s down to his base, pressing gently against his throbbing balls, Y/N dives her hand under his thigh and fishes out a tiny remote.

“It vibra–?!” He’s cut off by the ring quaking to life, jittering at a medium pace around his cock, causing ripples of white hot pleasure to surge up through the bulging veins under his skin.

Harry thrashes against the bed, the handcuffs biting into the skin of his wrists and keeping him from falling off. Y/N holds him down with her thighs by sitting securely in his lap, watching with fascination as he throws his head back and worries his bottom lip between his two front teeth, trying to stifle the whimpers and whines that are rawing his throat. His eyes are screwed shut and his Adam’s Apple bobs thickly as he swallows down his keening, breathing stuttering as he arches his hips up without consent. The muscles along his arms flex and contract with his movement, straining hard against the shackles, chiseled by exertion. The skin under his ferns tattoos is growing a dangerous shade of red, along with his chest, which has a thin sheen of sweat glistening from his pores. His prick is a dull maroon shade under the thick layer of lubricant, spilling heavily now as it twitches with longing.

“Baby, I– shit, Y/N, please!” Harry throws his body forwards, neck leaning towards her as much as his restraints allow, which guarantees bruises along his wrists. His cheeks are wet with tears of neediness and his swollen lower lip is quivering, hair mattered to the sides of his neck as his eyes bleed with a desperate plead. “God, just– ah, ahhh…fuck, love, just take me. Do it now, I can’t hold…any longer! Please!”

“Oh, c'mon, H. You can do it a little longer.” Y/N clucks, leaning down to press sloppy, gooey kisses up the dip between his hips, following his pelvic bone up to his belly button and kissing a circle around it, then continuing her trek upwards.

Harry’s full on sobbing now, jerking in distress at the tiny euphoric bombs she’s placing all around the most sensitive parts of his body. “Stop!”

She shakes her head, causing her lips to brush back and forth against his sensitive nipples. “’M having too much fun.”

He flails from side-to-side, the cuffs cutting into his skin even though they’re lined with velvet. Y/N reaches up, wrapping her hand loosely around Harry’s throat, not tightening but just to get his attention by digging her nails into the underside of his sharp jaw. He mewls quietly, sounding like a scolded puppy, forcing himself to remain as still as possible. She skims the nails of the opposite hand up and down the length of his prick, swiping her thumb over his tip and sucking harder against swollen rosy nipple when she hears him yelp. “Stay still and I’ll give you what you want.”

Harry nods his head meekly, slumping into the cushioning below him and taking in deep inhales to try and clear his mind of the torture. He curls his fingers into week fists as he feels Y/N suckle along his collarbone and up his neck, pecking lightly at his chin and nipping at his bottom lip.

“Look at me, Harry.” Her voice is soft yet authoritative, resulting in him cracking his eyes open. His view is blurry at first from having them shut so tightly for a while but after he focuses on her, he wishes he’d kept them shut.

She looks so beautiful and tempting with her plump lips, big eyes and amused smirk. The hand that was around his throat goes to grip his whole jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact as she ruts her bare heat against his vibrating cock, her warmth and dampness mixing with his and it takes every cell in him not to lash out.

Y/N brushes their noses together, breaths mingling as she maintains full eye contact with him. “No matter what, you keep looking at me.”

“Okay.” Harry swallows heavily, ready to accept anything she has to offer.

When he feels her start to sink over him, he knows he’s done for. Her walls are velvety smooth, warm and tight, encompassing him perfectly. Every ridge, nook and cranny catches on his skin, working him over better than he ever thought he’d feel. Y/N makes him keep their gazes locked as she makes to reach his base, getting off on watching Harry’s eyes slowly shatter into carnal instincts.

When she finally thunks down damply against his thighs, feeling his balls against her ass, she speaks up quietly. “What d'you want me to do?”

He stares at her over his thick lashes, eyes depleted and foggy yet bright with arousal. She’s still in her nightgown, which he finds hilariously ironic considering they’re covered in tiny Winnie the Pooh characters and he knows for sure they wouldn’t approve of what she’s doing right now. She looks pretty and petulant and adorable, yet she exudes an aura of quiet power over him that leaves his mind reeling. He loves every second of it.

With a rough hiccup, Harry answers. “Ride me ‘til I pass out, sweetheart.”

And that’s precisely what she does. Well, not to the point where he passes out, but close enough. Y/N starts off slow, squeezing around him like he’d instructed her how to do so many times before, swinging her hips in subtle circles to give him the maximum amount of sensations she could offer.

