#not 100% sure about the color of the watch dial

[datshitrandom]

OMEGA Cocktail Reception and Dinner Celebrating The Academy Awards | March 09, 2023 | 📸 by Lodovico Colli Di Felizzano/WWD

Finney Salinas Silk Trouser Black Christian Louboutin Our Georges Lace-up Calf Leather shoes Black Giuliva Heritage Rino Sweater in Cotton Knit | Only available in Moss green Omega Seamaster Aqua Terra 150M Steel on Steel

[apteryxparvus]

hiii congrats on 100 followers! may i rq kaeya x reader angst. something like reader getting jealous of kaeya and rosaria drinking til late together

Thank you! Here's the request, hope you like it! 😊

Part of my ✨ 100 followers milestone event ✨ running from September 2nd to September 9th.

Pairing — Kaeya Alberich / Reader

Word count — 1,225

Content warning — angst • drinking • unrequited loved • mentions of smoking cigarettes

You can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, even thought you know it's wrong. After all, you are just his friend, his loyal confidant. You're merely the person he'd turn to for advice on wooing yet another Tinder date, and the one he'd dial up in the middle of the night whenever heartbreak soon follows.

And still, that persistent feeling lingers deep within you.

You're perched at a table inside Angel's Share, sipping a cocktail tasting of harsh alcohol and unresolved bitterness. Jean rests her head on your shoulder, letting out a tired yawn as she absentmindedly plays with her empty glass.

Lisa's voice, sultry and slightly tipsy, breaks the silence. "Another round on me," she purrs, swaying as she rises from her seat. She makes her way towards the bar, where Charles meticulously polishes glasses, weariness evident on his face. "And perhaps some shots," she adds playfully, her giggles trailing behind her as she approaches the counter.

"She sure has a penchant for drinking," Rosaria comments, her raised eyebrow conveying her amusement. She's siting beside Kaeya, directly across from you. She runs a hand through her choppy wine-colored hair, ruffling it. Despite having consumed twice as much alcohol as you, she remains composed, her sharp magenta eyes retaining their intimidating gaze.

You remain silent, an uncomfortable know forming in your stomach as you watch Kaeya and Rosaria lean in closer to each other. Their conversation is hushes, effortless. It upsets you, how natural they seem together.

Your feelings for Kaeya have been brewing ever since that rainy and windy evening four years ago. He had spotted you struggling with your broken umbrella as you exited the Favonius University library after a late-night study session. He offered to walk you to your metro stop, insisting it was his duty as a gentleman.

Of course, you were initially hesitant accepting help from a completely stranger, but you soon discovered you shared a web of mutual friends. Like Lisa, from your classical literature class, and Albedo, your shy roommate's biochemistry lab advisor.

From that point, your friendship blossomed — you'd go on barhopping adventures and various parties across the city, indulge in movie marathons (sometimes just the two of you, other times with his friend group, who quickly became your friends too).

Back in those university days, he would always share his lunch with you, despite his campus being quite a distance away from yours. It was a simple gesture, but to you, it spoke volumes about his thoughtfulness, and perhaps even, the bond you two shared.

And there would be moments when you couldn't help but believe your feelings were reciprocated. Like those nights when he'd snuggle in closer to you after a tiring day at work, claiming your place is conveniently closer to his job, and he didn't want to bother with the inconsistent late-night public transport. Or those times when, amidst the pulsing music and the swirling crowd inside the club, his gaze would always find yours, a playful smirk gracing his lips.

You often found yourself soaring in your imagination, your hopes like wings made of paper and dreams soon to be crushed. You'd believe you could almost reach out and touch the deepest part of his soul, but just like Icarus, you'd inevitably get burned by the reality.

A sudden snort and the clattering of glasses shatter your little daydream, snapping your attention back to the scene around you. Lisa playfully nudges a shot and a cocktail in your direction as she settles back besides Jean.

Kaeya and Rosaria each take a shot glass, clinking them, waiting for the rest of the table to join in.

You bite down the inside of your cheek, but silently grasp the glass and raise it. The little glasses clink in unison and the table cheers, but you remain quiet, unable to shake off the unspoked emotions that linger deep within you.

You down the shot, barely suppressing a grimace at the the strong juniper-flavored liquor.

"I'm going out for a quick smoke," you announce, rising from the table. Kaeya shoots you a concerned glance, but you respond with a polite smile.

Outside the dimly lit bar, you fumble with trembling hands to light up a cigarette. You inhale deeply, and savor the light head rush that accompanies the exhale. The wisps of smoke dance under the glow of the soft yellow lamps.

"Smoking is bad for your health," a gruff voice interrupts your solitude. You glance up, met with deep red eyes and fiery red hair tired in a high ponytal.

"Diluc," you greet the man. "I thought you weren't working tonight."

"I'm merely checking up on my establishment."

You nod, and the two of you fall into silence as you finish your cigarette.

"Is Kaeya inside?" Diluc asks as you extinguish the glowing end of your cigarette on the nearby trashcan.

You nod. "Yeah, he's in there, having drinks with Rosaria, Jean, and Lisa." Your voice quivers slightly when you mention Rosaria's name, and you hope Diluc doesn't catch your subtle slip. If he does, he doesn't acknowledge it.

"And you're not joining in on their antics tonight?"

"I am," you reply, "but I just felt like I needed to clear my head for a bit."

A silent understanding flickers in Diluc's eyes.

"Listen," he begins, "I know you have deep feelings for my brother. You must realize that he can be quite oblivious at times, and he might need a little nudge in the right direction."

You let out a dry laugh. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Diluc doesn't press further. Instead, he heads toward the bar's entrance, waiting patiently for you to follow. With a grateful nod, you join him.

Your friends have finished their drinks during the time you spent outside smoking, and Kaeya and Rosaria are nursing another round of alcoholic beverages. Rosaria seems unfazed as she downs her Death After Noon, while Kaeya squints at his remaning drink.

Lisa and Jean wave you over, and you notice they've already packed their belongings. It's clear they're ready to call it a night.

You have yet to finish your cocktail, so you insist that your two friends head home, promising them you'll text the moment you arrive home safely.

However, the drink refuses to go down, and becomes an uncomfortable lump in your throat, as you watch the friendly banter between Kaeya and Rosaria.

A surge of bitterness and jealousy rises within you as you watch Kaeya tenderly move a strand of hair from Rosaria's face. To mask the feeling, you down the remainder of your drink, trying to ignore the unpleasant taste of the beverage. You slam the empty glass on the table and stand you, swaying slightly.

"I think I'll head out. Goodnight. Enjoy the rest of your night," you mumble, voice strained.

Barely a few steps away from the bar, you feel the tears stream down your face. In an attempt to stifle your sobs, you retrieve another cigarette and light it up.

Walking down the cobbled street, a lone raindrop lands on your nose, and the wind begins to pick up. You hadn't brought an umbrella with you.

That night, you allow the heavy rainfall to drench you, letting it numb your other senses, providing a temporary solace from the turmoil in your heart.

Author's note: not exactly proofread, sorry 😋 will probably do that sometime over the week

Smoking is bad kids, I say as I discard yet another empty pack of cigarettes 🤡🤡

[sparklyeyedhimbo]

this is gonna be a veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery long post. Open it in another tab or something. This is gonna be like this bird post so be warned

Get yourself some snacks and a drink.

where to begin to start explaining my gear and your gown.

first of all a few trigger warnings: homophobia, violence, under age drinking, parental figure dying, attempted rape*, singing

when you see this shot in episode 10 at 34:55 skip to 36:07 if you can

Let us check out the plot summary now.

IMBD what you got for us

Not much as expected this is like the base plot like the 1% of it all. (kali why are you even looking there. IDK i wanted some VARIATIONS idk)

Let us check MyDramaList they like to give some more meat

...and this is as far as i go down the fires of MDL. Now we have a LITTLE bit more base knowledge.

This is an enemies to study buddies to "friends" to enemies to strangers to friends to lovers story. (very long trope but you will get it)

..with a cast that makes newer and older bl fans go like WAIT THEY ARE IN THIS?

Before we get more into the plot of this story, let me introduce the boys and the gurls and who is who and who is doing what with who. Confused? you are welcome 😎

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lets start with the MAIN people that this story is about

oh btw the colors mean nothing is just wanted to have some colors in this so it's not just a wall of text

This is pai our little, nearsighted, insecure, introverted and bad with his words boy. That falls head over broken glasses for itt that saves him not once but twice. But he can't really see itts face everytime because his glasses fall off.

He will get rid of his glasses (because of lasik he rich booooy and glasses make people ugly apparently) when he gets older. Will also do everything in his power to make sure that itt gets to live his dreams. With questional techniques to make sure it happens.

highschool!pai: i'm only gonna tutor you so you can get into uni. Pls pang (itts ex girlfriend) get back together with itt so he is more motivated to go back to school, i'm only gonna forgive you if you let me tutor you again.

uni!pai: i lost your trust so ofc you hate me and don't want me in your life i know this. i'm okay to watch you shine from afar

This is itt (badumtiss sorry everytime i have to read this phrase i have to laugh) our angry, can recognize pais handwriting everywhere, ball is life, grumpy and loves to stare at pai boy. Will wear a bowtie when he hits rock bottom.

And will do anything to make sure his boy gets more out of his shell, even tho his techniques are also questionable at best. Its not that bad in highschool but boy does he dial it up to 100 when they are in uni.

highschool!itt: ..pierce your ear you coward [affectionate]

uni!itt: ..you want your earing back? Join the beauty pageant, pai wants to entertain people, pai wants to answer this question, asks pai stupid med question (because he sees that pai feels uneasy talking infront of people) which pai has to correct and make him ease up, etc

IttPai

These two are the main couple in this "masterpiece". Staring at eachother (from afar to near to angry to lovie dovie) and miscommunication are their favorite activities. They both will continue doing these even in uni which will give you the urge to pull your hair out. wich will lead to much unnecessary drama. Because both just want the other one to have their best lifes, because BOTH of these two idiots think they are not good enough for eachother. Can you belieeeeeeEEEeeeeve that? They once go out for some wonton noodle soup because pais parents can't make dinner (it's a date but pshh dont tell them). And thats where pai gets his ugly ass earring. That will be the plot device to move things along.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now lets get to know the rest of them.

This is folk, the very tall, handsome, with a little obsession with pai at the start, going to be a dentist and writer boy. Is not so happy that pure always sabotages him and pai. Can quote barbra streisand from the top of his head.

Enters the story right before the timeskip, he gets scolded by pai for reading the number for a classroom wrong and that is what made folk fall hard. Folk meets pai in uni again and uses their "first" first meeting as a pick up line, didn't really land. He will try to forget about pai after that camping trip in uni with a little help of pure *wink*

There is a subplot in the series where there is an Mr.950. You will think Folk is Mr.950 (because that was the number he read wrong) that is giving pai little gifts. But he is not that dude it's itt its always itt kidz.

This is pure very small, loves to fool around, will not use the hecking condoms (gets an "well deserved" std-scare that makes him and waan bond and become real good friends and you try not to ship like the doc that reads out the test waan made pure take, always have protection with you kidz) his sucky mom throws at him because she is as bad as her son when it comes to fool around, will do anything that makes his BFF itt happy, ball is also life, his first love was a coward and let him get beaten up by bullies, and will fall head over heels for a certain dentist boy.

He pushes folk to confess to pai (do it bro or it will be to late), and folk getting brutally rejected by pai. And after that pure and folk drive back to drink the pain away and for pure to "comfort" the poor soul.

folks fish: they were banging. There was so much banging happening

PureFolk

Thank you folk for explaining purefolk, love me this trope when the two people that gonna be together in the end. Tell them stuff like that and ask the other for an answer.. AND IT HAPPENS LIKE THE OTHER ONE SAYS. THEIR SHIP DYNAMIC IS JUST TOLL/SMOLL, enemies to friends with benefits to with a lot of unnecessary drama lovers. ..pure even saves folks face id so folk can unlock pures phone. It was love at first oishi ad scene

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

last but DEFENETLY NOT least

This is waan (and his girl beau) second most intelligent, token straight, with no game till he meets beau (at one point you will and want to slap waan for beau because lord he stupid*.), best friends with pai by fate (fate as we are both have the most brain lets be friends) a very kind boy.

*this part of the camp. SHE WAS SO HAPPY AND HE CRUSHES HER HOPES BECAUSE HE THINKS THAT AFTER PURESAID IF HE COULD HELP HER WITH HER, THAT PURE IS GONNA STEAL HER AWAY FROM HIM. *tries to calm down*

...they figure it out after he gets hurt by getting hit by an basketball that Itt was throwing (you have to watch it pls). BUT BOY, what a mess it was thanks pure (but ofc pure only did that to give waan a push to finally stand HIS ground) what i want to say about these two is they are the cutest and i will forever love them

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

phew now that we got that out of the way lets go through the plot a bit. Lets just make it some bulletpoints because i want you all that you watch this.

I lied this got out of hand have bulletpoints with all my brain came up with enjoy.

STILL PLEASE WATCH IT.

pai starts his first day of school after 5 years in england. It's his last year in HS. (and trust me you saw me how angy i was with simm and lemme tell you NO ENGLISH WORDS pass pai lips once NOT ONCE) his parents are so busy they won't even eat breakfast with him :(

he gets to school gets hit by a soccer ball, this is were he first meets Itt and after that pai gets announced head of the bishop club (the smartie pants club) because he smort, but he declines at first.

after school and pai and waan are about to get driven home by pais driver. He just looks at waan and runs away. (To this day i have no clue why he does it) He almost gets robbed by thugs in a back alley BUT Itt is here to save the day. Sadly pais glasses break from the run in with said thugs. But no worries itt fixes them with a tape.

back at school pai ask waan if he could find the owner of said tape. But waan will only help him if pai takes on the role of head of the bishop club. So pai accepts this deal.

But as soon as pai said yes, the teacher approaches pai to tell him that the knight club (the sport nerd) lost their building and now are going to get the bishops clubs room, because they got more accomplishments. And his is going to get disbanded.

pai goes to the principal and guess who he meets there? The head of the knights club and it's itt. After talking to the principal and promising him that he will use his connections with his dad to get some activities going. The principal decides that they have to share the room.

after this pai talks to itt infront of the principal office and thanks him for helping him and if he remembers him. itt just tells pai that he doesn't remember people who lik to pull strings.

enter the we are "enemys" now phase, with Itt and his knight club members trying to annoy the bishop club members to leave.

pure takes one of his hook ups into the room and spills some juice and trys to mop it up with some very important papers, waan sees that and they get into a little fight, a projector gets damaged.

waan sees his time as his chance to get the knights out of their room. But he overhears pure and his mother talking and it's not the nice (at this point just throw away the whole mum) in the end he takes the blame for damageing the projector.

because of this situation the teacher tells pai that he has to agree to her proposition that he has to tutor itt or she will disband the bishop club (don't look at me i still have no clue how this makes any sense)

pai agrees and now the whole study buddies era happens. Naturally not without Itt ditching the first lesson, but he had a reason. His mom is in the hospital with sickness (it could be cancer?) and he was visiting her. Pai goes to see his parents that are working at the same hospital itts mum is a patient in. And pai sees itt with his mom and also overhears and sees the argument he has with his father (WHO BRINGS HIS MISTRESS WITH HIM TO HIS DYING WIFE INTO THE TRASH WITH HIM)

because pai sucks at hiding itts sees that he overheard this confronts pai. They make a deal that pai won't say anything about this if itt lets him tutor him. NOW we are entering the study buddies to friends era.

Itts mum finds them studying together and happily demands that they should do these lessons in her patient room. She is really happy and jokes around with pai about her son (first supporter of IttPai)

everything is going great and pai and Itt becoming friends and mayhabs feelings blossoming, they even go eat wonton noodle soup, when pais parents ditch him because of work. And thats where pai gets the gown earring and his ears pierced. When pai gets home is parents are very suprised and shocked about this. (to this day i am confused because of pais parents, their reactions to things are so CONFUSING)

pai proudly wears the earing to their next tutoring session, but itt also invited his girlfriend peng along. Pais new found confidence goes back into the shell.

everything is going to shit at this point (we are only in episode 4 so buckle up) Pai is very cold to itt and even declines the offer to go eat together.

SOMEHOW pai does go to the wonton noodle shop (don't ask me why he decided to go like i just write here what i see for you guys) and sees itt eating there with peng. Pai walks away sad and gets hit by a car.

while this is happening itts mom also not doing so good. She passes away when pai gets hit by the car.

at the same time waan and pure also kind of bond and become friends. After waan sees two people fight over who gets to be with pure. Waan asked pure for help, the both of them go to an cafe and pure tries to teaches waan on how to flirt which back fires and they go out drinking.

on their way back from the cafe waan asked pure why he is the way he is with his relationships. And he drops the my first love was an ass he let me get beaten up by guys so now i don't feel love anymore. (trust me at this point you will go 👀🏳‍🌈 at them)

at the club our little player gets in a fight with someone accusing him on giving their girlfriend HIV.

waan goes looking for pure after he didn't show up for school a few days. He talks to pure and on how important it is to use protection even to it is from your shitty as moms leftovers (this whole scene is very bf coded but alas), waan drags him to the hospital to get a check up.

Where we get this iconic scene

back to pai and itt we are now in another we are no friends anymore era where itt is angry at pai for "not being there when his mom died" even tho he himself was also in the same hospital. Out of fear to lose his home (because shitty dad), itt even tries to drop out of highschool (rock bottom time the is a bowtie involved). Yes i say tries, because not on pais watch is that gonna happen. Pai tries to convince itt that he will earn more money as an engineer then whatever job is is doing right now. (we have a little pai almost getting hit by another car moment but they stare at eachother way to long 10/10) Pai playfully calls itt and idiot if does not show up to their tutoring session the next day.

He even tries to persuade peng to get back together with itt so he has more motivation to go back. But it backfires itt saw how peng was trying to kiss pai. (Just as we thought the drama is over right?)

the boys are "fighting" again but thanks to waan and pure the conflict is set aside very quickly. The four boys are now all friends and have a few nice days/weeks

pai and itt get accidentally locked in school and have to spent a night there where pai loses his earring.

in the morning the teacher calls pai to her office to tell him that he done his part, and that the bishop club now have their room back. Itt finds the earring and was about to enter the teachers room and overhears these two talking. (the real enemy era starting now)

the next day itt confronts pai that he has pais earring and he tells pai that he overheared the conversation with the teacher and pai just yield and begs itt to give him back his earring. Itt will only give it back if pai gives his club the room back. But because pai can't do this he promises to do anythingelse to get the earring back. But itt is not having it and keeps the earring.

folk enters the story at this point he first get scolded by angry heartbroken pai that he should read the room numbers correctly and take school seriously.

folk ruins a hook-up for pure because he tries to give back a pencilcase to the wrong girl.

pai gives notes to pure for itt..but because itt KNOWS pais handwriting he get so angry and goes to pais house to throw these notes at him and yell at him.

all of the boys get into their unis

TIMESKIP WE ARE IN UNI NOW

pai now has no glasses anymore (we get the first sotus call back with them trying to tell the meaning of the letter but JINKS they don't do this anymore..PUuuuh) and we meet beau for the first time and waan totally falls for beau.

this is also when mr.950 comes into play, it's a mystery person that gifts pai little gifts over the next 4 episodes.

pai gets a bit dizzy and almost faints after painting 2 lines of paint but he gets saved by the mystery man mr.950

pai also meets folk again, who straight out flirts with pai. He gets rudly interrupted by pure, who jokingly accuses him of being a player and sleeping around. (lets just say he uses it as a revenge for when folk wanted to give back that damn penicle case to the wrong girl pure was trying to flirt with)

this iconic scene happens after

at the dance thing the freshy have to do, pai has to do a little dance, because itt called out his name and said that he wants to.

folk joins him with the dancing because our dear pai is just to stiff and awkward

pai confronts itt after that event and begs itt to leave him alone.

beau ask pai to become their facultys king for the beauty contest but as always pai declines. (and ofc itt is in earshot and hears it)

we get this little scene where Itt uses the earring to get pai to join the beauty contest.

this amazing purefolk scene happens (it's their Ohhhhhh moment because after that its on....but folk still has his crush on pai)

a photoshoot for the freshy king things happens and pai really isn't feeling all to good on how stiffly and uncomfortable he looks in his pictures. Itt teases pai on how if he keeps doing so poorly on keeping his promise he should say bye bye to the earring, which REALLY riles up pai and he promises that he still has some tricks up his sleeves.(at this point you can feel that itt does these things from a place of love because booooy)

folk casually follows pai to his dormroom (don't worry he also lives there but still i was ehk?) and asked him for an chance to hit on him. Pai answer is "... to have it his way but he stands by as his friend first" (don't look at me i am also confused) Folk uses an even lamer pick up line this time.

folk gets to his room and he meets his neighbour! Guess who it is! ..imma tell you it's pure

waan tells pai that he likes beau but that he knows that she is out of his league (oh broother..noo) and that he is gonna join the freshy competition as a volunteer so he can be around beau. Because thats all he needs to be happy

ITS FRESHY COMPETITION CAMP TIME BEECHES time to get some progress on these couples!