Harry is a weeping mess, throat aching with hoarse, shaking moans and broken growls of rapture as he feels himself vibrating within her snugness, prodding certain points inside her that have her melting onto him. Y/N herself is matching his sounds of ecstasy, keening and humming out her gratitude as she bounces steadily on his engorged prick. Her release is thrumming at the bottom of her spine, sending shivers coursing through her entire being as her thighs slap wetly against his, full of nothing but raw, unfiltered lust.

Even though Y/N had established a certain amount of dominance, there was still a permanent part of her that loved having him take over her, and Harry knows it. He can see it in how the look in her irises molds from one of vehemence to one of warm pleading. And so a silent agreement comes into play, Harry clearing his throat to speak up.

“C'mere, pet.” His voice is strained, but with a strong tone.

Y/N tucks her face into his neck, angled so that her ear is close to his mouth to hear what he has to say. “I wan’ em on my face.”

It takes a second for her to understand what he’s suggesting, but it clicks into place fairly fast. By obeying his request, she is relinquishing a part of the dominance she has over him, but it’s what she wants. She craves to have him both under her control, while being under his at the same times.

Harry looks at her with a muted wash of victory in his dark mossy irises, the edges of his lips quirking into a triumphant grin. “What’re you waiting fo’? In my mouth. Now.”

Y/N shifts up, releasing her hold on his face and stretching her arms above her head, tangling their fingers together over one of the headboard railings. He gives her hand a weak squeeze, thumbing over her knuckles lovingly. She then does as told, shifting upwards a little further so that her clothed chest falls right into his face.

Harry licks his chapped lips, reaching up to suck at one of her nipples, tonguing it over the fabric, leaving it damp and pebbled. He repeats the procedure on the opposite nipple, pursing his lips over it and squeezing between both. “Love sucking your cute little nipples, darling. Love having you in my mouth.”

Y/N gasps lightly as he gives a rough thrust upwards, pushing himself inside her rashly. His jaw goes taut as he addresses her with a state of predatory-like order, thrusting up into her again and reveling in the squeaky croak she yaps. “Uncuff my hands so I can help you fuck me.”

She does just that, unlocking the metal with shaking fingers, massaging over his bruised wrists with care and kissing the stinging skin to make it feel better.

It doesn’t take long for them to pick up a fierce, racing rhythm, Harry squeezing and spanking Y/N’s ass as he keeps a tight grip on her while she marks deep purple hickeys into the skin of his throat and jaw, her own hands buried in his messy chestnut curls, tugging at them with desire. He’s propped back against the headboard and jolting with their movement, fingers hidden under the fabric of her nightwear and marking her skin with scratches. “God, your amazing, Y/N. Such a tight little cunt, fucking hell.”

She shows her thanks in the form of love bites, murmuring against his hot skin. “You’re so hot, Harry. Love you inside me…”

“Yeah? Y'like m'cock, baby? Like it all the way up here?” His ego gets off on her praise and he coasts a hand onto her abdomen, patting it reassuringly. “Like feeling me all the way in your tummy, hm?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, fisting at his hair and ignoring the sweat that is sticking her pajamas to her back. Harry kisses her feverishly, but even now there’s a certain caring undertone beneath all of the animalistic biting and sucking. A type of secret message that only touch can decode, in which he’s reminding her that he loves her and loves how she makes him feel. That he wants her and only her and that alone, matched with the choppy jolts of his hips, is enough to send her spiraling.

When she comes, Harry wraps her up in his arms and cradles her to his chest, peppering her nose with his pursed lips as he nibbles her bottom one, whispering words of encouragement into her mouth for her to swallow, as well as his tongue.

“Such a nice girl fo’ me, Y/N. Fuck me like no one else ever has, all warm and snug and so soft, angel. Such a sweet angel– my only angel. ’M just happy getting you stuck to me. Happy having you on me and under me, taking m'cock so deep and loving it. Never wanna let you go.”

She spills with bright flashes of colors and bright webs of lightning behind her shut eyelids, going numb everywhere except for where Harry’s taking her in with his mouth. Along the side of her neck, in between her breasts, nipping at her shoulders and sucking at her chin. And when he himself is toppling messily over the edge, he still finds it in himself to encourage her– to keep her from waning on him.

“C'mon, peach, you’ve got it. Keep riding me for a bit longer. Jus’ a few more seconds…Tha’s my girl, Y/N. Gonna make me spill so much into you. I’m–’M gonna…fuck, so close, baby, so close. Little bit more! Squeeze, nice and hard fo’ me. Atta girl. Ahhh…”

Y/N hides her face into the junction between his throat and shoulder, but Harry wants to see her while it goes down. “Look at me, Y/N.”