Everytime pai has to do an activity, there is always itt trying to make him feel at ease or do things that help pai feel at ease (asking a stupid med question when pai feels uncomfy when he has to introduce, hurting himself so pai can show how to treat a wound, holds his hand when they have to walk blindfolded) They have a little moment in the tent, like they had back in hs when they where locked up.

waan gets closer to beau and helps her out in camp as good as he can. You could say they kind of flirt with eachother. But this spark of hope is soon put out by pure asking waan at the white band ceremony if could help him flirt with beau. Our boy waan is so defeated that when beau "ask if he wants to hit on her" he is like no..but a friend of mine does. Which in return leaves beau sad and a little heartbroken because she thought waan liked her.

talking about pure, his whole stick this camp is to keep folk away from pai. Or to sabotage them from having any interactions. Pure only urges folk on to man up and to confess his feelings after folk saw that itt and pai was holding hands. He gets rejected by pai

pure and folk drive back together to drink have a little talk and one leads to another and to bring back the fish from earlier

they decide to become friends with benefits (i am at this point that i believe that no one knows what a friend with benefits is because what these two are doing? Is kinguea league of doing it)

back at school pai talks to folk, if he is mad at him because pai heard that folk wasn't feeling so good. Folk ask for some time from pai so he can get over him.

after the meeting for the freshy competition folk just wants to go back and write his novel, but there is pure with other ideas. But folk brushes those ideas off and leaves without pure.

we see yachts character again nickey...we will meet him again and all i can say is with a gif

nickey wants pure to go to a party with him but pure declines with probably the biggest 🥺 while looking after folk.

pure and folk some cute moments while folk tries to write, when pure comes home from a bar, in school, (trust me guys you need to watch it)

folk reads some msg between waan and pure (thats what happens if you save your FWB faceID on your phone and say stuff like i won't keep secrets from you and you act sus buddy) where waan ask pure why he is messing around with folk if he wants to hit on beau and pure the idiot that he is answers that waan should fawn over her and that he going to enjoy folk until he gets tired of him. (put the pitchforks down this will get resolved...somehow)

we are at a basketball match now and pai is standing on the sidelines lost in thoughts. They begin to throw a ball at eachother angrier eachtime.

waan gets hit by a ball that itt throws at pai and hurts his wrist

let me remind you now at the trigger warning from the beginning the one with the door? well thats gonna happen now. I'm no going into detail

back to Itt and pai, Itt comes by to apologize to waan in the hospital but pais not having it and tells itt that from now on that this hatred is no longer one-sided.

all in all the boys are doing great

we finally get an inside look on why itt did the things he did to pai

pure comes clean about his intentions for beau, that he never liked her and that he only saied it to give waan a push. (they get together i mean beau and waan heheheheheh)

a sad heartbroken pure is at a club and gets a little "..Sowwy for you know doing almost a bad thing with you friend :< here have this" gift from nickey. (It's a hook up and oh boy will pure regretti spagetti this but he will punch nickey and make him apologize to folk so theres that but still puuuure whhhhy)

folk and pure talk with eachother and they decide to no longer to be FWB and that they are now going out. Pure has to promise folk that he is going to be his only one.

pai comes by to bring folk some congee and tells folk that he no longer has to refer to himself as mr. 950 BUT SUPRIIIIIIIIIIISE folk never was it. Pure gives pai the tip that it is the number of their old club room in highschool.

pai goes to visit waan in the hospital and waan no longer can keep the secrets he had and tells him everything.

ITS COMPETITION TIIIIIIIME time for our queen to serenade us! (i only just realizing what lyrics she is singing oasdjhjdksad)

everyone is getting ready for the show, the boys show off their little talents. And then there is itt who just goes up to the microphone and gives up. (yet still he wins the popularity vote i am amazed 10/10)

pai sings the song itt played for them when they all where in highschool.

PAI WINS THE HECKING CONTEST

after the competition he meets up with itt infront of the photography club. Itt gives him his earring back and pai asks what the room behind him looks like inside (he doesn't even wait for an okay he just walks in)

BIG DARK BLUE KISS ENERGY *intro plays in the background* with all the photos all over the room (okay they are mostly just pai but okay itt is on this hecking crush for a bit) as they watch a slideshow of pictures of pai they tell how much they love eachother

Itt finally reveals that he is mr.950 and shows pai his own earring he got himself as a memento of pai.

their shipname is brick/white now

they exchance their earrings and FINALLY kiss. But they get rudly interrupted by pais parents and his mother almost fainting.

pais parents are not really okay with their son kissing a boy in puplic and him talking back at them. Pai is so devastated by his parents reaction that he breaks up with itt

pais parents make him change schools back to england? When pai gets to school to pick up the papers he meets itt that does the same. Itt tells him "he only went here because of him" and gives pai back his earring

At lunch with his parents at home pai cracks and just cries and his parents finally see maybe we did something wrong? They even talk to an psychologists.

When it's time to fly back to england?? Pai stops his parents to say to them that he does not want to go. His mother asks him if he is really sure? AND when he says yes with confidence. His father calls out Itts name and itt comes out of his hiding place (imagine pai NOT doing this..the awkwardness oooof)

the parents and itt had a talk and now pai gets to stay and be happy and together with itt (hecking finally and like going to england won't make your son less anxious and gay. Thank the lord they figured that out. Itt is gonna be favorite son-in-law in no time)

pure and folk are back at the hospital, because nickeys little gift well...wasn't as clean as hoped BUT pure is now! So HAPPY ENDING FOR THESE TWO ASWELL

The friendgroup go on a camping trip and all three couples are as disgustingly cute as they can be.

WE MADE IT TO THE END OF THE POST I DID IT

I hope i made you want to watch this show now, or if i already took away everything and you are now nah thanks i am good. And i hope you got the infomation you needed out of this long ass post.

i think i need to rest for a day now

........anyhow it was kinda fun diving into this and keeping my mind busy.

@markpakin @petrichoraline @jyuubin @pajindapat

if i missed anyone that wanted a tag i am sorry but ENJOY

[blysse-and-blunder]

midweek commonplace book: the rough drafts

5pm, wednesday, june 28, 2023

it's been over a month since i drafted the following ilcb post, and here i am again, in the same coffee shop i was in back then, again avoiding working on a cover letter for a course instructorship position. in the intervening time, i a) got that job b) taught that whole class, c) took a weekend trip to see a friend get married, and d) am now applying for the next one! figured it was time to open the vault (my chaotic drafts folder) and let these musings see the light of day. maybe it's the key to my success.

edits and new text below in [brackets] to preserve the original draft's ~authenticity~. XD

in lieu of a commonplace book: may day

3pm sunday, april 30 -- 6pm sunday, may 7, 2023

it's rainy and there are so many flowers starting to emerge in the neighborhood, and i've been cozily reading escapist fantasy instead of writing my syllabus or facing the future head on.

reading since i last made one of these posts, i've finished reading the following: the golden enclaves by naomi novik (audio), the jasmine throne by tasha suri, the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor jenkins reid (audio), dial a for aunties by jesse sutanto (audio), and the tyrant baru cormorant by seth dickinson. this not being exclusively a book review series, unfortunately, we're just going to talk about the [left out the title but did include the picture so we know it was at the feet of the sun by victoria goddard!].

[i think i failed to actually write out my thought about this one because a number of people who follow me (@spoonierbard, @hematiterings) were either reading it or were about to start reading it, and i didn't want to color their experiences. i was also not entirely sure how i felt about it? i think i went in with expectations this time, which is a recipe for disappointment-- and i also had actual literary 'critique' thoughts primed and ready, as opposed to the pure vibes and pleasure with which i approached hote. overall-- and i say this as someone who reads and loves fan fiction-- it felt like reading fan fiction, ambitious, self-indulgent, big focus on relationships and feelings, and with a definite Point to Make. a behemoth of a book, and full of things to love--but less transcendent, for me, than its precursor. happy to expand on these feelings in a pm!]

listening

[i didn't write anything here, but i did include the two videos below. both were new to me this spring-- i never had a fallout boy phase in high school, please don't laugh, so it was very exciting to fall in love with first so much for stardust and then, at the recommendation of my housemate g, this track from folie a deux. 'disloyal order of water buffaloes']

[i think both of these songs are saying something about the mood i was in this spring-- yearning? defiant? a little pissed off? "hundred days" was a sptify recommendation, and fuck if they didn't get me in one. i have since investigated the duo behind the album a little and realized i have... possible thoughts, about their oeuvre, about making art out of their relationship, but this particular song unfortunately goes extremely hard for folk so i am compelled to love it! there's just something about the main melodic hook, the plaintive/desperate tone of some of the lyrics (especially 'i want / a hundred days / of bright light' each! time!), and the way there's so much going on in the arrangement at 2:34 ish-- i wish the rest of the album was as good as this one track. i want a hundred good days! of bright light! I do regularly think about things i'm trying or striving for and think "I want ! a hundred days !" of whatever it is. At least 100 days. there's something almost reminiscent of tiffany aching to this, for me-- using your selfishness/unvarnished wants to motivate you.]

watching taking a break from prestige tv!... with more prestige tv. started severance while my fellow succession and ted lasso-viewing housemate is out of the country. i love the stylization, the aesthetic, the eeriness! this is what i was hoping don't worry darling (2022) would be, in terms of combining a mid-century aesthetic with our main characters working for some enigmatic brain-washing Company or Project. Lumon better not be a simulation-- as i discovered back in january, i like it when there's some *there* there, when the conspiracy is actually as trippy as it seems, i understand that sometimes people want to write misdirection but man i am sad anytime something was all an illusion after all. also watched a bit of the first season of the gilded age and the first truly wild episode of mrs. davis with another housemate; there is no witty comparison or fun snappy one-liner i can come up with about these two.

[the above remains true-- i just watched a bit more severance yesterday! there was a massive cliffhanger just where i stopped, but the tone of the show is so Much that i actually was glad for the break. don't get me wrong-- i love how stylized it all is, still, i love the aesthetic and all the visual and verbal details that build up to mad-men-esque 60s office culture-horror, it's fantastic. getting that little extra moment with dichen lachman's character and hearing her talk about her experience was...gutting... but my favorite character continues to be devon.]

[playing]

[triumphant return to both dnd campaigns in the past week or so! it hasn't been entirely my fault that neither group met for most of the past six weeks, but i didn't help. campaign B had our one-year anniversary on sunday! one of the players went really overboard and commissioned a bunch of beautiful cards and badges and coins for us and our characters' little secret organization!! we broke the dm's screen door briefly and saw how big her baby has gotten!! we cried over @dimir-charmer's wedding dress! we successfully escaped the wild west!]

[making]

[didn't even draft this section. i thing i had just fixed...something, but who remembers what. pro cooking tip, leftover tortilla soup can become poor grad student shakshuka so easily. two eggs + in a pan + simmer = profit]

[working on]

[aforementioned cover letter for a course instructorship for next fall is due tomorrow. technically there are two i could be going for, both of which have definite pros and cons, but i'm pouring all this time and angst into one and just kinda forgot about the other? also i'm grading for two different classes, figuring out how to have sooo many tabs open at the same time and how to juggle spreadsheets+answer key+word+ pdf reader all at the same time. oh for the days of paper submissions, you know? last but not least, i am desultorily staring at the manuscript + outline for my conference paper for next month (less than a month now! fuck!) for like an hour a day, and making very little practical progress on it. so.

[xoagray]

Photo a day 100-112/365 coffee

You see people all the time talking about how they prepare coffee, usually with hundreds of dollars of equipment. So as a foil to the idea that you have to spend tons of cash to get a good cup of coffee, here's my process to get a good cup of coffee out of my 1950's percolator.

First, measure your beans! You don't need anything fancy to do this, I used a little glass bowl and a $10 Wal-Mart Mainstays scale. It'll read in grams so it's just fine for this. Just put the bowl on the scale before you turn it on so that it 0's out with it and doesn't count the weight of the bowl when you're measuring your beans.

Getting the right amount of coffee is paramount to getting a good cup. My percolator is a 4 cup, so between 40 to 45 grams makes pretty good coffee in it. As a rule about 10-12 grams per cup if you're using a larger / smaller pot.

If you want to grind your own like I do, you'll need a grinder. You CAN spend hundreds on one, but honestly as long as it makes a decent grind any grinder will do. This one was about $45 and has worked well for me for years. A burr grinder is going to give you the best results, and the most uniform grinds. But if you have a blade one that's fine too. In this case, I want a coarse grind for the percolator.

If you have one like mine that has the cup measurements on it, don't trust them. These measurements are very seldom correct, and can be inconsistent as well. It's always better to just measure what you need and grind it all on the spot.

It can be a little messy, but I'll tell ya' a secret, just grab a little hand vac and keep it handy. 2 seconds with that will suck up all the grounds that spill in a jiffy!

This is what a good coarse grind for percolators should look like, grains about the size of say Kosher salt.

Water up to the 4 cup fill line. If you don't have good tap water, you might want to get a filter or bottled water. It can make a big difference in the taste of your coffee.

Drop the basket in, the water level should be below the bottom of the basket so that the water can filter down through it, if it's not, pour a little out.

Ideally, you want to put the coffee in so that it's level all the way around the basket. This isn't perfect, but it's close enough. Make sure to not let any go down the tube when your filling, I like to use a spoon to pour it in, like in the picture below.

If you want your coffee fast, you're better off with a Keurig, this takes a little time. ;)

Pop the top of the basket on...

... then the lid, and we're ready to go.

Depending on the percolator, you may have a dial like this on the front, but most percolators now a days are just on or off deals without any kind of adjustments. In my case, I have to set the dial and then watch for the light to go off. Usually this takes 8 to 10 minutes.

If you've never heard one of these, and wondered what they sound like, now you know. :)

And that's it, coffee. :) The whole process takes about 15 minutes and in my case all the equipment costs about $100. It's not a fancy espresso machine with a pretty caramel colored pull, but if you just want a good cup of coffee it's all you need.

You can get a modern percolator for about $50 from makers like Hamelton Beach, Farberware, etc. Grinder was in my case about $45, If you want to go even less expensive, and less prep, you can swap out the percolator with a regular old drip coffee maker and just change the grind from coarse to medium. (about 3/4 the size of the grounds you see in my photo.)

Oh, and this is the coffee I was using, getting good coffee makes a huge difference in flavor. Most store bought coffee sits around for some time before you get it, that can lead to stale tasting coffee. This is especially likely if you buy preground coffee. This is the part of the whole process that's really worth putting the money out for. On that note, you don't have to buy stuff that's crazy expensive, this is Crazy Fox Coffee's Hoot Owl Blend. Goes for about $30 a pound with shipping.

Anywho, all this isn't to say that the hobby of making craft coffees and going for the expensive gear isn't cool, it definitely is. But if you don't have the cash for a thousand dollar espresso machine and all the assorted trappings to get the most out of it, you can still get a good cup of coffee.

Happy brewing!

[thewholesalejeweler]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 14k Gold Nugget watch.

[productwave]

Bulova Marine Star Chronograph!

Dive into style and precision with the Bulova Marine Star 'Series A' Chronograph! This watch isn't just an accessory, it's a statement piece that roars adventure with its bold, luminous dial and sporty chronograph features. Track every second with ease thanks to the clear subdials and luminous hands, while the water resistance to 100 meters lets you take it from desk to deep dives (well, almost!).

But it's not all about function. The Marine Star oozes sophistication with its sleek stainless steel case and bracelet. The polished finish catches the light beautifully, and the date window adds a touch of practicality. Plus, the variety of color options (think classic silver, cool blue, or sharp black) lets you choose the perfect match for your style.

Sure, it might not be the cheapest out there, but the Bulova Marine Star is an investment in quality and timeless style. It's built to last, with a reliable quartz movement and durable construction. If you're looking for a watch that's both sporty and sophisticated, the Marine Star is a surefire winner. It's like having a mini adventure on your wrist every day!

[vintagecoochie]

Hi, I came across your channel because of the reverse colorism video. I love it so, so much. But as I watched more of your videos I realized I have a question that I really do need to ask. Are you actually, as in both mom and dad, undeniably Black? This may seem completely random, especially given your content, but unfortunately there have been too many instances with content creators who focus on Black women not actually being Black, or even women. I don’t know if you’re old enough to remember this/were on twitter at the time but there was a very, very popular twitter account that mostly tweeted ~relatable~ tweets centered towards Black women, and it was revealed to be a yt gay guy, and ever since then I’ve always wanted to make sure I know, before blindly trusting someone to speak from somewhere that could be considered my shared narrative. It really is like the hair companies that are all Chinese or from somewhere else overseas and use the faces of Black women to just sell a product. If you are, I’m sorry if my ask sounds like your videos inclined me to doubt you, because that isn’t the case at all. It’s because your videos resonated with me that I want to know for sure. The videos are detailed, accessible, and enjoyable. I really do hope you’re Black. Also, I don’t know if you take video requests, but I do think this topic would make for something interesting to talk about. There is another youtuber who recently went viral for a video about hygiene and Black women, and I went to read the comments out of curiosity. The amount of self proclaimed or obviously non-Black (mostly white people) who were giving anecdotes about their experiences with proximity to this issue, that they noticed it but “didn’t have the words to explain what they were witnessing” either in real life or on social media, or even one commenter who said she was a 30 year old white woman that subscribed to Black women to learn about hygiene, because apparently, in her 30 years of life, she didn’t know how until she came across these women on youtube. Education about a topic is one thing, but something about the comments felt more… dehumanizing? Objectifying? Using Black women for a purpose. I recalled my Korean ex-boyfriend not finding it necessary to put on lotion after he showered when we first met, and the difference it made after I convinced him to do it. My white ex-friend learning to use conditioner instead of just Dial 5 shampoo to make her hair feel softer because of me. How they both objectified and sexualized me, too. I’m not sure what exactly it was about the comments from unrelated people that made me grimace. But the first thing that came to mind when I realized how stripped bare and prodded at those comments made me feel, was those white researchers lurking and posting to lsa while pretending to be Black women for a paper. I hope you can understand why I need to ask if you’re Black.

I absolutely understand where you’re coming from with this question, and seeing as I don’t show my face on YouTube you don’t have to feel bad for asking. I’m absolutely 100% a black woman, full blown African American with a black mother and father and 4 black grandparents. If you go to my instagram (if you use instagram) @vintage.coochie there’s a highlight titled “Me✨” with a few pictures of myself.