She lifts her innocent gaze up shyly as she continues to bounce drunkenly on his prick, holding grueling eye contact and watching with bated breath as he rips at the seams, eyebrows furrowing and nose scrunching, jaw going slack as his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah! Ooh, fuck me, moppet. Fuck me so bloody good, mmmh…”

Harry bursts with the air disintegrating in his lungs as his fingertips dig memeories into her hips, slamming her down onto him so hard he’s sure she’ll never feel empty ever again. He squirts out in thick, hot spurts that ooze out of her slowly as she plops her sweaty forehead against his bare, broad shoulder, revering in how he kisses at her ears gently and chuckles wistfully into her mussed, sweaty hair.

They sit there for a bit like that, with Harry still tucked inside Y/N (she'd switched off the cock ring as soon as he had finished) as he sways her back and forth gently, lips pressed in between her eyebrows, nose puffing air against the crown of her head and calves splayed over her own.  

“Y'know what’s funny?” Y/N speaks up all of the sudden, voice throaty from the toll of her screams.

“Hm?” Harry hums absentmindedly, too engrossed in rubbing away the soft crinkles in between her brows with his warm mouth.

“You call me an angel while we’re fucking.” She snorts, amused. “What a paradox, huh?”

“Your post-orgasm phase is such a philosophical one.” Harry grins all dopey and endeared, thumbing over her wet lips affectionately and snuggling her further into his chest. “All I can think about right now is that ice cream you mentioned.”

Y/N pouts with faux disappointment, mind still floating around the room. “No, but really, Harry.”

Harry sighs with surrender, blinking at her with amusement. “Y'wanna know what I have to say?”

“No, forget I even asked about it.” She deadpans sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

He gives her bottom a full spank, tutting in a playfully scolding manner. “Watch it.”

A raspy giggle escapes her throat and her hips give a tiny swivel, which in return results in him hissing in overstimulation, mumbling a squeaky, “cut it out.”

“Sure thing. Now tell me.”

“I think that…” Harry kinks one of his eyebrows up suggestively, tucking noodles of hair behind her ears and purposefully dragging out his response just to annoy her.

It works, the shove Y/N gives his shoulder proving it. “Finish already.”

“I think that even the nicest angel’s gotta tarnish her halo every once in a while.”

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

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Chapter 10 / Chapter 11

A drowning man will clutch at a straw.

Tomura hates most things.

He hates heroes, he hates summer, he hates children, he hates vegetables and society itself. (He also hates the way his wrinkled face makes him feel self-conscious out of the blue since a couple of weeks ago.) He hates everything, he repeats himself every morning when he wakes up and every night before sleep.

He hates everything, so he wants to destroy all before disappearing into nothingness, no longer a pack of scrawny bones, nightmares and nausea. No longer himself.

That’s why he stares at her completely confused at his own treacherous heart.

“Because I like you!” she shouts, and his heart stops inside his chest.

Why does everything about her feels so violent and brutal?

He stares at her like a deer blinded by car lights, but the instinct It’s bigger and he feels the sudden pull of something primal growling inside of him, urging him to touch her and smell her, to bite her and taste her.

Never one to indulge on some willful ignorance, he knows exactly what he feels, the sharp pang of longing and want that hurts like a stab in the center of his chest. He recognizes the wish his heart makes and the words that names the feeling, yet he stays rooted in place because he can’t believe it. He shouldn’t believe it, right? Right? But he wants to, and he has this policy to do whatever the fuck he wants.

She smacks her mouth, color rising to her ears and before he could answer, she’s babbling some stupid excuse just to hide the fact that this ridiculous disgusting crush he’s been harboring in the dark pit of his chest it’s fucking mutual and for once in his miserable life he feels something akin to pure joy, but she’s so fucking stubborn, so pretty, so clever, but so stupidly insensible to her own words that his anger boils red when the words leaves her mouth, trying to disguise and bury her poisonous confession as if didn’t hanged over his head like a curse already.

“Friends?” he spits bitterly because he hates her for what she just did, for telling him that she likes him enough to fight her way with another murderer just to defend him while looking at him with those pretty doe eyes she has, just to put herself out of his reach again.

How dare she to implant something like this inside of him and then step on it? How can someone be so clueless about their actions?

“What are you doing.” She asks shivering, and he hates her even more when he discovers that he loathes the horrified look in her face when is directed at him.

“what am I doing?” he growls furious. His hatred has been festering viciously inside the graveyard of his ribs since he was a child, starving for something like her, for something like this soft fragile thing that’s barely sprouting between them, and now she tries to lie her way out of it like it’s not there.

Like he’s not sickeningly and disgustingly infatuated with her already.  

He’s going to kill her right there, his hatred looming over him like a monster ready to engulf him because he wants to tear her apart with his bare hands.