There are a lot of non-black content creators that pander towards black women or as you said, borderline cosplay as black women because they see how underrepresented we are and use that to gain followers, views, and sometimes even money. So your concerns are very valid!!

As for your video request, it’s definitely something I’d consider writing about. I myself have been at the hands of being looked at like an artifact by white people. Whether it’s a teacher being fascinated by the fact that I articulate myself well, or my white friends being mesmerized by me telling them my hair care routine. It’s as if I’m something for them to study and take notes on like an animal in the wild, and not a living functioning human. Very dehumanizing indeed. You’ve given me something to think about for sure. Thank you!!💕✨

[gallantryblogs]

Complete Your Formal Looks with Timex Wristwatches

Accessorizing is a crucial part of getting ready. If you want to improve the essence of your appearance, make sure to accessorize well. Women have tons of accessory options, whereas men have limited options. The most important piece of accessory for a man is a wristwatch. Whether it is a formal outfit or a casual one, wristwatches can make them perfect. However, if you need wristwatches for formal outfits, you can go with Timex wrist watches. Here are a few reasons to do so. Aesthetically & Functionally Excellent: Timex has been introducing different wristwatch models for more than a century now. The wristwatches from this brand reflect sheer class and standards. Timex watches are excellent in different ways. For example, the aesthetics of these watches are quite indescribable. They look fine on all occasions. Along with this, the watches are 100% efficient. They function extremely well. Hence, they are worth trying. Strap Options: People have different preferences when it comes to wristwatch straps. Timex understands these preferences too. Therefore, it brings all possible options. For example, you can explore different Timex standard chronograph and other wristwatches with stainless steel straps, leather straps, solid-colored straps, printed straps, and more. All these strap options can fulfill your requirements easily. Moreover, you can buy different Timex watches with each strap and add them to your collection. In this way, you can complete your wristwatch collection and have options to wear with your formal outfits on different official events and occasions. Dial-Size: Timex is one of the most popular wristwatch brands in the world. The brand is always a member of the top 10 wristwatch brands and makes sure to bring the best to the customers. Timex watches are perfect for formal occasions because of several reasons. The brand ensures that every person finds a perfect timepiece from it. Dial size is one factor that affects people's choices. But Timex has a solution for this too. You can find timepieces from Timex with different dial sizes. So, whether your wrist is small or big, you will get the perfect wristwatch for it. About Gallantry: Gallantry brings you all the wristwatches introduced by Timex. Whether you need Timex Ironman, Standard Chronograph, Reissue, or any other, you can find them easily at this online store. Gallantry is one of the best places to find EDC products. So, make sure to visit it. You can find more options at https://gallantry.com/ Original Source: https://bityl.co/IA6h

[survey--s]

444.

When was the last time you sang out loud? In the shower about four and a half hours ago. How many people do you know with the name ‘Joshua’? None anymore, but I knew quite a few Joshuas when I was younger. Where were the last three places you went: Copper’s house, Ollie’s house and Charlie’s house. What time was it 4 hours ago? 2.37pm. What were you doing at that time? Eating lunch and watching Hoarders.

Have you ever picked up a penny because you thought it was good luck? Sure, as a little kid I did that all the time. Are you over 16? I’m over twice that age now, lol. Are you taller than 5'6"? Yeah, by two and a half inches lol. Were you born after 1991? Nope. Does your last name start with a 'C’? It does not. Why did you last go to the doctor? To get a sick note from work. Are you currently single? No. How do you feel about that? Happy. Do you have a twin? No. What was the last song you listened to? I can’t remember. My Spotify has been weird lately and keeps crashing. Who was your 5th grade teacher? Mrs Amtower, I think? What is the longest you’ve lived in one place? Like, in one house? 11 years. In terms of one town, 18 years without a break. Do you live in Chicago? I don’t even live in America. Have you ever climbed a water tower? No - and this really reminds of That 70′s Show. Have you ever soaped someone’s car? Like, washed it? Sure. Have you ever introduced yourself with a name other than your own? Yes. Do you have hazel eyes? No, but this question just makes me think of Kelly Clarkson. Can you play the piano? Yeah, I got my Grade 3 many year ago, though I’ve not played since. Would you shave your head for $100? No. What color are the sheets on your bed? Purple. Who was your last missed phone call? The company I order my dog treats with for work. They ring every few months with some offer - I never answer and yet they never stop, lol. Your last received phone call? Mike. Your last dialed phone call? My mum. What’s a good movie you recently saw that you would recommend? I haven’t seen a good, new movie for ages lol. How many times does the letter ’t’ occur in your full name? Once. Would you consider yourself more artistic or mathematical? Neither, really, but I guess overall I’m more artistic. How old is the oldest person that lives in the same house as you? 38. How about the youngest? That’s me, and I just turned 34. Or, if we include animals, Toby is nearly three. What year is the vehicle you drive? It’s a 2016 Hyundai i10. Are you older than the last person you kissed? No. What day will it be in 2 days? Friday. How does that make you feel? Pleased as it’ll nearly be the weekend. Which is closer right now: your birthday or Christmas? My birthday, but only by a couple of weeks. Do you have any item your consider your good luck charm? No. What jewelry are you currently wearing? 7 x earrings, nose stud and my wedding and engagement rings. What is your hair naturally like? Frizzy. Do you have freckles? No. When did you go to bed last night? I went to bed around 10-ish but I didn’t get to sleep until gone midnight. How many gallons of milk would you say are currently in your fridge? Uh, we have a 4 pint bottle of milk and about a pint left over in another bottle. Do you like coffee? I love coffee. Favorite flavor of poptart? I’m really not a fan of pop-tarts. They always sound much nicer than they are. Who were the last non-relatives you hung out with? Mark and Susie. Do you share your last name with anyone famous? Yeah, a few people. Is there anything bothering you at the moment? I’m tired and it’s meant to snow tonight which means my whole day could get throw off tomorrow, lol. Who is someone you can tell almost anything? Mike. What was your name supposed to be if you were born the opposite sex? Alexander. Have you eaten any fresh fruit today? No fresh fruit, but I’ve had carrots, red peppers, cucumber and sweetcorn, plus an orange juice.  What song best describes your mood at the moment? I’m So Tired by The Beatles. Are your fingernails currently painted? No. When was the last time you went to the beach? This morning. I live two minutes from the beach. Have you ever donated plasma because you were short on cash? No. Do you live with anyone who smokes? No. Mike used to smoke but he quit not long after we got together. Do you know anyone who works at Walmart? At the UK equivalent, sure. I used to work there too. How about McDonald’s? No. Who did you see the last time you went to a concert? I think it was The Courteeners. If you died, would you rather be buried or cremated? Cremated and turned into a diamond. The idea of being buried really creeps me out for some reason, lol. How many pockets do you have in the clothes you are wearing? Zero. Do you tend to carry around alot of spare change? No. I only ever have cash when Jill pays me and I haven’t had time to go to the Post Office. Do you know anyone who lives in Pennsylvania? Yeah, a couple of people from my Xanga days. Which holiday do you most look forward to? Christmas, I guess. How many contacts do you have in your phone under the letter ’D’? Just one, the dentist lol. If you had to relive the entire last month over again, how would you feel? It’s been a good month but I still wouldn’t want to re-live it. What do you generally wear to bed? An oversized t-shirt and underwear. Think back to 6 months ago, were you single or taken? Married, the same as now. Do you still talk to your best friend from kindergarten? Nope. What color are the walls in your kitchen? Cream. When was the last time you had a haircut? About three months ago. Do you watch Family Guy? No. Who was the last person you went to the movies with? My mum. Do you own a Bible? No. What is your favorite day of the week? It depends on the week, the weather and which dogs I have booked in. What was the last sit-down restaurant you went to? Uhh, a tapas bar in Windermere with my mum. I forget the name exactly but the food was amazing, haha. Have you ever had a pet snake? No. Have you ever dated someone who had kids? Yeah, Chris did, and let me tell you, I would NEVER do it again. Is your best friend single or taken? We’re married. Why did your last relationship end? He was a compulsive liar who denied three of his own children. Is there anyone you wish you could see right now? Nah, not right now. I’m tired and it’s due to snow and I just CBA lol. Have you ever dreamt of a crush? Sure. What color was the shirt you wore yesterday? Grey. How many times have you been to Six Flags? Never, we don’t have them over here. Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? No. Do you have any vacation plans at the moment? Nah, not yet. I’d like to go away at some point though even if it’s just a long weekend, but we have nothing booked. Would you rather live 1 day of your future or relive your favorite memory? The latter, for sure. Do you own a pair of colored contacts? No. Where was your profile photo taken? On the beach - Lisa took it. Who was the last person to hug you? Mike. Have you ever broken a finger? No, I’m pretty sure I’ve broken my little toe a few times though. Do you know anyone with a pierced eyebrow? Not now, but I remember when they were ALL the rage. Are you dating the last person you kissed? We’re married. Do you regret your last kiss? No. Are you related to anyone with the name Andrew? Nope. When did you learn to tie your shoes on your own? I was about four or five, I think. Where did you go to grade school? I’m not putting that on here. Do you live within 30 miles of where you were born? Nope, I’m pretty much exactly 300 miles from where I was born (299.6 to be precise) lol. Are you an only child? Yeah. Did you vote in the 2008 presidential election? I’m not American. Are you older than your best friend? Nope. Do you talk to your neighbors much? We say hi if we see each other in the street, but that’s the extent of it. When was the last time your wore a skirt (girls) or a tie (boys)? Years ago.  What’s something you are good at cooking? Roast potatoes. Do you know anyone in the Navy? No. List one of your favorite quotes: “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” - Neil Gaiman.

[lemondropdancer]

Grounding Techniques

Mental Distraction Techniques

Pick a category of objects and try to think of as many objects as possible that fit within that category (e.g., types of dogs, cities, types of trees, crayon colors, sports)

Pick a letter and think of emotionally positive or neutral words that begin with that letter

Pick a color and look for things of that color. Notice differences in their exact shades

Say or think the alphabet backwards or alternate letters and numbers (A1, B2, C3, D4, etc)

Count backwards from 100 by 3s, 6s, or 7s or count up by prime numbers or perfect squares

Play "fizz-buzz" with yourself. Begin counting to 100 (or over!), but replace any number that contains the number 5 or is a multiple of 5 with the word "fizz" and any number that contains the number 7 or is a multiple of 7 with the word "buzz." For example, 1-15 would be "1, 2, 3, 4, fizz, 6, buzz, 8, 9, fizz, 11, 12, 13, buzz, fizz." When you mess up, compliment yourself and start over

Think of the words to your favorite song or poem or think of facts related to a specific theme

Pick a word or your name and see how many other words you can make from the letters in it

Describe an every day event or process in great detail, listing all of the steps in order and as thoroughly as possible (e.g., how to cook a meal, how to get from your house to your place of work or school, how to do your favorite dance)

Read something technical or meant for children or read words backwards to focus on the process of reading and not the words

Watch a children's television show or movie or watch cute or funny videos on Youtube; it might help to have a playlist already prepared for this

Look at a current news article that is not likely to be upsetting or distressing

Distract yourself with Tetris, Solitaire, Sudoku, word searches, or other puzzle games

Reorientation Techniques

Say or think to yourself: "My name is _________. I am safe right now. I am _____ years old. I am currently at _____________. The date is _____________. If I need help, I am with ________/can call _________. Everything is going to be alright."

List reaffirming statements ("I am fine. Everything is going to be okay. I am strong. I can handle this.")

Ask yourself where you are, what day of the week it is, what day of the month it is, what month it is, what year it is, what season it is, how old you are, and other present-focused questions

Notice things in your surroundings that indicate to you that you're safe or that you're in the present (e.g., locks on your door, electronics that didn't exist when you were younger, the presence of trusted people, a phone so that you can call for help if you need it)

Describe your surroundings in detail, including sights (objects, textures, shapes, colors), sounds, smells, and temperature

Name five things that you see, four that you feel, three that you hear, and two that you smell or taste, and then name one good thing that you like about yourself

Pick four or five brightly colored objects that are easily visible and move your focus between them. Be sure to vary the order of your gaze and concentrate briefly on each one before moving to the next

Think about a fun time that you recently had with a friend or call that friend and ask them to talk about it with you

Sensory-Based Grounding Techniques

Run cool or warm (but not too cold or hot) water over your hands or take a cool or warm bath or shower

Spritz your face (with eyes closed), neck, arms, and hands with a fine water mist

Spray yourself with your favorite perfume and focus on the scent

Feel the weight of your body in your chair or on the floor and the weight of your clothing on your skin

Touch and hold objects around you. Compare the feel, weight, temperature, textures, colors, and materials

Keep a small object with you to touch or play with when you get triggered. Good examples include a smooth stone, a fidget toy, jewelry, or a tiny plushy

Bite into a lemon, orange, or lime, suck on a sour or minty candy or an ice cube, chew cinnamon-flavored gum, or put a few drops of Tabasco sauce on your tongue. Notice the flavor, scent, and texture

Eat something or drink warm tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, and describe to yourself the taste and texture in great detail

Place a cool wash cloth on your face or hold something cold like a can of soda

Listen to soothing or familiar music. If possible, dance to it

Hum, sing, recite poetry, or make up a silly poem or story as you go

Pick up a book and read the first paragraph out loud

Hug another person (if interpersonal touch isn't a trigger). Pay attention to your own pressure and the physical sensations of doing so

Hug a tree! Register the smells of being outside, the wind, and the sights around you

Movement-Based Grounding Techniques

Breathe deeply and slowly and count your breaths

Grab tightly onto your chair or press your feet against the ground as firmly as you can

Rub your palms and clap your hands or wiggle your toes within your socks. Pay attention to the physical sensation of doing so

Stretch out your arms or legs, roll your head on your neck, or clench and unclench your fists

Stomp your feet, walk around, run, jump, ride a bike, do jumping jacks, or do yoga

While walking, notice each footstep and say to yourself "right" and "left" to correspond with the foot currently moving

Squeeze a pillow, stuffed animal, or ball

If you have a soft pet (dog or cat), brush its fur and stroke it. If you don't, brush your own hair slowly and without pulling too much

Color in an adult coloring book, finger paint, or draw anything that comes to mind without worrying about quality

Write whatever comes to mind even if it's nonsense. Try not to write about whatever is upsetting you until you're more capable of doing so without increasing the upset

Write a list of things that make you happy or look for cheerful pictures to make into a collage

Pop bubble wrap or blow and pop actual bubbles

Dig in the dirt or garden, jump on a pile of leaves, or splash around in puddles or mud

Rip up paper or stomp on aluminum cans to crush them

Imagery Techniques

Picture yourself breathing in relaxation, calm, positive feelings, or strength. Picture yourself breathing out whatever is upsetting you. It may help to pair this with imagery of breathing in soothing colors (usually blue, purple, or green) and out more intense colors (usually red or black)

If you need to relax, envision a soothing white or golden light slowly moving up your body, warming and relaxing every part of you that it touches. You can also think of it as protecting you from negativity or from harm

If the problem is intense or uncomfortable emotions, physical sensations, or memories, picture them being surrounded and neutralized by a bright and healing light, temporarily placed in a mental box to be stored for later, or dialed back by an internal controller of intensity

If you have a clear mental picture of what's upsetting you, mentally change it to something silly or harmless. If you're a fan of Harry Potter, cast a mental "riddikulus" to banish the negativity

Picture yourself calm, focused, and able to tackle whatever problems you're facing. Focus on how that would feel in the moment. What would your expression and posture be like? Make whatever changes you need to in order to make your reality reflect your goal

How to Make a Grounding Box

Get a box or basket

Personalize and decorate it with construction paper, wrapping paper, ribbon, stickers, drawings, paint, photographs, glitter, sequins, or anything else that you like

Keep within it:

A list of grounding techniques that you know work for you

A list of positive affirmations and happy memories

A list of the contact information of trusted friends or family who are willing to help and support you

Small sensory objects such as: scented candles, perfumes, or lotions; hard candies or gum; soft fabrics, a stress ball, a stuffed animal, or a fidget toy; happy pictures of you with friends; a CD with relaxing music or meditation tracks. Try to cover all of the senses

A list of possible distractions such as books to read or movies to watch

Small portable distractions such as a pack of playing cards, a small game, or a joke book

A list of comforting things to do such as taking a bubble bath, snuggling up in bed, or meditating

A small journal or notebook

In the Case of a Flashback

Tell yourself that you are having a flashback and are safe now

Remind yourself that the worst is over, and you survived it. What you're feeling now is just a reminder of that trauma and does not fit the present moment

Remind yourself of when and where you are, who you're currently with, and who you can contact if you need help (use the reorientation-focused grounding techniques)

Breathe deeply and slowly. Count your breathes and make sure that you're getting enough air

Use other mental, sensory, movement, and imagery techniques in order to distract yourself, calm yourself, and reorient yourself within the present

If possible or necessary, go somewhere where you can be alone or with a close friend, where you will feel safe, or where you feel protected or shielded

If there is anyone who you can trust or who will support you, reach out to them, let them know what happened, and let them know what you need, what would be best for you, or what they could do to help

Be gentle with yourself and take the time to really recover. If what helps you to recover is to color, take a bubble bath, hug a stuffed animal, or watch a children's movie and if it would not be disruptive to do such things at that point in time, embrace those options whole-heartedly

If possible, note or write down what triggered the flashback, what techniques you tried to use to disrupt the flashback, and what techniques helped

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Reality check

Fandom: DC Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader Word count: 4.1k Summary: It was a normal day for you when the sidewalk literally opens up and swallows you whole only to spit you back out into a world that you thought only existed in comics before. There you meet a certain Vigilante and things get more complicated very, very quickly... Warning: I think this classifies as angst, not sure though, Definitly almost drowning tho, also multiple instances of unconciousness, lil bit of fluff if you squint, also me trying to be funny and failing Requested by the incredibly, amazing, breathtaking @dudeidkwhattoputformyusername: Hi! I love your work! is it possible for u to do a Damian Wayne x reader one shot, where reader comes from reality and bumps into Damian in Robin form. Then u can develop from there anyway u like! preferably fluff tho. thank u!!!!!!!!!!