So, he thinks about killing her. Truly. To extend his hands and decay her, to make her disappear at last. No longer a distraction fixed inside his skull, inside his cage. Just a pile of dust at his feet, and then he will no longer think of anything related to her, just him the league and his goals.

She’s staring at him. Her quirk is still shining through her eyes, but he’s sure he could take her if he’s quick enough.

“get away from me.” She says activating her quirk, making him growl, making him dense and heavy as a useless warning.

“Make me.” He defies darkly, finally touching her, seizing her face in place with a yank, mere centimeters from his own, her warmth irradiating through the clothing as he registers all the places where their bodies are lightly touching.

“Are you done playing dumb?” the question sounds more like a threat because he’s fed up with all the cheating and he doesn’t want to play her game anymore. He’s been way too nice, too comfortable with her rules and her bickering and her smart-ass attitude. He was certainly soft with her for what she did to Dabi. He had killed others for less than that, never indulgent with the ones who dare to threaten his men, but somehow, she had managed to scape alive from that one by distracting him with her raw strength.

Somehow, he notices, she isn’t defending herself.

Ah…

She’s scared of him and the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he swallows dry looking at her parted lips way too slow, way too close…

Like a starved dog, his mouth waters.

Her eyelashes flicker over her kindle eyes, drawing lines between his ruby eyes and his own scarred lips and he’s no longer sure if he’s angry anymore. Not when suddenly she looks anything but scared and he can almost hear his own heart thumping against his chest when she leans softly, almost imperceptible.

So, he asks again, and this time he makes sure to memorize the look on her face, the warmth of her skin and the shape of her mouth.

“I said…Are you done playing-“

A loud bang and Toga cheerful screaming startles him and before she crosses the door he’s already at the other side of the room, still trying to grasp what just transpired.

She looks at him stunned, with a hand clutching over her heart.

He was going to kill her, right? Or it was she who was going to kiss him first? Or it was the other way around?

He’s not sure but his lips are itching for something invisible that has nothing to do with destruction because something within tells him that killing her is not going to alleviate the twisting hunger that fills him, so instead he just storms out of the room because he cannot stand to be so near her any longer.

Now, he sits at the top of the roof trying to clear his head, scratching his neck furiously while thinking of her.

Her words thrash inside his head mercilessly as the image of her scorching eyes keeps playing over and over again behind his lids, even when he hides behind father in a useless attempt to calm down.

Yeah, she’s a filthy liar.

But so is he.

Because he’s been playing stupid all along too, acting like he doesn’t follow her with the eye, looking for her in every room. Acting like he doesn’t stalks her while she sleeps, like he doesn’t dream of her open, mewling and screaming and crying for the likes of him.

Like he doesn’t want her to be a villain, to be part of the league. With that powerful quirk of hers and her sharp mind to help him expand his own vision, scheming by his side where they would be nothing but unstoppable.

He wants her. Oh, he wants her to give herself into his deadly touch, flustered and hungry and wet, but then he understands that he wants her to do it willingly, and that is the part that he hates the most, his own unwillingness to take everything he wants from her, the useless desire to be wanted in return eating him alive along with the sharp stab of rejection. But what else? He’s always been an absolutist about everything, it’s the only way he knows, and now that desire to have it all is the one smothering him because he is cursed, damned and smitten.

That night, he goes out, walking through the city covered by the darkness, trying to clear his mind of everything that bothers him, and by the time he returns to her apartment is already 3 am.

With a worn-ou­t card and a little push, he opens the door quietly without waking anyone, passing by the made-up bed by the couch where Compress and Spinner sleep, thanking his luck that Dabi didn’t return, because he surely would have woken up.

He enters the spare room silent as a shadow, watching her for a whole minute completely still, his heart deadly quiet inside his cage as he decides between what he wants and what he needs.

He wants to touch her, smell her, taste her…He wants to ruin her and make her cry his name, biting her neck, leaving love marks from her shoulder to her hip and below. He wants her spilling sweet nothings about some imaginary devotion and loyalty to him and only him. He wants her to beg, to ask and plea, nails digging in his back as her legs traps his hips against hers, buried deep inside her core, burning, and aching in heat as he thrust his anger away like the mad animal he is, but also wants to just stare at her, to smell her hair, to touch her hands.

But he cannot afford to wait for her to understand that she’ll make a powerful villain, that her place is with them. That the society that rejects them is the same that’s afraid of her power, even when she does everything she can to help.

He cannot afford to fill his heart with this lust, less alone with the softness and this longing she brings every time she smiles to him.

“Get away from me” she told him.

No, he cannot afford to stay any longer.

So, as quiet as he entered, he walks to each of the members, waking them one by one to gather in the living room.

“pack your stuff as quiet as you can.” He orders leaving no space for questions “We get the fuck out of this place tonight.”

Chapter 12