Everything was blurry and your head was throbbing like someone was working on it with a jackhammer. The pain was the first thing that you felt during the process of waking up, no other sense quiet activated yet. Next was the realization that your body was shivering uncontrollably and wherever you were laying definitely wasn’t a bed for as far as you remembered, beds weren’t usually wet, cold and stone-hard. Following was your eyesight that finally returned to you, alongside with your smell and hearing, and as if they were high-school bullies who were teaming up against the local geek in a 90’s sitcom, they all came crashing up upon you like a train. Now theoretically seen, you were able to see, hear and smell again, but practically seen, asking you to do either of the three was like asking someone to find a needle in a needlestack, or a single straw of hay in a haystack. It was just too much, definite sensory overload. A few minutes you couldn’t do anything but lay there, shivering and cold and miserable, before slowly your brain started to work through all the input and sort through it until you were able to comprehend it. The first thing you noticed was the smell. It wasn’t a very pleasant one, it smelled like you fish, water and something rotten and if you had any more control over your body you probably would have thrown up. The sounds that you could hear now put the smells a little bit more into perspective. What sounded like screams and the end of the world before was now identifiable as the screeching of seagulls, the honking of boats and the soft crashing of waves. So you were near a harbor or port? The last puzzle piece was the view you got when you opened your eyes. The cold, wet, stone-hard ‘not-bed’ that you had been lying on was in fact a concrete jetty. Only a few feet away from you was the cold dark sea and above you was the night sky. How long have you been lying here? What happened? How did you get there? As you were staring up into the sky something about it made you uneasy, the way the stars were shining, the darkness of the universe, the fullness of the moon- Wait, wasn’t it a new moon just a few days ago? You sat up suddenly, immediately regretting it when the pain shook through your head again, re-starting the throbbin at 100%, and - after you could open your eyes again - looked down at your body. You were wearing a soaked through sweater that you had bought a few days prior and just as soaked through jeans and socks, your shoes nowhere in sight. The sea was restless and splashed against the sides of the jetty, dops landing on your sleeves and face. For some reason, the sensation of the liquid against your skin brought forth a flashback that completely blinded you. It was like you were watching from above as you relieved the last thing you remembered, how you had been going home after your part-time job at the library when the floor had literally peeled open below you and you fell into a cold nothingless, only for water to come crashing down at you from all sides. When you finally realized that you were not on the sidewalk a few blocks away from your home anymore, but in raging water, somewhere below the surface you were already only seconds away from drowning. With all the power you could muster and adrenaline rushing through your veins you managed to fight your way upwards and upwards until your hand finally broke through the water’s surface. The breath that you took when you made it up completely must have been the best and somehow worst gulp of air you had ever taken in. The adrenaline was ebbing off and the exhaustion made its way through all your muscles, but when you saw the lights in the distance you managed to keep on going until you had managed to pull yourself up a concrete jetty where you finally blacked out. Your mind made its way back into your body and you grasped the situation, even though believing it still wasn’t the easiest task. I mean the earth quite literally swallowing you up? That doesn't sound reasonable. And yet, it was the thing you remembered so you would have to live with that truth until someone could prove you otherwise. More and more questions started to swirl through your mind - an unreasonable amount of them quite honestly - but you knew you had to take things one step at a time. Okay, what did you know? You were in an unknown location so there was no new there, but your former question of ‘how long have you been there’ was now answered. Given the state of your clothes and the fact that it was still deep, dark night you couldn’t have been unconscious for long. But that didn’t help you much - you were still sitting there freezing cold and soaked with no idea where you actually were. What would you do usually when you were lost? Phone, ah, right. You patted over your pockets and actually found it, only to be very unsurprised when it only gave you a black void to stare into. Sadly you didn’t have a bag of rice to put it into in the other pocket, instead only a set of keys that you didn’t recognize along with something that looked like a keychain in form of a piece of polished wood with the letters D and (Your first initial) with a plus in between engraved into it. “Great, I can open some doors now, too bad I don’t know which,” you spoke aloud to yourself, only for the worlds to come out stuttered thanks to your teeth that were shaking just as much as the rest of you. You stuffed the keys and the broken phone back into your pockets and managed to pull yourself up and stand, even though all your muscles were screaming in despair. The thing you really wanted to do was lie back down and fall asleep again, wait for the sun to rise and dry your clothes, but you knew that with the coldness and the water all around you, you’d probably be dead or at least deadly sick by morning, so you had to find shelter, warmth and - maybe most importantly - answers. With slow, little steps you walked down the jetty, towards the buildings that looked unoccupied at that time of day, with an unknown city stretching out behind it that promised life and warmth. For what felt like hours, but was probably just minutes, you managed to walk a few feet until you were a safe distance away from the water and near a bench that must have been put there for people who wanted to watch the water or have a break from work or similar things. It looked at you so invitingly, so comfortably, so perfect. Deep inside you knew that you should probably not sit down, even if you told yourself it would be just for a few minutes, but your exhaustion took over and you sunk down onto it, falling to the side and rolling as good as it was possible together into a little roll. You’d take a nap, just a quick one, only a few minutes, then you’d get up with new energy and find the warmth you were looking for. The longer you sat there the heavier your eyelids got until you couldn’t take it anymore and the darkness enveloped you into its safety again.

The next time you woke up, things weren’t so bad anymore, it wasn’t all that blurry and the throbbing had dialed down a bit, but your body was shaking worse than before. In fact, it was shaking so bad that your shoulder thumbed against the backrest of the bench before being pulled forward again and repeating the circle, the only weird thing was that it was just your shoulder. And there was this weird pressure around it. Wait! You weren’t shaking worse, someone else was shaking you as if they were trying to wake you up. You peeled your eyes completely opened and looked into white voids surrounded by black and like your eyes were the camera of a 2000’ kids-camera they slowly zoomed out and revealed the white voids to be the eye-parts of a mask sitting on the face of a masked (duh) boy who was wearing a very, very colorful and bright outfit. It seemed familiar and the gears in your head started turning. “Habibti, you’re okay,” the boy said in a relieved tone and while he helped you sit up you mustered him with a confused look. “That’s not my name, it’s Y/N.” The way his mask contorted gave off a sense of confusion that mirrored yours, just with a little bit more worry in it, but before he could say anything else you motioned to his outfit. “What is it with the outfit? It isn’t Halloween yet, is it?” “You don’t recognize me?” he asked you and the tone of voice he used almost made you feel sorry for him, but given that you had no idea what he was talking about you would probably be able to cope. “No, sorry…” you started before the gears finally fell into place and you recognized it, “Oh, wait, I think I do, you’re playing Batman’s sidekick right? I think it was Robin. That’s so cool, I myself was always more of a Marvel fan - you know with Black Widow and all that - but both are super valid so cool hobby dude. It looks pretty rad too.” Even with the mask you could see the complete bedazzlement in his face and you wondered if your weird world-swallowing-experience had magically changed the language you spoke from English to Mandarine. “What- What do you mean?” “You’re Cosplaying right? Dressing up as a Comic Character?” you tried to explain and you could feel a slight anger building up at how stupid he made you feel without even being able to see his eyes. “I’m not Cosplaying a comic character?” he said in a questioning manner. “Yes, you are. You’re wearing the outfit and everything, like the guy in the Comics who works with Batman. I think his name was Richard or something, but you should know better, you’re cosplaying him after all,” you tried to explain yet again, seriously questioning your sanity. Now he really didn’t need the mask to hide the fact that he was seriously triggered by what you had said - even though you weren’t quite sure why. Had Robin been cancelled over twitter while you were unconscious? “I think it’d be better if I bring you to safety and get you checked out,” he averted the topic of the conversation and started to position his hands like he wanted to pick you up, but you put a stop to it when you pressed him away. “Listen, I appreciate the help, but I’ll definitely not be going with a complete stranger in a comic costume, so if you could just give me your phone so that I can call my parents or my friends that’d be great.” For a few seconds he just sat there straight, as if unsure of the best course of action, before he sight and pulled a phone out, unlocking it and handing it to you. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you thought about who to call, thankful that your mum had made you learn her number by heart, but when you went to dial it your whole body stopped working, like there was a physical restriction keeping you from typing. Suddenly you realized it. You didn’t know the number - you knew you should, that you had been using it for years upon years and that you definitely should know it - and your eyes grew wide. You scavenged through your head searching for more numbers, but then you realized another thing. There were none. How was that possible? You didn’t even know the area code from where you lived. “I- I don’t- what?” you looked up at the boy with tearful eyes, the reality of the situation just too much for you. “It’s okay, I’m sure it will come back to you,” he tried to sooth you, but you were too frustrated and sad to be happy about soothing from some creepy geek. “Would you please finally tell me why you’re in costume?” you asked exasperated and moved further away from him. “I-” The answer of the boy was cut short when a ‘whooshing’ sound echoed around the area and a booming voice called out: “Robin”. The boy shot you another look before shouting back. “I’m here, I’ve-” he obviously wanted to add something, but he cut himself off this time and just looked at you. A man in a black, leather suit with a black cowl over his face that you noticed to be definitely inspired by Batman and very well done came rushing towards you. Again, you couldn’t see his eyes, but you recognized the same worried look that the boy already had. “Oh no, not another one,” you sighed and pushed your hair back, “Is there some kind of Comic Convention here? Or is this a weird sexual thing?” Now the man looked at the boy even more confused, and the boy just shrugged, but instead of answering you, he brought his hand up to where his ear was under the cowl and spoke to himself: “I’ve found Robin, he’s found her, we’re going to come back now.” If it had only been the first and last part of that sentence you would have made a joke about them being into LRPG or something, but the ‘her’ part scared you for some reason. You stood up and backed away, happy that the boy didn’t keep the grip on even though his eyes were following your every move. “This was fun and all, but I’m still soaked and really cold, and I had a nice swim earlier which I want to calm down from again, so I think I’ll just go back home now, call myself a cab or something,” you turned around, more than ready to strain your muscles yet again with running away, but it never got to that point, because a second later you were ripped up from the ground and sizzled through the air. It was so surprising that you didn’t even manage to scream before you found yourself with hard ground under your feet again. You looked up at what had pulled you through the skies and found the boys face yet again and - may it have been from the scare of everything finally becoming to much - the last thing you could say before you blacked out for the third time that night was: “That’s some on point cosplay dude.”

The soft sheets of your bed gave you a sense of relief as you woke up from that weird ass dream that you were having. You were unsure about why exactly your unconsciousness was making you see these things, but you made a mental note about checking the dream meaning of getting swallowed by the sidewalk later on. For now all you wanted was to go have some breakfast and call your mom to tell her about that dream. So you opened your eyes and threw the blanket back only to be surprised by the ceiling that was definitely not yours. There was a sound beside you and you looked over to see a boy about your age, black hair standing up from his head a little spiky and green eyes focused entirely on you. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” you cursed and moved as far away from the boy as possible, “Who are you?!” “What do you remember?” the boy asked you, completely ignoring your question. Your eyes flew to the door that was right behind him and you found that there was no way for you to get to it without having to overthrow the boy - but by the looks of him he’d knock you out easily. “I was on my way home from my job when the fucking ground opened up, swallowed me, thrw me back up into the ocean and then I met two werid ass cosplayers before I woke up here.” “You still think we’re cosplayers?” “We?” “Yes,” he just nodded with complete ease. “Well, I gotta admit that flying thing was pretty rad. What was that? Are you actors and you’re making a movie? Because if so then I’m sorry for bursting onto the shooting site.” “We’re not making a movie,” he stated, still completely chilled, even though there was something else lying under it. “What then? You telling me you’re actually Robin? Because if so I’m not the only one who needs to have her head checked out,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, arms crossing in front of your chest. The boy just mirrored your look, completely stern and serious. “You’re not serious, are you?” you couldn’t help but let out an unbelieving chuckle. He kept silent and just observed you. “You fucking are, oh my gosh.” “How can I prove it to you?” he asked, still so incredibly serious that you felt like you were a clown walking in on a job interview. “Oh, I don’t know. Call Flash, Superman and the easter bunny over so we can have tea with the tooth fairy,” you answered ironically and made a ‘cray-cray’ gesture with your hand going in circles beside your temple, but instead of being offended by your comment, he just pulled out his phone - the same phone you had tried to use earlier you noted. “What are you doing?” you asked, but he just held his hand up to sush you and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello, it’s Damian Wayne,” he introduced himself to the other person -  and you noted that he was not a ‘Richard’ after all, “Yes, could you do me a favor? Could you come to the Manor real quick? Yes, yes I know, no it’s not an emergency. The suit would be great, yes. See you in a bit. You opened your mouth again when he hung up to ask who he called over, but he kept his hand up and motioned to you to wait, while he opened up the window, even though it was still cold out. A gust of wind filled the room and suddenly there was another boy standing besides the original boy - Damian as he had introduced himself - who was wearing a cape, a shirt with a logo that was definitely Supermans and ripped jeans. “H-How the fuck did he just? Was he here this whole time? What? How?” you stuttered and looked between Damian and the other boy who looked at you even more confused than you felt, but Damian waved him off and motioned for him to leave, which he promptly did. The new boy looked at Damian with question marks in his eyes, but he just waved him off. “You believe me now?” he asked, directed towards you and you had to admit it was pretty convincing. “But how? I’m in a comic?” “Y/N, this isn’t a comic, this is reality,” Damian told you with a soft voice, but your eyes just widened and you tried to move back even further. “How do you know my name?” “In your left pocket there is a set of keys and keychains. One of these keychains is a piece of wood with two letters engraved. A D and a (Your first initial), am I right?” Your heart stopped for a second and you patted the pocket where that exact thing was still lying. “H-How do you know my name?” “What do you remember about your life, about how you ended up in the water?” he avoided the question like a pro and you decided to play along, just in hope he’d answer your question sooner or later. “I was born the daughter of Y/Parents/N in Y/H/T. I grew up normally and went to school, nothing special, got a job on the side and when I went home yesterday the sidewalk started to open up like there was an earthquake and I was suddenly in the water, I told you about that part already.” “And you have never met me in your life?” he asked and sounded almost disappointed. “No, an hour ago I thought you didn’t exist outside of paper, the internet and movies,” you huffed and tried to figure out what his endgame was with this, when he pulled his phone out again and tapped on it for a bit before shoving it in your direction. “How do you explain this then?” You moved forwards with caution until you could see the screen and your breath stopped. It was a picture of you. Of Damian and you to be precise. The two of you were sitting on a bench, laughing and smiling and obviously happy, a cute dog on the ground between the two of you where something else drew your attention. In the photograph your left hand was intertwined with his right one. “W-What is this? Some sick kind of joke?” “You really don’t remember? Not at all?” he asked flabbergasted. “Remember what? What is going on here?” you almost shouted, the frustration becoming just a little bit too much, “Please just give me some explanation, please.” “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, you really are the daughter of Y/Parents/N, but you didn’t grow up in Y/H/T, you grew up here in Gotham. You went to Gotham academy, where the two of us met and...became friends. You found out about me being Robin and my father being Batman rather quickly too,” Damian explained and even though it didn’t match up even slightly with what you remembered, it felt weirdly accurate. You went to the bed again and sucked down onto it, before thinking back to the picture and raised an eyebrow at Damian. “Not that I say it’s true what you’re saying, but if we hypothetically say it was, then we weren’t just friends, right? We’re together?” “Yes.” “Okay,” a sigh escaped you and everything was feeling blurry, but you had to continue asking, wanting to know the truth, “Then how do you explain me ending up in the ocean?” “That’s where things get a bit harsher,” Damian sight too, but obviously for other reasons, “Yesterday evening you accompanied me to a party - a family thing - on a yacht and things were going great, but something went wrong. No one had an idea that the weather would shift like that, but a storm came and the yacht was thrown around and you - you were thrown off, I thought you died, I was devastated, but- uhm...well… You remembered that keychain? I gave it to you for our first year anniversary and it may or may not have a tracker in it, so that I could find you in a worst case scenario and if that wasn’t a worst case scenario then I don’t know what is.” For a few minutes silence filled the room as you worked through all of the new information, but the sad look on Damian’s face, the seriousness in his voice, the entire situation in itself? They made it hard to doubt what he was telling you. Your gaze was stuck on your fidgeting hands when you asked the one underlying question. “Why can’t I remember?” “I don’t know, I think you must have hit your head when you fell off and your mind mixed things up - mixed reality into something else and took a few actual things and made them fiction,” Damian gave you his half-assed, definitely not medically appropriate explanation, but you couldn’t blame him for that, you had no idea either. You pulled your legs up and hugged your knees close as you looked at him, really trying to see this supposed boyfriend of yours, but your mind just turned up blank. “What if I’ll never remember? What if that’s the way it’ll be from now on?” “I’m positive that things will turn out fine, we have friends who have the best medical experience you can get, we even have mind readers who could probably help you and if not, we’ll help you make new memories, I’ll help you and I’ll wait for the memories to come back just in case.” “That’s not fair on you though, Right now I’m not the girl you’re with, you shouldn’t have to go through this,” tears were now welling up at your eyes, even though you weren’t completely sure why your emotions were so strong. “I don’t care, I really don’t, because no matter what you remember or don’t, I love you and I really hope you’ll remember that you love me too…”

[pinkmirth]

𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸!𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗯𝗻𝗵𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝗵𝗰𝘀: 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝘁

[𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀]- 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀: 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼𝘂, 𝗸𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮, 𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘆𝗮, 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗼, 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗶, 𝗸𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗶, 𝘁𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘄𝗸𝘀

❤︎

𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲:

❤︎

𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼𝘂 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶;

•he was getting some spicy food at a street market one day after school. •you then went up to him randomly, asking what would be a good food to get since you were new to japan. •his face practically reddened at the sight of you, but he merely clicked his teeth, saying that he couldn't help you because his taste is extremely spicy. •you responded with a laugh, saying that you were more than capable to handle spice. •you both ended up eating and chatting together as you ate. •well, you did most of the talking as he nodded and grunted in response half of the time.. •nonetheless, you found his company very enlightening, so you asked for his number successfully.

❤︎

"excuse me?" a strangely accented voice called out to bakugou, the boy turning in the direction of the voice. "hah?" he called out as he looked down at you, instantly deeming you as american, hence the accent and your uniquely fascinating look. "is there any food that you can recommend to me? im new here.." you told him sheepishly as you flashed a small smile, the boy's face heating up dangerously. you then started to hear small fizzling noises, your attention drawn to his hands, which were letting out small explosions. "you good?" you asked in a concerned tone. "i thought that you wanted food, the fuck are you worried about me for?" he replied snappily, making you blink your eyes at him. "damn.." you muttered under your breath, though you didn't take it personal. "listen, your tongue is gonna burn the fuck off if i pick out food for you, woman." he laughed in a mocking manner. "boy," you scoffed, "i can handle more than a bit of damn seasoning..!" you chuckled, looking up at him with those dark glistening eyes of yours. he then ordered two small bowls of spicy curry for the both of you and told you to sit your ass down at the nearest outdoor table, to which you only laughed at him. "you didn't have to pay for it, yknow.." you told him, taking a spoonful of food nonetheless. "just think of it as hospitality.. or a welcoming gift or some shit. you're new here anyway.." he grumbled, taking a bite out of his own food. "what's your name?" you asked him, "don't worry about my name," he scoffed, "when i become the number one hero, everybody's gonna know my fucking name!" he said triumphantly, a cocky smirk on his face. "is that so..?" you asked him with a grin, "that's only if i don't become the number one hero..! you gon have to watch out for me, cause i'm your new competition!" you laughed, making his eye twitch. "is that a fucking challenge?" he spoke, "maybe." you replied, taking another bite of your food. he couldn't lie, it impressed him how you were taking full blown spoonfuls and not complaining about any spice, the drink he bought you staying untouched. "ay," you called out, "your face is red! i thought that you was the one tellin' me bout spice!" you snickered. "it's not the fucking spice that's making me blush!" he retorted, his face getting redder as he watched you let out a series of giggles. before long, the food was finished and he was ready to leave the table without even saying goodbye. "aht aht, where you goin to?" you asked him as you stood up with him. "home, the fuck? its not like ive got the time to talk to a stranger all damn day!" he said in defense. "well, you've at least gotta tell me your name!" you whined, "fine, shut up, puffball!" he said as you gasped. "really? puffball?" you gasped sarcastically, a hand at your heart. "you wanna know my name or not?" he snapped, "yes, of course!" you exclaimed, "s'bakugou. don't fucking forget it." he said, watching you nod as you took in the name. "—can i get your number too, bakugou?" you asked as he groaned. "fucking fine.." he grunted, "you got a pen?" he asked, taking a hold of your arm. "i can just get out my phone, the fuck you tryna write on my skin for?!" you said as he chuckled, "its more memorable that way, duh, puffball. you should be damn grateful to be the first to get an autograph from the one and only lord explosion murder." he said, taking the pen you handed him as he wrote his digits on your forearm, the gentle, warm but firm grip he had on your wrist making you unknowingly grin. "now you've gotta do the same. your name and number, puffball." he said, cocking his brow as you started to laugh. "eh, ill tell you allat when I feel like it. see ya, bakugou." you said, disappearing into the crowd of the bustling street market before he could make any snarky remark, a small smirk on his face that even surprised him, he was sure that the feeling that made his ears buzz and heat up was merely irritation. "she's such a damn tease..!" he couldn't even recall when he became intrigued.

❤︎

𝗸𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮 𝗲𝗶𝗷𝗶𝗿𝗼𝘂;

•he "met" you via call. •him, kaminari, and sero were pulling an all nighter together in his room, just hanging out on the bed. •like the immature teenage boys they are, they decided to play 'dare or dare' at two in the morning. •kirishima had been dared to call his number neighbor, which he was hesitant of, despite doing the dare anyway. •the phone rang as he placed it on the bed, the goofy trio looking at it in anticipation, expecting some old geezer to pick up the phone. •boy, were they wrong.

❤︎

"cmon, bro! i did the dare you gave me, so you've gotta do the same!" kaminari urged, making kirishima sigh. "it wasn't even that extreme of a dare! you just had to let sero smack you!" the redhead protested, "and that shit was fun, too. id do it again, ha!" the raven haired boy laughed out, earning a nudge to the side from the electric blond.

"don't be a pussy, just call and hang up if it makes you feel any better!" kaminari suggested, "fine, ill do it!" kirishima gave in, "don't start feeling disappointed when some 100 year old guy picks up the phone, kami!" he huffed.

eijirou dialed the number on his phone,

xxx-xxx-xxxy, which was only the slightest bit different from his number, which was

xxx-xxx-xxxx.

he then set the phone on the bed and put it on speaker, the boys looking within themselves as they waited for the person on the other side of the line to answer.

"nevermind, fuck this.." kaminari sighed, running a hand through his golden blond locks. the phone then finally picked up, kirishima's ears perking up eagerly.  

"ahm.. h-hello?" a smooth, feminine voice called out tiredly, the boys gaping at eachother. "uhm.. hello!" kirishima replied, "who da hell out here callin me at two am?" you asked, making the boys tense up your at your tone.

the redhead started to feel bad for waking you up, the sleepiness apparent in your voice. you then let out a series of melodic chuckles, ones that made kirishima want to hold a hand at his pounding heart.

"who this?" you asked, "kirishima! that's my name, at least! im your number neighbor, ha.." he said, "well, kirishima.." you spoke once more, your captivating accent making him infer that you were black, but that only excited him more, leaving him to wonder how beautiful you truly were, "imma talk to you later. a girl gotta sleep, yknow?" you told him, your voice velvety as the sound waves hit his ears.

"y-yeah, sure!" he complied. "ill save your number though, boo." you told him, the simple nickname making him smile to himself.

"wait, what's your name?" he asked you, "y/n. cute name, right?" you giggled, his heart clenching at the sound.

"how about I meet up with you tomorrow, y/n?" he suggested. "that would be nice, kirishima.." you said into the phone, the eagerness heard in your voice to meet this mystery boy, "you had better not be no random dealer.." you sighed, "no, I don't sell..!!!" he gasped in reply. "perfect." you said, "goodnight, kirishima. ion know what you doin up at two am, but have a blast, boo." that was the last thing you said before ending the call.

"...she sounds like a total fuckin’ babe! you're welcome, kiri!" kaminari said, but the sharky boy was too busy thinking about the call, your voice replaying in his head. apparently, eijirou thought dazedly, voice kinks actually ARE real..

"she was..

damn

"

❤︎

𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘆𝗮 𝗶𝘇𝘂𝗸𝘂;

•he met you at some beauty supply store. •you might be wondering; what the hell is deku doing at the damn beauty supply? •see, he was there with mirio to get some stuff for eri so they could do her hair, and he didn't really know what to get. •he saw you in the same isle as him later on and decided to ask what would be good to get for a little girl. •when you turned to him and smiled, he choked on thin air and was astonished with you and your 'melanated' beauty. •despite his nervous stammering, he accomplished in getting your number.

❤︎

"eri-chan, do you like this one..?" izuku asked, holding up a light green bow to her pale blue hair. "deku-san.. any color is fine.." the smaller girl replied, her large red eyes staring into his emerald ones. he sighed before flashing her a small smile, putting the bow back up. he wanted to give the girl something that would make her feel pretty, but he didn't know what she would really like.. "do you know anything about hair products and stuff, togata-senpai..?" midoriya asked mirio, whom only shrugged in reply. "i used to have longer hair, but I didn't really use any accessories, yknow!" the blond replied in his normal ecstatic tone. "oh.." deku sighed, "ill just keep looking!" he then walked into another row, glancing at all the hair products for natural hair, the tropical, warm, and sugary smells sending his nose into heaven. his hair was a bit curly himself, so maybe he'd be able to use some of them..? anyway, he continued to look through the products, letting out a huff, since he didn't find anything eye catching that gave him 'eri' vibes. he then saw a flash of chocolate brown in his peripheral vision, along with a good whiff of a smell similar to all those hair products, making him let out a small moan at the scent, which would probably become his new favorite smell. he turned around to see you, a black girl around his age that was dressed stylishly, your curly/coily hair captivating him as he gazed at you, whom was merely crouching down to look at some hair clips and other things that you were interested in. he then got the great idea to ask for your help! "hello? excus—" he called out to you as you jerked your head up, looking at him with a pack of durable hair ties in hand. he hadn't gotten a good look at your face, but now that he had, his breath had hitched on the spot as he felt heat rise to his freckled cheeks. he wanted to say something, but something about your melanated beauty intimidated him. not like he was scared, but he just wanted to make a good impression so bad that he froze up. you started to stand up from your crouching position, your dark brown/[color] eyes watching him curiously. "hi..!" you spoke cooly in your rich, slang-suffused voice. "h-hi!" he replied briskly, his fists clenched in flustered-ness. "i-i wanted t-to ask.." he stammered, giving himself a slap mentally, "if y-you could help m-me pick out some hair accessories! ones that would be good for a little girl..!" he explained, gulping a bit as he finished. your dark eyes only examined him as he spoke, your plump, glossy lips curving up into a smile that made him melt. "sure! why you ain't ask me earlier, boy? actin all cute and nervous.." you chuckled, making midoriya believe you made him fall in love with a stranger at first sight.. after some looking, you found a pair of red bows that you had just assumed would look good on the girl he spoke of, and that they did, the vibrant color matching with eri's big red eyes. she seemed to like them as well, the six year old girl twirling with the ribbons of the bows around her small fingers. "thank you so much! i think she actually likes them..!" izuku said in relief, the small smile on eri's face making him grin as well. "no problem! happy I could help, man." you said, making your way over to the cashier. he wanted to talk to you more.. "psst!" mirio whispered, "go talk to her!" he encouraged, izuku giving off a brisk nod of courage in reply. "h-hey!" he called out to you. "i-i wanted t-to ask you s-something again...!" he said once more, watching you sling the bag of beauty products onto your forearm as you listened to him, his flustered voice being something you found absolutely adorable. "c-can i h-have your.. number..?"

❤︎

𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮; *𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘀 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗼 :)*

❤︎

•you both sat next to eachother on a train ride home. •but before that, you had noticed him at your membership gym where you did your exercise and acrobatics. •you couldn't help but take glances at him •he was well built, toned, tall, and pretty damn flexible, plus he was shirtless, so of course you had to look.. •you were even gazing at him for so long that you lost your balance and stumbled a bit.. •before you could introduce yourself, which you were more than willing to do, the cute but peculiarly elbowed boy had left. •to your delight, you saw him again as you entered the train for your ride home. •he shares his oranges with you >///<

❤︎

"dayumm.." you whistled lowly, watching a black haired male from across the gymnasium. his back faced towards you, so you couldn't really see his face. you were doing simple stretches, in a side split at the moment, since you weren't in the mood for doing as much exercise. your eyes followed everywhere he went, taking in all of his motions and the flexing of his back muscles that you could see through his flimsy orange tank top, which he was actually starting to take off to your delight, pulling it over his head. your eyes widened before your lips curved up into a small smirk. "ive been blessed with this view.." you joked. you weren't the kind to be obsessed with boys and their looks or anything, but something about this guy was riveting, especially his elbows.. he then turned around, slowly lowering himself into a side splits position as he let a small huff leave his lips, wincing at the stretching of his inner thigh muscles. "he clearly hasn't done this shit in a while.." you said to yourself, watching him stretch forward as he stayed in his side splits position. he then looked up, his eyes meeting yours momentarily. his cheeks reddened in awe as he saw you, whom was already looking at him. he then flashed a wide smile, one that made you smile back, the contrast of your brown skin and pearly whites making him grin even wider. he seemed to slyly wink at you before getting up, walking over to another area of the gymnasium as you huffed over his departure. or maybe that wink was just your imagination..? "come back, hot guy.." you whined to yourself, getting up as well and making your way over to the nearby aerial skills fabric, only because you wanted to do something impressive that the black haired boy would see from afar. you made your way up the fabric, pulling yourself up with the incredible upper body strength that you had. you set yourself in a comfortable position, also in a position as to where you could see the 'elbows' guy a lot clearer. "it should be illegal to go around lookin that damn good.." you said to yourself, watching him do a simple form of yoga by himself in a calm corner. he then opened his eyes abruptly, digging into the pocket of his sweats to take out his phone, which was going off, probably for an alarm that he had set up. he got up, stretched a little more, and started to grab his belongings. you then scoffed, immediately getting down from the fabrics. there was no way that you'd allow him to leave before you got to know him.. you then started to jog towards him, since he was a ways away from you. he began to rotate his arms a bit, his muscles flexing as he did arm circles, making you stop in your tracks as you watched him. was this his quirk or something, or did every little thing he did leave you addicted? you felt yourself practically leaning in as you watched him pack up his things, his side profile showing off none other than his gleaming smile that he always seemed to have on his cute face. he slipped his orange top back on and made way for the exit, and that's when you finally snapped out of your trance, your ankles giving out as you fell on the ground, due to looking for so long that you had started to lose your balance. "shit, man.." you winced, rubbing at your ankles. by the time you looked up, he was gone. "i know i didn't snap my ankles just so mans could walk away.." you grumbled, getting up and slipping on your tracksuit jacket. you didn't want to do much today anyways, so you we're ready to go home. as you walked to the train station, you payed mind to a small but noticeable limp in your step, a mild pain tingling in your ankle. it wasn't bad, but it wasn't too fun either.. you huffed, making your way onto the train, trying to find yourself a seat and ignore the small awkward looks that people gave you because of your natural appearance that you obviously couldn't change. you only shrugged. im black, so what? the fuck..? you thought, though you weren't one to spark an argument and say it out loud. you were more than used to it anyway, so why give a damn anymore? though, somebody noticed it going on, and they couldn't stand it. "hey," a voice called out to you, "wanna sit with me?" you turned to see the same black haired boy from the gym, smiling sweetly at you as he moved his duffel bag just so you could sit. "...yeah, thanks." you replied cooly, but in the inside, you were freaking out. who knew that he'd be on your train?! "you okay?" he asked you, noticing your slight limp and your aerobic leggings as you chuckled, "whaddya mean specifically? the hating ass looks or my limping?" you said to him, "both." he replied quickly, his soft black bangs swaying as he leaned forward a bit to take a good look at you and your alluring afrocentric features. "um.. are you good? your face is getting all red." you told him, his eyes widening. "i-it is? sorry.." he chuckled in apology, leaning back into his seat with his hands resting at his knees. "...i saw you at the gym earlier, yknow." he told you, "those aerobic skills were pretty damn cool." he told you, the same smile on his face that you were sure you'd never get tired of seeing. "yeah, well i might have to take a break from them for a hot minute..." you sighed, regarding your ankle. "hey, you want an orange?" he asked abruptly as you blinked at him. "boy, did you just ask me if i wanted an orange?" you queried at his random suggestion. "yeah, ive got a few in here! they're my favorites~" he said with a large grin, "they always help me feel better. well, it might not help with physical pain, but—" he started, "nah, it's all good, i get it whatchu mean." you chuckled, taking the fruit that he handed to you. of course, it wasn't the best to take things from strangers, but there was something about him and his flashy smile that made you trust him. you both ate the fruit in silence, the only thing heard being the minimal chatter of other passengers and small rattling sounds of the rails. as you sat next to him, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours as your shoulders touched, it felt as though it was only you and him.. his phone then started to ring as he took it out of his pocket, giving you a look of apology for the abrupt noise. "s'my mom.." he chuckled before answering the call. "hola mamá!" he said into the phone, clearly speaking another foreign language, "qué pasa? oh, lo que estoy haciendo?" she had asked him what he was doing, but of course, you didn't understand the language he spoke, so you merely sat there, listening to the smoothness of his deep voice as he spoke into the phone. "uh.. bueno esta chica, ella está sentada mi lado.." he spoke lower, though you didn't know why, "una linda chica negra.." little did you know that he was gushing over you to his mom, "n-no, mom! no mi novia!" he cried out, only making you assume that his mother had said something embarrassing to him, "uhh.. talk to you later, ma.." he said, briskly ending the call with a huff. "what were you even saying?" you asked with a giggle as he tensed up, not wullling to explain to you about how he told his mom that he was sitting next to a cute black girl... "w-we were talking about oranges..!" he said on the spot as you tilted your head. "really..?" you asked, since he seemed more than unsure of his answer. "uhm.. yeah," he said, "we were talking about how we'll need to grow more because..." he trailed off, then got an idea, looking at you as his warm grin widened, "because i have a new friend to share them with!"

❤︎

𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗶 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗼;

•winter time! ⁂ •you were at the grocery store, just getting the mandatory food items. •after getting all the stuff you needed, you decided to get your favorite comfort food; •soba. preferably hot. •just as you went to grab for some, you saw a bigger, more muscular hand reach for the same pack of buckwheat noodles. •as your hands rubbed, you let out a hiss, because their hand was mad cold. •you looked up to see a tall charming boy around your age, the two sides of his face looking extremely different. •you stared at him for a while before he called out to you, seeming to be the fifth time since you were too busy looking at his face.. •who ends up getting the soba?

❤︎

you rolled your cart to another side of the grocery store, letting out a sigh of relief that you had finished most of your shopping. you then saw a bit of cool smog leaving your mouth, making you roll your eyes in bafflement. it was winter time and you were decked up, wearing a knee-long bubble coat, uggs and a scarf, so the fact that this grocery store had the audacity to put air conditioning on at such a cold period in time made you want to cuss them out. "it's even colder in here than it is outside, dammit.." you muttered, rolling your cart around some more until you got to where you wanted; the rice and noodles section. you were itching to get some hot soba, especially with the sauce that you'd always eat it with. your mouth curved up into a smile, thinking about eating the bowl of noodles as you watched anime by the time you got home. you put your cart aside in a place where it wouldn't be bothersome, and reached your hand out for the food. just as you did, a pale and muscular hand reached out for the same item, making you immediately withdrawal your hand because of the sub-zero temperature of his skin.. "sorry." the person said in a deep, calm tone. you then looked up to see a tall teenage boy dressed in a cream colored turtleneck and black pants, his face seemingly crafted by angels.. the two sides of his face were complete opposites, making you even more drawn to him as you stared. "hello?" he called out for what seemed like the fifth time, snapping you out of your thoughts. "hm? oh, sorry!" you apologized, "you can have it if you want." he said, ready to walk out of the aisle as you panicked a bit. "no, you can have it! go ahead!" you said to him as he turned back around. "it seems that you were anticipating to get that, so it's okay." he said, blinking his eyes a bit. he merely stood there for a bit, thinking as he looked at the ground. "how about i buy it for you?" he offered, making your eyes widen. "no need to do that, it's aight!" you told him. "it's not a problem to me. i have my father's credit card, so im more than willing to splurge. besides, it's the holiday season, so i should do something nice for another, shouldn't i?" he explained in question, taking the soba and handing it to you with a small smile, one that made your heart pound within your chest. "ah.. thank yo— ack!" you whimpered as his hand touched yours, now being extremely hot this time. "sorry, it's my quirk.." he told you. "you good.." you shrugged it off, "i guess that's why you're only wearing a turtleneck in this freezing store?" you asked him with a chuckle as he nodded. "oh, the soba fell.." he said in realization, the both of you bending down to pick it up at the same time, resulting in you two bumping your foreheads together. you stumbled back a little bit until he caught you, the coolness of his breath slightly hitting your face, the small gap between your faces making your ears heat up and his face flush red. "..i-i keep messing up, im sorry.." he said once more in a more sheepish tone, helping you upright. "it's fine, no need to keep apologizing." you told him. "you still want that soba?" he asked you as you nodded. "let's go to the cashier if you're ready." he told you as you nodded, still feeling so touched that he was willing to pay, no matter how many times you told him that it was okay. "y/n." you said out of the blue. "hm?" he hummed in response. "im y/n. since you insist on buying stuff for me, you should at least know who i am, yes?" you asked him with a smile. "right. im shouto." he said as you nodded. "i can't thank you enough, shouto!" you said with gratitude as he flashed a small, close mouthed grin once more. "no problem, y/n" just as you two were about to leave the aisle, an employee rolled in a cart of soba, probably containing more than 300 packs. "how lucky.. would you like more?" he asked you, pointing at the cart, "im feeling rather generous today, y/n" he told you. you got the racks for allat?!" you asked while gaping at him. just who exactly is he? "well, i can't.." he said, holding up the credit card, "but my father can."

❤︎

𝗸𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗶 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗸𝗶;

•the first time he saw you, you weren't even fully clothed. •which is his ideal way to meet a hot black girl, of course.. •he was simply out shopping with the bakusquad •he then went to the fitting rooms to try on some clothes. •because he is a smart individual, he immediately went to the biggest stall. •only to see you in skinny jeans and a bra, your eyes widening as you saw him, whom had frozen in place, heavily embarrassed but somewhat excited. •after apologizing and leaving, he helped you find some good clothes that were your style and matched your skin tone well. •and there's absolutely no way that he'd meet someone as amazing as you and not want to get your digits..

❤︎

"kiri, tell the group that ill be trying out these hoodies, 'kay?" kaminari said to his red headed friend. "sure, bro!" kirishima agreed, waving off as the electric blond made his way to the fitting rooms, which were unisex. "the biggest ones are the best ones..!" he mumbled to himself, zooming straight to the largest stall. he whistled to himself as he swung the door open, only to see you, a [height] black girl in a bra and ripped skinny jeans, pulling a tshirt over your head. guess the stall's lock wasn't stable.. the both of you froze, his widened eyes wandering as you held your breath, your face heating up in embarrassment. "i-im so sorry—shit!!!" he cried out before leaving the stall rather quickly. you merely stood there, biting your lip at the abrupt situation. "..the fuck, bruh.." you murmured, putting on the shirt that you wore to the mall, since you had finished changing. you walked out to see the same golden blond standing outside of the stall, running his hands through his hair with a sorry expression, his face flushed red as he muttered profanities over what he'd done. "ey," you called out to him, tapping on his shoulder, "did you like the view?" you asked cheekily as he gaped at you. you weren't really one to take things to seriously, and you could turn any situation into a bright one with a few jokes here and there. "uh.. there's no right way to answer that, is there..?" he replied with a nervous chuckle. "don't lie, you was lookin! i don't blame you though, im hot." you said with a shrug, making him laugh. "so you're a little comedian, aren't you..?" he asked you, folding his arms across his chest, clearly feeling more comfortable than before. "depends on whether im talking to a cute blond or not. so.. you know the answer, yeah?" you giggled, making him smirk. your entire being made him want to give you a hug. you were pretty, clearly damn hot, funny, confident, and you were highly melanated? he had been finding himself gravitating towards chocolate girls for a while, but you were different from the rest, of course in the best way. he was wondering whether he had won the lottery, the both of you probably being a match made in heaven, hence the small similarities between you and him that he could already notice. he liked you. "you gon keep smirking at me or are you gonna use that stall?" you asked him sarcastically, "well, i might as well warn you about that lock. utter shit, man. that's why the door swung open so easily.." you muttered as he laughed once more. "only if you join me, pretty lady.." he said with a wink as you gasped playfully. "word?" you asked as he nodded with a hum. "bet, get in there!" you exclaimed, the both of you going back into the large stall. "so," he said, sitting down on the bench inside of the stall, "how can I get to know you?" he asked smoothly, a grin on his face. "ah, you tryna be slick, huh?" you chuckled, "well, you can start off with my name. y/n." you told him. "sounds beautiful." he complimented with another smile. "oh, stop it.." you laughed, waving your hand dismissively. "im denki, or maybe your boyfriend, whichever one you wanna call me.." he said as you giggled, liking his second option. "i can help you get some good clothes, if that's what you're looking for!" he suggested as you raised your brows. "oh really?" you hummed, "really!" he replied, getting up from the bench and holding out his hand to you. "cmon, y/n! let's go shopping."

𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗷𝗶𝗸𝗶 𝘁𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶;

•he was simply on patrol with red riot and fatgum. •all of a sudden, you rushed up to him frantically, a worried look on your face. •he instantly remembered you as the girl from class 3-b, whom he had actually been a bit interested in for a while.. •he'd take glances of you whenever he saw you in the cafeteria and whatnot. •you were a good friend of mirio's but you and tamaki has never actually spoken until now. •you started to explain to him how this guy was following you and calling you a flurry of racial slurs. •he immediately started to feel his blood boiling. •anxious tama is gone, time to be a hero.

❤︎

"you want another bowl of yakisoba, amajiki-sempai?" kirishima asked cheerily, "fatgum bought some more!" he told tamaki. "i-i'm fine, t-thanks.." the elf-eared boy replied, tugging at the hoodie of his hero outfit farther so it could cover his face more. he was on patrol with the eight foot, blond haired pro and the younger hero in training, simply walking through a city in japan with a mindset ready to defend, which is what tamaki would have to do soon for you, whether he was ready or not.. he suddenly felt a pair of hands grip onto his arm, their fingers digging into his clothed bicep in fear. he yelped out as he looked down to see a familiar black girl with a shaken expression, the elf eared boy pressing his lips closed at the sight of you, his slanted eyes widening along with his face heating up. "..youre amajiki, yeah..?" you asked him as he nodded briskly, not daring to make a sound before he stuttered himself to an embarrassing point of no return. he knew you! well, he couldn't exactly say it that way, it made it seem as though you two were close. he would actually admire you from afar in school, with all honesty. he recalled you to be the pretty, brown skinned outgoing girl with a high puff that would usually be seen around mirio, since the two of you were both in class 3-b. he could practically feel the words itching to crawl up his throat and leave his mouth, though he didn't even know what those words would be.. what would he say to you? "oi, amajiki! i really need your help right now.. i heard that there was patrolling going on, so I just followed the sight of fatgum's head through the crowd.." you told him, snapping him out of his trance as he let out a yelp once more, the tall but introverted teen looking down at you, uncomfortable hums leaving his mouth due to his uncertainty of how to finally speak to you, which he was fucking up royally. "there's this guy.. he keeps following me and calling me some.. not nice things." you explained, "and he's making me uncomfortable.." you told him, his brows furrowing. "a-are you o-okay..? d-do y-y-you.. argh!" he gave up speaking for the time being as you looked up at him with a confused expression, your hands still holding onto his arm, as if you were trying to latch onto him for a sense of comfort. "its aight, miri told me that you aren't the most social guy.." you sighed, "but id really appreciate if you could keep a look out for that guy.. he looks mad sketchy, also wearing a goofy ass 'all lives matter' shirt..." you whispered to him, starting to walk with him through the bustling streets behind fatgum and red riot, your hands still around his arm as he looked around with an intimidating look, in search for whoever had been bothering you. "...w-what did h-he say t-to you..?" the indigo haired teen asked as you scoffed. "you don't wanna know, amajiki." you told him as he gave you a look. "oh, you actually wanna know? like, deadass?" you asked once more to make sure as he nodded hesitantly. "cmere then.." you signaled him to crouch down a bit so you could whisper all the info into his ear. "w-wha— he f-followed you... for t-that long..?! just because of.. oh.. o-oh no.." he muttered incredulously, now feeling his blood starting to rush in an angry flurry. how dare someone taunt and bother you like this just because you were different? "and then, he called me a——" you whispered the word into his ear as he gasped loudly. "h-how r-rude!!!" he wailed as you huffed in agreement. "and he wouldn't seem to leave me alone.. well, not until i mixed with the crowd and found you, that is.. i think I've lost him.." you said, "thanks, amajiki.. you've already helped me a lot.." you said to him graciously as he gave off an awkward smile in return, averting his eyes from yours. "n-no problem.." he replied, though his job wasn't done just yet. he finally spotted the man at the corner of his eye, whom was seemingly making his way towards you. "oi, the dark one!" they called out as you groaned, "oh hell nah.." you uttered with the roll of your eyes. "we don't need people like you here! the last time i came out to the city, a black pest stole my wallet!" he shouted, most people in a hearing range stopping in their tracks and turning to you, amajiki and the man. "s-she hasn't s-s-stolen anything..!" tamaki stammered, "so l-leave her a-alone!" he urged, the crowd cheering suneater on as others opposed the racist, shouting at him to leave you be. "oh yeah? lemme check her first, she probably stole something from one of these markets!" he said, lunging towards you as everybody gasped. tamaki activated his quirk swiftly, entrapping the man in his manifested tentacles. "don't touch her." he demanded, earring cheers from everyone around, but he didn't really care about all that, he just wanted you to be safe. tamaki turned around, looking down at you with worried eyes as he kept the man trapped with his quirk, "a-are you o-okay..?" he asked shakily as you grinned at him. "yup, i am now," you told him before planting a kiss on his cheek, "you a real one, suneater."

❤︎

𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗮𝗺𝗶 𝗸𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗼 ^ (𝗵𝗮𝘄𝗸𝘀);

❤︎aged!up!reader!❤︎

•it all started when he asked you if you fell from heaven. literally. •you're a young adult pro hero whom is good with combat skills and such. •but you aren't the best at using your quirk: hover. •your quirk allows you to hover over 500 feet from the ground, but you'd never used it to its full capacity, only working it up to 100 feet. •you were working on using it to a farther capacity, and since you have a hero license to use your quirk in public, you decided that you'd just work on it while out patrolling. •big mistake.. •but never fear! fast man Hawks was there to swoop you off of your feet and into the sky~

❤︎

"you can do this, y/n.." you told yourself as you hovered above countless buildings, which was the height that would usually be your limit. today, that would change, aiming to touch the clouds. you looked up farther into the never ending sky, a small shuddering sound leaving your mouth. maybe it wouldn't be too bad to cancel practice for today and stay on the ground.. "no! i should try at least..!" you encouraged yourself, hovering higher and higher until even the skyscrapers looked like ants. you then felt a strong pressure around your entire body because your system wasn't used to it, making you writhe in the air as your quirk started to deactivate. "nonono, oh shit!!!" you screamed, falling helplessly through the sky, your [color] braids whipping around from the wind as you came closer to the ground, many screams leaving your mouth in fear. before you hit the ground, you got swooped up before the impact, a flurry of red feathers around you. "the fuck—?!" you shouted, looking up to see the undeniably charming face of the one and only number two hero, hawks. "hey there, pretty birdie~" he chirped as you merely glared at him, still shaken from your freefalling. "did it hurt when you fell from heaven???" as he spoke teasingly, you looked down to see that he had flown higher up than you were before, your eyes widening. "g-get me down, hawks!!" you pleaded, your hands gripping onto his brown jacket as he only chuckled.   "i saw what you were doing up here.." he told you, "don't you still wanna learn how to pass your limit? i can teach you if you want~" he offered you sweetly, still flying about with you in his arms as you both soared through the sky, the feeling that you were despite of at first now feeling more comforting and stress-less. "t-that would be great..!" you yelled, since the sounds of the wind made it hard to hear, "but can you put me down..?" you asked him as he blinked before letting out another laugh. "right, i forgot about that! sometimes, when i start flying i can't come down. i should warn you, its addicting to feel so free up here..." he told you. "can you get me down now?! geez, nigga.." you scoffed as he let out an awkward chuckle, "sorry, i should also warn you that talking is addicting to me as well.." he told you, flying down to the surface and putting you down as you shakily stood, your hands clenching at his coat once more as he laughed over your behavior. "we were just a few feet off the ground, it wasn't so bad that youve gotta wobble!" he chuckled as you glared at him. "a few feet???" you gawked. he waved his gloved hand dismissively, linking his arm with yours as he started to walk out into the bustling street with you, the two of you sending smiles and waves to fans whom recognized the two of you as the pros in the top five. "do you have to link onto my arm?" you asked with gritted teeth. he wasn't exactly annoying you, per se, you were just still very frazzled about the little flight he took you on. "of course i have to stay linked onto you!" he laughed, "birds gotta stick together, yeah?" he said. "i ain't a damn bird!" you yelled out as he replied, "but you can fly, can't ya?"

❤︎

[mirio, shigaraki, shinsou, etc. will later be added!]

^^^

[scuttling]

Newbie

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 3,786 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Self-confidence issues, Canon-typical violence Summary: On Sophie’s first day at the BAU, she gets nervous. On Sophie’s second day at the BAU, they get a case. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 0-6 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to A03 or read below! On Sophie’s first day at the BAU, she’s a little bit nervous—change your outfit three times, run your Keurig with no cup underneath, hair up? hair down? hair up? nervous—so she takes a deep, steadying breath before pushing open the glass double doors that lead to the bullpen.

She took cues about attire from other people she saw the day of her interview, so today she is wearing a simple black and white dress with pumps and gold jewelry, and she feels she fits in, but she gets more than a few curious looks when she enters.

Her instructions are to report to Agent Hotchner’s office first thing, but she is stopped on her way there by a tall, handsome, impeccably dressed man with a frankly gorgeous smile. He’s Black, with a shaved head and a great voice, and suddenly she doesn’t mind the interference.

“Hi, I’m Derek Morgan. You’re Sophia Cortes, right? Hotch mentioned you were starting today.” She smiles warmly.

“Yes, pleasure to meet you. You can call me Sophie,” she says, reaching out a hand for a shake. “Agent Hotchner told me you’re from Chicago, and so am I. Please say you aren’t a White Sox fan.” His smile becomes even brighter, if possible. She might be halfway in love with him already.

“God, no. If you want to watch good baseball, it’s the Cubs all the way.” She laughs lightly, happy to have a little rapport with a new colleague so soon.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m glad there’s a little more color in the office now,” he jokes, and she understands where he’s coming from completely. It’s bad enough to be the only woman in the room, sometimes, but when she’s also the only person of color, she feels… inadequate, somehow. Like she has to work twice as hard to be seen, even though she literally stands out among her peers.

A blonde woman with a fair complexion and pretty, almost doll-like facial features steps up behind him, and he looks over, introduces her.

“Sophie Cortes, this is Jennifer Jareau, our Communications Director.”

“Everyone calls me JJ,” she says with a smile and a handshake.

“Nice to meet you. If you’re the Communications Director, you’ve got the toughest job in the unit, then.” JJ looks surprised, then nods her head.

“Absolutely, but don’t tell them that. They’d never believe you,” she says with a playful shove of Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t let being a profiler go to your head like this guy.”

“Who, me? I’m as down to earth as the next devastatingly handsome guy.”

“Yeah, right,” a voice says from her right, and Sophie turns to see a woman approaching them with pale skin and dark hair, bangs, a kind smile. “We love you and all, but you’re a little cocky.”

“Is it being cocky when I’m that good, though?” he asks with a wink, and Sophie already feels more at ease just hearing them talk with each other. She can get acclimated to anything when the environment is right. “This is my partner, Emily Prentiss. Prentiss, this is Sophie Cortes. The new newbie.” She sets down her bag, heads over to shake hands.

“Nice to meet you, Sophie. Love the dress.” Sophie thanks her for the compliment. “I appreciate you taking the newbie title from me; fair warning, you’ll probably be here for five years before they stop calling you that.”

“Ah, I’ve been called worse, I’ll take it.” She glances around their workspace, looks up to Derek. “Is my partner here? Dr. Reid, right?”

“Oh, he texted, said his train is running late,” JJ explains. “He’s really excited to meet you, though, so don’t mind if he’s a little… overwhelming, when he does get here.”

“You’ll fall in love with the kid, everyone does,” Derek explains, and it makes her heart feel warm. This is definitely a team she wants to be a part of. “But he can be intense.”

“I appreciate the heads up.” Before she can say any more, Agent Hotchner descends the stairs, heads toward them.

“Good morning. I can see the team has taken the liberty of introducing themselves.”

“Hello again, Agent Hotchner.” Sophie shakes his hand, and he smiles softly.

“Hotch, please. You can put your things in that desk and I’ll give you a tour, if you’d like.”

“Sure, sounds great.” The team shares a brief look, but she doesn’t know them well enough to comment, just stows her belongings and follows the unit chief. “The team was very welcoming. They seem really tight knit,” she comments as they leave the bullpen, and he looks at her, nods.

“When you spend as much time together as we do, traveling as we do, it’s inevitable. Was it not that way in Intelligence?”

“You couldn’t get those people to sit down to dinner together, let alone tease one another. They’d probably bite each other’s heads off.” They worked well together, but in private the environment could be pretty toxic. She knows Unit Chief Roberts wouldn’t have put up with it if the team didn’t get such good results.

“I can see how this environment might seem a little strange, then,” he says, opening the door for her. They take the elevator.

“Strange, but good. It reminds me of when I was a cop, and I’ve missed that kind of camaraderie.”

“Well I’m glad you felt welcomed. We really are happy to have you.” They approach a closed door which he raps on lightly; the woman who answers has a bright smile and an even brighter outfit, lime green and navy blue, with matching accessories, including green glasses. She makes Sophie feel very… plain.

“Oh, hi!” the woman says, and her grin gets bigger. “Wow, you’re beautiful.” Sophie laughs, a little taken aback, and Hotch sighs lightly like he’s used to the odd behavior. It’s all very endearing.

“This is Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst. Garcia, this is Sophia Cortes, our new profiler.” She reaches out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Sophie, or Cortes, whichever you prefer. And you’re beautiful, too. I love your style.”

“Thank you; I can tell we’re going to be fast friends. You’ll have me on speed dial,” she says, walking to her desk and jotting something down on a pink Post-It. “If you need something researched, narrowed down, blown up, compared, etc, I’m your girl.” She hands her the note—her direct line—and smiles. “I’m sure you have much more to see, but don’t be a stranger!”

Something tells Sophie she won’t be.

He shows her all around the office—copiers, the breakroom, supply closets, restrooms—and they end up in the briefing room, the last two to walk in.

“You remember Gideon,” Hotch says, and the man nods a greeting. Still as personable as ever, she thinks. “And this is your partner, Dr. Spencer Reid.” She’s not surprised by his age—she read some articles about him once she had his name, knows they call him ‘boy genius’ quite literally—but she is a little thrown by his nervous smile, his dark eyes, his untidy flop of brown hair. Derek wasn’t kidding when he called him kid; he looks like he belongs at an after school chess club meeting, or something.

He’s adorable. Like a puppy. She immediately wants to keep him. She smiles wide.

“Sophia Cortes, but you can call me Sophie, if you like.” He stands, and they shake hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard all about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I hear you’re from Chicago. Did you know Chicago is home to 2,716,450 residents living in over 100 neighborhoods?” She smiles wider.

“Yeah, with 600 parks, 500 playgrounds, 29 beaches, and 26 miles of open lakefront. It’s beautiful. Have you been?”

“We worked a case there, once. I didn’t get to see any parks or beaches.” He makes a frowning kind of face and she laughs softly, takes the seat Hotch offers her.

“Well you’re young, there’s time.”

“Now that we’re all caught up on introductions, we can get started,” Hotch states, and Sophie’s first morning meeting begins.

It’s a little boring, as far as first days go, but she doesn’t mind. She has access to her computer, gets it set up the way she wants, finds out from the team where all the best places are nearby for coffee or drinks or lunch. She meets with the section chief for introductions, goes over some policies with Hotch—who, she was right, is definitely funnier and more thoughtful than he must let on. He probably feels like he has to act a certain way, because he’s the boss, but she likes pulling the human out of him, makes it a personal mission going forward to make him smile.

He’s too handsome not to smile. On Sophie’s second day at the BAU, they get a case.

“I usually like to let new profilers get acclimated to the team before going into the field,” Hotch tells her as they board the plane, “but it didn’t make sense to keep you in Quantico. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Of course. That’s why I’m here, I want to help.” She stows her bag overhead. “I’ll observe, give my input when I have it, follow everyone’s lead.”

“Sounds good. You know you can come to any of us if you have questions.”

“I know. Thank you.”

They do a deeper debrief on the plane—three women have been murdered, all in their mid 30’s, athletic and blonde, last seen dropping their children off at school—and Sophie is tasked with going to the most recent crime scene with Hotch and Prentiss.

“What can you tell about him so far?” Hotch asks her while the detective on the case speaks with Prentiss about some details of the scene. She glances around the room, takes it all in.

“Well, there’s blood everywhere. Serious overkill each time. He either knew the victims, or has a deep-seated hatred for a woman they remind him of; my money is on is the latter.” She looks through the kitchen, at the bloody footprints that lead to the back door. “Tracked blood all through the house, left the back door open. He’s disorganized. He may have seen them at the school and planned to follow them home, but he didn’t do any pre-surveillance on them. Something about these women triggers him and he acts within the hour.”

“Would you call it a crime of passion, then?” She looks over, curious, then realizes he’s testing her.

“No. A crime of passion indicates some level of culpability by the victim. Provocation. These women are just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong face.” He nods, satisfied with her answer.

“So how do we think he’s finding the victims?”

“He could have a child under his care who goes to that school, or he could live near the school, work there. He could work the night shift somewhere else and pass the school on his way home. I think it’s too early to narrow that down.”

“Any idea what weapon he used?”

“We would have to really examine the cast off to be certain, but my guess would be… a hammer, or some other small, blunt tool. This wasn’t done by a baseball bat or a shovel or something larger. We can also get an estimated height and weight of the unsub if we chart the area void of blood here,” she adds, pointing to a bare spot on the wall with blood droplets above and around it. “I’m guessing we’ll send the photos to Garcia for analysis.”

“That’s right. I agree with your assessment,” he begins, but she senses hesitation.

“But?” He looks over at her, thoughtful.

“We’re missing something.”

“We are, or I am?” she asks for clarification, and he smiles just slightly.

“We are.” She takes that as a good sign, walks another loop around the room for something they would have overlooked, and she brightens when she thinks she’s discovered it.

“Her purse is still here, cash, credit cards. Her jewelry was still on her body when she was found. But does it look to you like something’s missing from the entryway table?” She points to it, and it’s very ordinary: a calendar, a bowl for change, hooks for keys, a couple of photographs—with a notable blank space in the middle. “Maybe a photo?”

“We should ask the husband if he knows what was there. Good work,” he tells her, and he heads off in the direction of the husband; she follows close behind.

Back at the precinct, the team fills each other in on what they’ve learned.

“So our unsub killed each of these women with a ball-peen hammer, striking 8-10 times. Blood spatter analysis puts him at about 5’11”, 6’0” tall, around 275 pounds. The photo taken from the third victim’s house was of the victim and her 7-year-old son Josh; similar photos were taken from the other two homes—photos of mother and son.” Prentiss tacks copies of the three missing photos to the board.

“Sounds like maybe the woman they remind him of is his mother,” Reid states.

“That’s what we’re going with. We’re still not sure how he finds his victims, though,” Prentiss mentions, and Sophie takes a breath, hesitates.

“Do you have something?” Morgan asks and she shrugs, unsure.

“Maybe? One of the theories we threw out there was that he works overnight and drives past the school on his way home from work, when the kids are being dropped off. If he killed them with a ball-peen hammer, maybe we should look for machine shops in the area with overnight shifts? Those are typically used in metalworking, not construction.” She feels like all eyes are on her, and it makes her nervous. “That could be completely irrelevant, it’s just a thought.”

“It’s a good thought; I’ll have Garcia pull us a list, we can split up and pass around the description, see if our guy is a metal worker. Good call, newbie.” Morgan leaves to take the call, and JJ leans over with a smile.

“Don’t second guess yourself. You’re doing great so far. Theories are important, even if they’re wrong.” Sophie returns the expression, nods.

“Thanks. I’ve just gotta get used to the collaborative environment; haven’t been in one of those in a while.”

“You’d never know it. You’re fitting right in.” She takes it as a compliment, is happy to be of some use to the investigation and not just getting in the way.

The rest of the day is pretty quiet; they test out a few other possible theories, deliver the profile to the late shift, plan to hit the school early in the morning to look for potential suspects and to pass around the description to see if anyone meets it who works there, or lives nearby.

She goes to the school with Reid and JJ, speaks to teachers, janitorial staff, but none of them know a man like the one they’re looking for. She meets up with the others, who were speaking to parents, after about an hour of questioning, but they also come up blank.

“We’ve still got your machine shop theory,” Reid says as they drive back to the precinct. “The others should be done with those soon, so there’s still a chance we can find this guy today.” JJ’s phone rings, and she answers on the car bluetooth.

“JJ, there’s been another attack,” Prentiss says. “1419 5th Street—you guys are closer. Can you head over?”

“We’re on the way,” JJ answers, turning right, and Reid looks thoughtful.

“An attack? She’s not dead?”

“No. Not yet, at least. She’s being rushed to the hospital; her husband was home, caught the attacker in the middle of it all.”

“Did he get a good look at the unsub?” JJ asks.

“He’s with a sketch artist now. Hotch wants you to circulate the sketch ASAP; we think we may have a hit at one of the metal shops, if you can send it to me, too.”

“You got it.” She ends the call, looks at Sophie through the rearview mirror. “Drinks are on you tonight, newbie,” she says playfully, and Sophie can’t help but laugh. She had been so intimidated by the thought of joining the BAU, and she’s glad to see she’s useful, can actually help make a difference. It’s a feeling she won’t forget for a while.

Later that night, when they plan to try to catch the unsub before he leaves for work, she deflates, a little.

Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid are going to breach the unsub’s house while JJ covers the front door and Sophie covers the back. She had assumed she would get to be part of the team going in, with her tactical background, and immediately thinks the worst, that they’re happy to have her brain, but that her body is a hindrance. Too short, too weak… it’s how she’s been treated her whole life, and she hates to think that she’s being dismissed here so soon for the same reasons. She tries not to let it show, but she dwells on it, a little, lets it get her down even though she knows she shouldn’t.

She snaps out of it when there’s movement on the back porch, a hulking, shadowy figure in the darkness.

“I’ve got him coming out of the back,” she whispers into her comms, and she draws her gun and points it at the unsub. “Stop, FBI!” The guy turns to face her—he fits the sketch to a tee, a real mountain of a man as the blood spatter analysis suggested—takes one good look, and goes running in the other direction.

Alright, so, he’s clearly not impressed. She can work with that.

“He’s running, I’m in pursuit.” She holsters her weapon and her boots pound the grass as she books it his way. The good thing about being so much smaller than him is that she’s much faster, catches up to him fairly easily, and again, she shouts for him to stop, which, of course, he doesn’t.

Her first thought is that she’s got to get this guy on the ground no matter what—this isn’t a shoplifter or something, he’s wanted for murdering three women and attempting to murder a fourth, so a little force is okay if necessary, and judging by his build, it’s going to be necessary.

Her second thought is, if I can’t catch him, I don’t deserve to be here. And that’s the one that makes the decision for her.

She leaps onto his back, grabs fistfuls of his shirt, and shakes him forward, backward, forward again, trying to throw off his balance. When he starts to wobble, she slides down his back, hooking a leg around one of his and driving her knee into the bend of his; he goes down, face first, and she reaches behind her for her cuffs, slaps them on his wrists before he has a chance to turn or stand. “Jason Farber, you’re under arrest for three counts of murder and one count of attempted murder.”

“Attempted murder?” he asks, turning his face so he can speak more easily. He seems pretty calm for a runner, maybe just resigned to his fate, and she leans over so she can see him better. He’s breathing fine, uninjured, and just looks pissed. “You mean that overbearing bitch isn’t dead?”

“Yep, sorry to be the one to tell you, Jason, but she’s alive and kicking.” She continues to read him his rights, and is just pulling him to his feet when Morgan and Hotch skid to a stop behind her; if they look surprised… who is she kidding? They look surprised as fuck.

“Damn, Cortes. This guy’s like three of you,” Morgan marvels as she walks him back toward the cars so he can be tossed into the back of a black and white. “Did you make him an offer he couldn’t refuse?” She scoffs at that, and even the unsub snorts in amusement.

“She tackled me. Wasn’t counting on that.”

“I don’t think anybody was,” she admits, getting him into a cop car and shutting the door. She joins the rest of the team, gets a high-five from JJ.

“Hey, score one for the ladies. We never get to do any tackling.”

“She did better than I would have,” Reid admits without shame, and she laughs.

“It’s all in the legs. I lift chains at the gym.” He gives her a look like he’s got no idea what she’s talking about, which almost makes her laugh again. “You do pull-ups, but with chains around your legs.” She demonstrates, squatting and gesturing to her legs like she’s wrapping something around them.

“Okay, you’re the real deal, newbie,” Morgan says when she stands up fully. “Remind me not to run from you unless I want a face full of dirt.” The group breaks apart after that, but Hotch lingers, gives her a meaningful look when she makes eye contact.

“I bet that felt good.” She leans against the side of the SUV, feels a deep conversation coming on.

“It did. I’m stronger than I look, and sometimes it’s fun to be underestimated, but other times it gets really annoying.”

“I can imagine,” he says, nodding, and he mimics her posture. “I just want to make sure you know you don’t have anything to prove. I hired you for a reason.”

“I know. But I don’t like being a one-trick pony, and I’m definitely not waiting around for one of you guys when an unsub is on the move.”

“And I wouldn't expect you to. As for the ‘one-trick pony’ thing, that’s not how I see you at all. You’re extremely well-rounded, and that’s why I wanted you.” His eyes are kind, but penetrating, and she dips her head, nods.

“And that’s why I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“After what you’ve shown me the last two days, I don’t think that’s possible, but I want you to know you can come to me when something’s bothering you. That’s why I’m here.”

“I know. I won’t forget it,” she assures, and he stands fully, cocks an eyebrow in her direction.

“I heard drinks are on you tonight,” he says with a straight face, and she laughs lightly.

“I guess we better get going before they run up the tab, then.”

They walk in companionable silence back to the SUV.

[thomaslightwood]

Blackthorn Detective Agency - Part 1

KitTy Sherlock AU!

It's set in 1930s, slow burn & will have a few parts!

I'm not 100% sure where this is going but I'm already writing the second part, so we will see

Words: 3 862 (I know it's long, sorry, this part is more about the plot and the surroundings)

Kit looked at the grey sky above his head and frowned. It was going to rain. Of course.

He hasn't been in London for over a year now but he wondered how he could forget that. The bad weather, the noise, (and true to be told - very dirty) streets, the men in suits and cylinders, the women in pretty dresses, sometimes with pants. He wondered what happened to the few closet shops he was passing by. One of the many mysteries of life.

And talking about mysteries…

Kit saw at the other side of the street what he was looking for. A grey showcase, thorns all over the frame with a few simple words in the middle - "Blackthorn Detective Agency". There was a small bee on its left.

Kit fastly crossed the street, holding his hat. Some man angrily shooted, cursing the sudden wind that scattered many leaves, newspapers and even a few hats. Kit laughed. He missed London even though it wasn't the most awesome place.

He stood up in front of the agency, hesitating. He knew the guy who ran it is young, very good at what he does and known among people as Sherlock Holmes. Kit didn't know almost anything about him. What if he was a criminal? Or another kind of dangerous person?

But he remembered the look on his father's face. The empty package. Kit needed the money, no matter what kind of guy was this Sherlock.

He quietly opened the door and looked around the room as he was entering. It was kind of a lobby but a lot smaller - there was space only for two comfortable-looking armchairs, mahogany mass and a portrait hidden behind a curtain. The walls were in nice, warm colors, mainly grey and brown, a turned off radio on the desk. In the right corner, almost unnoticeable was a polished ajar wooden door.

Kit cautiously stepped towards it but then he heard voices. He stopped, grateful he was quiet while coming inside.

“... think so?” this was a woman's voice, perhaps a girl's.

“Look. All I know is that my friend disappeared a few days ago,” this was definitely a woman's voice, probably older than the first one. “He didn't show up for our meeting the next day. He didn't send a note. And…” she hesitated.

“What is it?” this time it was a male's voice.

There was a minute of silence, then:

“The only reason I come here is not because I can't do investigation on my own. It's because…” she sighed. “The last day we saw each other, exactly the day before our appointment, he told me there is a secret that was passed to him to protect. And he told me about it. Not everything, not enough details, but I'm sure he told me because he knew he may be… attacked. I think his… attackers may know about me and this would impede the investigation.“

“I understand,” the male voice again. It was a nice voice. Melodic. Kit could listen to it for hours. “I suppose you can't tell us this secret.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I definitely can't. It's not mine to say.”

After this no one said anything but Kit thought he heard a pen writing fast on a paper.

“Is there anything further you want to share?” asked the male voice.

“I don't think so,” the woman said. “Just… be careful. Find my friend. The money is not a problem.”

Kit swallowed. Money. This woman had money. Kit should get the job at all costs.

“Thank you, Miss Loss. We will do everything we can to help.”

This was followed by silence and noise of moving clothes. Tracking of heels. Kit jumped off the door, hoping he wouldn't be caught eavesdropping.

A woman with blue skin and white hair came out of the room. A warlock. She suspiciously looked at Kit but didn't say anything. She walked past him and frowned at the sky.

“London's weather is terrible, isn't it?” Kit chuckled. “Sometimes I forget.”

A shadow of a smile crossed the woman's face. “It is, indeed. That's why I brought an umbrella.”

“Lucky you. I always forget and I'm supposed to live here.”

Then a real smile appeared on her face. But she didn't say anything - just put on her gloves, took out her umbrella and went outside. As she opened her umbrella right in front of Kit her skin and hair became darker and she wasn't warlock anymore - just a regular woman in the rain.

Kit watched after her for a second then turned around. On the door's frame was leaning a girl. Not much older than Kit probably, with bright blue-green eyes that was watching him curiously. She was wearing gloves, white shirt with puff sleeves and coffee brown wide leg pants, almost as dark as her curly hair. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. Kit noticed a necklace around her neck, with a gold chain and a slim disk of metal on it. On the front was a wreath of thorns - probably the family symbol.

“How can I help you?” she asked politely.

“I'm here for the job. I heard that… Sherlock… is looking for a partner.”

“Yes, that's right,” she said. “Very well. Come in.”

She turned around and got back into the room she and the other woman were in. Kit followed.

It was an office. The shelves on the walls were filled with books - some of them about mathematics and the morse code, about the body language and animals, others - mysteries and classics, fairy tales and mythology, most of which Kit didn't recognize. It was surprisingly cozy - the room was warm and smelled like ink and paper. There were a few maps on the walls - of the world, of England and of London. Three armchairs like the ones in the lobby and surprisingly many tables (at least three) on which were a few little toys and tons of well organized paper - on one was even a disassembled watch. Right against the door, no more than 5 meters away, was a big desk - it was a little messy, with a rotary dial telephone and two chairs on both sides. Probably for the clients.

There was also a board, standing close to the desk - big, see-through board on wheels with paper and written things on it. A young man was cleaning it right now.

As Kit saw him everything around faded a little and his gaze was focused only on him. How beautiful.

This was probably the most good-looking man Kit has ever seen. He was tall, taller than Kit, with messy black hair which showed he probably runs a hand through it a lot. His eyes were grey like the sky outside, carefully reading a piece of paper. He was wearing gloves, a silk white shirt, a little loosened on his neck and black trousers with braces.

This should be Sherlock, Kit thought. He didn't expect him to be so young. Hell, he probably wasn't much older than Kit.

“We have a job candidate," the blue-greened girl said and sat on one of the armchairs.

The young man lifted his gaze to look at Kit. Kit felt embarrassed. He was wearing his favorite overcoat and cap - he wasn't as elegant as the two of them.

“Hello,” he said, trying not to sound too nervous. Or desperate. “I'm here for the job. I heard that Sherlock is looking for someone helping him.”

None of them said who Sherlock was or if the guy in front of him was Sherlock. The black haired one just nodded.

“You can sit if you want.”

Kit sat. The boy took a notebook from one the piles on the desk and a pen.

“My name is Livvy. This is my brother, Ty. We run this place. Nice to meet you.”

They, Livvy actually, asked him a few basic questions - his name, age, occupation. Kit came here prepared to lie for them all. But watching the boys' - Ty's - face while he was writing down the information, he couldn't make himself tell all the lies he had prepared. Kit ended up telling them the truth. His father would be disappointed in him. Well, if he knew his son was here.

“So, Mr. Rook,” the girl started.

Kit shivered. “Please, Mr. Rook is my father. You can call me just Kit.”

“Kit, it is,” she smiled. Kit had a feeling the serious questions begin now.

After almost 30 minutes the interview was at its end.

“Final question,” Livvy said. “Tell us Kit, why do you want to work in this agency?”

Kit paused. “True to be told, it's mainly because I need the money.”

“Oh,” clearly this wasn't the answer she expected. Even Ty looked up. “Really?”

Kit shifted uncomfortably. “Well… I want to help my father and for this I need to find a job. And when I saw the inquiry in the newsletter… I told myself this is what I want to try to work.”

It wasn't the greatest answer, really. But it was the truth.

“Very well,” Livvy said. Ty wrote something in his notebook - he was doing it the whole interview. “Please, leave us alone for a few minutes.”

Kit nodded and got up. He smiled at them and turned around.

When he got out of the room the door closed tightly after him.

•

Livvy turned to him with a playful smile.

“What do you think about him?”

Ty looked at the notes he had made during the interview. Christopher, also known as Kit Rook.

“He looks like he can do the job,” Ty said.

“Oh, come on!” Livvy stepped away from the door and approached Ty's desk. “I know you liked him.”

It was true. Ty did like him. He had a nice smile.

“You're not wrong,” Ty said. “But.”

“But?” Livvy raised an eyebrow.

“I don't think he'll keep up around for long. You heard him. He's here only for the money. When he is financially stable again he'd quit.”

“Ty,” Livvy sighed. “We talked about this. We're looking for someone who will work here, no matter how long. We can't find a full time worker that fast.”

Ty ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and breathed. He looked at the empty board. He already imagined how he filled it with paper, the possible connections and people, places and details, the web of the case - could this stranger help him solve the board?

“I know you don't like strangers,” Livvy said quietly. “But at least give him a chance. From all the people that came, he is… I don't know. Most reliable-looking, I suppose. He would talk with people and he's smart. And I have a feeling he may know a thing or two about London's criminals.”

Ty looked suspiciously at the door, even though he couldn't see Kit through it. “Do you really think he would be helpful?”

Livvy sat on the chair in front of the desk, looking amused - Ty wasn't sure why. “I think he is worth a try.”

Ty looked at his notes one more time, tapping with the pan on them. He looked at Livvy. Sighed.

“All right,” he said. “Let him in. He must hear the good news.”

Livvy smiled at him and got up. Ty almost didn't hear their conversation. Still tapping with the pen on the papers, he read again all the information Catarina Loss gave him. He should talk with some people. Check some places. To think about it.

“Ty?”

“Yes?” he looked at Livvy.

“When is Kit starting?”

Ty thought about it for a second. “Right now.”

•

Well, Kit thought. These guys are intense.

He watched, sitting on a chair, as Ty and Livvy together "prepared" for the case. Ty cleaned up one table, while Livvy moved the London's map closer to the see-through board. At some point they were finished and Livvy sat on the same chair she was sitting on during Kit's interview, while Ty remained standing.

“Let's retell get the case from the beginning,” Ty said and grabbed his notebook. “Before four days, on 10th October Ragnor Fell arrived in London, around 2 p.m. After that, around 4 p.m he and Catarina Loss met on George Street, in a restaurant whose name is unknown. They sat there no more than three hours and left between 6 and 6:30 p.m. This is the last time Catarina sees Ragnor. The next day, 11th October, they should have met at Arthur Street at 11 a.m. but Ragnor never appears.”

He looked up from his notebook and said, “Do I miss something?”

“I don't think so,” Livvy, who had written fast while her brother was talking, shook her head. She turned to Kit as she was handing the paper to Ty. “This is the 'skeleton' of the story. The very basics we know. The details come after this.”

Kit nodded, fascinated by the team they were. What was Kit even doing here? It was obvious the twins worked well together - they didn't need a third wheel.

“Now,” Ty said slowly, looking at the paper with the information Livvy wrote on. “Ragnor told Catarina the secret during their meeting on 10th, correct?” On another list, which he pinned next to the first one, he carefully started to write what he just said. He was making a timeline, Kit realized.

“Correct,” his sister said. “Also, in the same conversation he mentioned he's going to meet with a person named Raphael Santiago, but it's unclear when and where.”

Ty wrote that too.

Then he stared at it, tapping the pen on his hand.

“Do we know when he comes from?” Kit suddenly asked.

They both turned their heads at him at the same time. A little creepy but impressive.

“What do you mean?”

“I was talking about Ragnor and his train. Do we know where the train started from? Or from where Ragnor was before arriving here?”

Ty intensely searched his journal. “I don't think so.”

“It's probably not important anyway…”

“It may be,” Ty just said and took one more paper, wrote something on it and pinned it on the other side of the list with the 'skeleton'. “This is the first thing we're going to check tomorrow.”

For a few more hours they discussed the case. It was Ty mostly and Livvy. Kit was only following their conversations (and Ty's monologues), adding some little details time to time.

He was amazed. After spending a few hours in their company he could understand why "Blackthorn Detective Agency" had this reputation.

Kit looked at the clock on his hand and stood up. “I'm sorry but I have to go.”

It was almost 6 p.m. His father would wonder where he was.

“All right,” Livvy said. “Come here tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. Or earlier.”

Kit shivered. So early. But he only nodded and left.

•

Kit was running down the street. The wind was blowing in his face, his lungs were burning. He could barely stop in front of the door of "Blackthorn Detective Agency". Kit took one deep breath and entered.

Ty was in the lobby, sitting on one of the armchairs. He was reading his notes, in one hand holding a calabash pipe and in the other - his journal.

He glanced at Kit. “You're late.”

“I'm sorry,“ Kit said. It was his first day - it was a bad impression to be late, wasn't it? “I didn't correctly estimate how long it would take me to get here. I promise it won't happen again.”

“Good,” Ty said, closing his notebook. He got up from the armchair and grabbed the overcoat that was on the other.

He was as tall and handsome as yesterday. Under the overcoat he was wearing clothes similar as the day before - only the shirt was green. The braces remained the same.

“Let's go.”

“Shall we not wait for Livvy?”

“She is not coming with us.”

“Oh. All right.”

Ty eyed him as they were leaving the building. “Are you disappointed?”

“Well. No. Just surprised I suppose.”

Ty seemed like he accepted his answer. They walked side by side on the street.

“Where are we going? To the train station?”

“We shall,” Ty said. “But our first stop is Ragnor's apartment because it's closer. Then we'll take a taxi to the train station.”

“Sounds good.”

They walked together in the chilly London. Kit could see his breath in the air. The streets were rather empty. Maybe it was because it was too early? Anyway, he liked it this way. It was calm.

“So,” Kit said. “Why do you choose to call yourself Sherlock? Where does it come from?”

“Livvy came up with it,” Ty said, glancing around the street. Maybe he was searching for Ragnor's apartment. “And I'm not Sherlock.”

Kit was so shocked he stopped walking for a second. Then he caught up with Ty and asked, “Wait, you're not Sherlock Holmes? Then who is it?”

“Well,” Ty said and turned towards the street on the left. “It's Livvy and I. Although she probably will disagree.”

“Interesting,” Kit said absently. This explained some things. Like why no one could tell how Sherlock looked or his age. Even if he was male or female even though most people thought it's a man.

“This is it,” Ty said and they stopped in front of a tall but narrow building, reminiscent of a tower. “I believe Ragnor's apartment is on the third floor.”

Instead of entering the building from the main entrance, they went around to the rear entrance. While they climbed the stairs (because around the elevator too many people would see them), Kit asked, “Do you have a key to the apartment?”

“No,” Ty simply said.

“You say we're going to break in?”

“Well, technically, yes. But Catarina Loss said we should do everything we can to find him. Even if this includes "some not so legal actions", in her words.”

“Dear god,” Kit murmured. “So, we, kind of, have her permission to break in her friend's apartment?”

“That's right.”

Does he know how to do that? Kit thought but didn't say it. He probably knew. This was Sherlock Holmes (or at least half of it).

They quietly sneaked throughout the floor, until Ty stopped in front of room 66B.

He frowned at it.

“What is it?” Kit said.

“It seems that the lock is not... what I expected it to be,” Ty sounded deeply displeased when he said it.

Kit signed. He didn't want to seem like a criminal but desperate situations require desperate measures.

“Have you brought some instrument to open the door?” Kit said, already looking at the lock. “Small screwdriver perhaps? Or something like it?”

“I did,” Ty said absently, tapping with his foot. He was probably thinking of other ways to open the door without breaking it. Well, with a bit of luck Kit was going to do it for him.

“Can you give it to me? I want to try something.”

For a second Ty just looked at him but did as Kit asked.

Kit took the little object and kneeled in front of the door. The lock was better than he expected from a place like this but nothing unbearable.

After a few minutes, a few clicks and pressure on the mechanism Kit unlocked it. He stood up and gave the screwdriver back to Ty.

Ty was looking at him with amused eyes. “Unexpected but very helpful. Thank you.”

Kit felt warm and smiled. He wasn't used to people complimenting him. Shyness he didn't know existed in him woke up and he just said, “Nothing special. You're welcome any time.”

Ty gave him a thoughtful look for a second but didn't say anything.

They walked in the Ragnor Fell flat. It was a rather simple room. Pale red wallpapers, boring green sofa. A dresser and a desk with a few books about Spanish language on it. Bookshelf and a few plants. In the end of the room was a door, as boring as everything else here, that was probably the bedroom.

“This doesn't make sense,” Ty said, looking around the room. He approached the desk and looked at the books.

“What? That this flat is awfully boring for a warlock to live in? If so, yes, you're right.”

“No. I mean,” Ty ran a hand through his hair. “You have a point. I suppose. But I meant that such a warlock as him would protect his own flat at least. We get into it too easy. There were no spells, no protection, nothing. This is strange.”

Kit closed the door to the apartment and stepped in it. “Maybe he just didn't have the time?”

Ty shook his head, opening a drawer in the desk. It was empty. “Between his meeting with Catarina and his arrival in London are two whole hours. After that too, if we guess he hasn't been kidnapped right after meeting her.”

“Fair point.”

Kit looked around as well, approaching the door. There really wasn't anything interesting. Most of the books were classics, the sofa looked old but unused. Kit opened the door to the bedroom which creaked quietly.

This room was even simpler. One big bed, two nightstands on both sides of it and one more wood door, probably for a bathroom or closet. At one of them though there was a frame. As Kit took it in his arms he saw it was a black and white photograph. In the middle Kit recognized Catarina Loss - she was smiling quietly with crossed on her chest arms. On the right was a tall guy with cat eyes and a big smile, maybe a little drunk.

Kit decided the man on the left was Ragnor - he couldn't imagine a guy like the other one would live in place like this. Maybe-Ragnor looked grumpy and annoyed but Kit could see in his sparkling eyes that he was happy. He probably loved his friends but would never admit it.

On the right corner with a thick pen was written 'Peru,1890'.

“Did you find something?”

Kit looked a little startled at Ty. He almost forgot they were here to investigate. Almost.

“Something,” Kit repeated. He handed the frame to Ty and watched as his grey eyes were running through the photo.

“Peru, 1890,” he said thoughtfully. “This photography is from more than 40 years ago.”

“It's the only personal piece here. Probably in the whole flat, except the Spanish books.”

“You have a point,” Ty agreed. “But this is not his-”

A sharp sound interrupted him. It was the front door. Someone was trying to break it.

Kit breath stopped. Before he could do anything Ty grabbed his arm, opened the wood door and dragged them both inside.

Ty closed the door to the narrow dark room. Kit couldn't see anything. The only material thing was Ty's body against him. A moment later they heard how the stranger broke the lock and their steps as they came inside.

To be continued...

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART TWO

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 27k (will likely crash on mobile - use desktop!)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | INSPO TAG | TALK TO ME ABOUT RCG 

a/n: and just like that...it’s over! thank you for the love on part one, and for reading part two. i’m so excited for you all to read this one! thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner, and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. Wutherford doesn’t exist and is 100% a figment of my imagination.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Cicely practically ran all the way to Josiah’s. She had been there only a handful of times before, usually by accident when she was out with Harry and he told her he had to stop by. The first time she had met Josiah, she was apprehensive, unsure what to make of the man standing behind the oak desk across from her, a cocky smile on his face. He reminded her of men she had met dozens of times before, men too big for their britches, as her father said. But then he spoke to Harry, and she could see how much he cared for him, despite the tension between them. She suspected it was more on Harry’s end than Josiah’s, the result of trustworthy people being few and far between in his life. Josiah might have been brash and rough around the edges, but Cicely didn’t mind that too much. He was nothing but kind to her, polite, told her that if anyone fucked with her they would answer to him, and it was a promise.

A promise she intended on holding him to.

She rapped on the glass of the door in the pattern she had seen Harry do, bouncing up and down on the toes of her boots as she waited for the door to open. When it did, it was Clara, the secretary who had offered to take Cicely shopping if she needed to. “Cicely?” She asked, and then took one looked at the panicked expression on her face and opened the door wider. “Harry’s in with Josiah.”

Cicely pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time, thankful she had spent her life doing unconventional things like riding horses and running around on the estate rather than embroidering in the parlor. When she pushed open the door to Josiah’s office, she was panting from racing through the house, and the conversation in the room immediately cut out. Josiah, Jack, and Harry were sitting there, their faces all turned to her in surprise.

She had taken an especially strong liking to Jack, who she knew was Harry’s closest friend and confidante. He was everything his brother wasn’t in the ways that mattered—soft spoken, a kind smile, warm eyes. But she could tell he had another side to him, one that made people cower in fear when he entered a room. It was a side she was relying on.

Her eyes swept right to Harry’s, one hand resting on the door jamb and the other on her stomach as it rose and fell with her breath. “My father,” she said, breathless. “He found me.”

“Fuck,” Harry responded in an exhale, rising from the chair he sat in and coming to her side. He pressed a palm to her cheek and his eyes criss-crossed her face as if he was checking for damage. Thankfully, there was none. “What happened?”

She gripped his wrist as she told the story, describing the scene on the front steps and the way her hair stood up from the policeman’s gaze. “I just know it,” she told him earnestly. “He figured it out and he’s not going to waste time before he gets here.”

“What do you want us to do?” Josiah asked, leaning over the oak desk and looking her straight in the eye. “I hate William King enough to do just about anything you me to do, all ya have to do is say the word.”

Cicely considered it. She knew he would kill her father if she asked, and while she hated her father with every bone in her body, she didn’t want him murdered in cold blood. That would leave her mother alone on that estate and it would be hard for Cicely to run from everything, since she was the sole heir to the family name, the business, everything. Even though she wouldn’t be in charge—her father had seen to it that she would fall to her husband, and until she married the second in command of the company—it still meant that she couldn’t abandon ship. Her mother would never forgive her, and even though her mother had done countless things that were unforgivable, Cicely still loved her. Far more than she did her father, at least.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, stepping around Harry’s body so she was facing Josiah head on. “But don’t let him make me leave. Threaten him with force and protect Harry at all costs.”

“Don’t need protectin’,” he muttered behind him but she ignored it. To her, he was the one thing worth saving when everything went to hell and no matter how good he was at fighting someone, her father had an affinity for guns. And Harry refused to carry one after the war.

“You will if bullets are involved.” Josiah reached for the telephone, picking up the receiver and dialing for the operator. “Sergeant Petty, Birmingham Police, please Miriam.”

Of course he was on a first name basis with the operator, Cicely thought to herself. She felt a hand on her lower back, and she rotated her head just enough to catch Harry out of the corner of her eye. He was tense, she could see it in his eyes, the way they were partially looking at her but also spacing off, the crease between his brows and the tightness of his jaw. “Harry,” she whispered, quiet enough that no one else in the room could hear. “I’m going to be okay.” She didn’t really know if that was true, but she needed Harry to believe it. When he was like this it was hard for him to think straight, and she needed his mind in order to make sure she stayed out of her father’s clutches.  

“I…” Harry sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor. “Are you sure ya want to stay?”

The thought of letting her father take her home hadn’t even crossed her mind when she saw the policeman in the street. Instead, her thoughts revolved around how to make sure she could stay with Harry, how to keep them safe from her father. The prospect of returning to the hell that was her home, her life, her predetermined future, was enough to make her nod her head. “Positive,” she told him, and his eyes lifted to hers.

She could see his jaw relax, his eyes clear and really look at her. He was better.

“Petty, I need to know if some of your men have been working for William King.” Josiah was speaking into the phone, a hand open on the desk, resting on a collection of papers. “And when is that supposed to take place?” His eyes shifted to Cicely, then Harry, and finally rested on Jack. His brother shifted in his seat and picked up a cigarette from the box on the table, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Keep everybody away from the area, ya hear me? Every man that you can keep out of the area, do it. No, I’m not telling you shit.” Josiah slammed down the receiver and downed the rest of the glass of whiskey on his desk.

The fast that it was eleven in the morning hardly seemed relevant.

“Your asshole of a father has the city police out on patrol for ya. Seems someone got a sighting of ya and tipped them off that you were at Harry’s, in Balsall. He’s comin’ to collect ya tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“That’s in less than 24 hours,” Harry said, the hand on her back forming into a fist that she wished she could unfurl.

Josiah grabbed the bottle of whiskey and refilled his crystal glass, and then two others. He pushed them towards Cicely and Harry before saying, “Just means we got a lot of planning to do.”

Jack dropped Cicely and Harry off at the house at half past six, after the plans had been put in motion and there was no going back. Josiah had told them to let him and Jack handle it, to stay inside and out of sight, and that they’d post a few men outside to keep an eye on the house in case her father decided to surprise them a bit early. With a nod to Harry and a kiss to Cicely’s temple, Jack drove off, leaving Harry and Cicely behind on the street. It was empty, everyone at work or out running errands, just a few children out on their porches up the block.

Harry unlocked the door quietly and Cicely followed him inside. They hadn’t spoken for all of the car ride from Josiah’s, Cicely because she didn’t know what was going through Harry’s head, and Harry because he was too angry to think of words. As he moved through the house, Cicely could tell he was angry. The way he sighed sharply and lit a cigarette, clenched at the table as he studied a wall, before pacing back and forth in the hallway, a hand roughly running through his hair. She stood next to the stairs, watching him, unsure what to say.

These were the moments when Cicely was reminded how much of Harry she still didn’t know. She had never seen him angry, at least, not like this. This was a kind of anger she couldn’t wipe from his body with a wet rag, or push away with a kiss to his forehead. It was anger she was wrapped up in, although not her fault, something she couldn’t fix without hurting them.

It was Harry who spoke first, in a shocking change. He turned to her, chest heaving. “Don’t wanna lose ya,” he said, staring daggers into her soul.

Cicely moved finally, through the distance between them, her boots clicking on the worn floorboards. “I don’t either,” she whispered, pressing a palm to his cheek. She ghosted her fingertips over his eyelids when they fluttered shut at her touch, and tried to memorize his face. The fading bruise on his jaw, the curl of his hair by his ears, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, how soft he looked in moments like this. Her thumb shifted across his face and brushed over his lip, running along the tender skin there.

His eyes fluttered open at the contact, his anger replaced with a desire Cicely had grown used to in recent days. The darkening of his pupils, the way his gaze focused on her lips as he looked at her. “How,” he began, not meeting her eyes, “have I only known ya for a week, but it feels like an eternity?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice soft in the house. All she could hear was the sound of their haggard breathing and the tick of the old clock in the sitting room. “It feels like you were made for me. Like I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hands found her hips, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. Cicely took a step towards him, their chests nearly touching, and in a breath, found his lips with hers. Her fingers curled into his hair like she knew he liked and held him close to her, memorizing the way his lips tasted, how it felt to have his nose slotted against hers, the press of his body against hers and the heat of his palms on her hips. It was a dream she never wanted to wake from.

In a moment, Harry took a step towards her, forcing her backwards, and then another, until her back was pressed against the wall underneath the stairs. She arched her back and a sound left Harry’s throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl when her breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of their shirts brushing against each other harshly. Their lips fought one another, Cicely sucking on his bottom lip and Harry biting softly down on hers and making her giggle. When his tongue licked into her mouth, she flicked hers out to meet him, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Her hands explored the expanse of Harry’s back, fingers curling into his shirt, his jacket a long forgotten memory. When his lips dipped to her neck and her nails darted into his skin, he gasped by her ear, the muscles in his arm flexing as he formed a fist against the wall. She wanted his skin, his bare skin, to see his tattoos and his piercings and investigate every corner of his body. After his matches she was allowed snippets of time, but it was always pressured, people wanting to talk to him before they left, Harry still recovering from the fight. But now, he was here and hers, no one else waiting for his attention, his body bent over hers as he nipped at the spot just below her earlobe.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Her voice was quiet in the room, and Harry’s head lifted at her words.

He leaned back slightly and Cicely watched in rapture as he pulled the hem of it from his trousers, and then slowly over his head. A necklace she had never seen before—a cross—fell to his chest and she guessed she hadn’t seen it because he couldn’t wear it during fights. So she took this opportunity to investigate, her fingertips running down the silver chain until they reached the pendant.

“I thought you stopped believing,” she said, her forehead resting on his jaw as she surveyed the necklace. She could see his chest rise and fall, the roll of his stomach as he sucked in air sharply when her fingers ghosted over his skin.

“Started wearing it again a few days ago,” he murmured, bending his chin so he could rub it against her temple. The feeling of him nuzzling at her skin made her smile, the softness of Harry never ceasing to surprise her.

He had such a hard facade up and most of it was all lies. A protective mechanism that resulted from years of pain and one big betrayal, one she hoped she could kick to smithereens. Tentatively, she touched his nipples, loving the hiss that filled her ears at her touch. “Why is that?”

She felt his fingers brush through the ends of her hair, the loose curls having fallen from the stress of the day. “Found somethin’ worth believing in again.”

Their lips reconnected with a fervor Cicely had experienced before between them, but something was different this time. And urgency to the way their hands gripped one another, the way Cicely stopped thinking and let her body react in the way it wanted, her hips pressing up against his, the brush of their most intimate places making them gasp into one another’s mouths.

Cicely wanted more. She wanted to see every inch of him laid out below her, to run her fingers over his skin and discover which spots made him gasp. She wanted him to see her and do the same, to tell her all the thoughts bottled up in her head. But more than anything, she wanted a moment to remember forever, so that no matter what happened tomorrow, she could hold onto the memory of this night.

“Harry.” His head lifted, eyes finding hers in the soft glow of the hallway light. “Can you take me upstairs?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek tenderly. “Ya sure?”

“Yes.”

With that word, Harry’s hands drifted from their home on her hips down her skirt-covered thighs. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up so that he could touch her skin, and then gripped the back of them. With the flex of his arms, he pulled her up, her legs easily wrapping around his waist so that he was carrying her. In this position, their lips were level and Cicely took full advantage, smothering his face with soft kisses that brought out a rare smile on his face as he maneuvered them up the stairs gracefully. She knew Harry was strong, the sight of his body taught under her hands as he carried her made her understand how truly powerful he was.

He knocked open the bedroom door with his hip and Cicely took in the room they had shared for the past few nights, curled up under the covers together. She had chased away his nightmares in this bed. Even though her bed at home might have been more comfortable, she had never felt so at home between any sheets like she did in Harry’s.

Delicately, he dropped her onto the duvet cover, and Cicely held him to her, forcing his body on top of hers. Their foreheads knocked, but they didn’t mind, Harry’s hands finding the space on either side of her head to support himself, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his stomach. She loved having free range over his body, touching him as she pleased, watching how his features contorted in front of her with every press of her palms. Her skirts were rucked up, trapped under his knees, and she wanted them off, the material heavy on her body.

“Can you help me take this off?” She asked him, squeezing his skin to get his attention. He had been sucking a spot on the base of her neck, which as much as she enjoyed the feeling of, she wanted her warm skin to be free more.

Harry’s gaze scattered over her body before reaching her face. “All of it?” She nodded and he shuddered, hesitant hands pulling at the cotton blouse that was tucked into the waist of the skirt.

Cicely sat up so he could pull it over her head, and when it was gone Harry stared at her for seconds that stretched into a minute. Her brassiere over her breasts, straining from her heavy breaths, her soft skin, unmarred from a life without disease and violence. There wasn’t a mark on her, and Harry marveled at the beauty of her body in front of him, wondering how he could have ever been so lucky to have found her. Then, he reached his hands around her  to where the clasp laid, eyes searching hers to make sure it was okay before he pulled the material away.

When he bent his head, tongue running over the sensitive rises of her breasts, Cicely gasped, her fingers moving from the covers to his hair, holding his head to her skin. It was a sensation she didn’t know how to describe and it sent shockwaves through her body. Then he moved to her other nipple and she moaned, desperation on her vocal chords.

“Skirt?” He murmured into her skin, and Cicely mumbled her approval. Her skin was on fire and she just needed  it all off, to let the cool air rush over her. With deft fingers, he undid the buttons at the back of the skirt, and Cicely laid back so he could slide it down her legs. Every inch of skin that was revealed made Harry’s breathing quicken, the sight of a woman nearly naked in front of him one he hadn’t encountered since before France.

It was almost embarrassing how desperate he was for her in every single way. He wanted to make her moan, to hear his name on her tongue, to make her squirm, to make her cry out in ecstasy. But he started with moving down her body, pulling from his memories what he wanted to do to her, show her. “What are you doing?” She asked, confusion evident in her tone.

“Want to taste ya,” he mumbled, a kiss pressed to her hipbone where the line of her underwear laid. “Make ya feel good. Is that okay?”

Without hesitation, Cicely nodded and Harry ducked his head down, his eyesight level with her center. He decided to keep her underwear on, not wanting to rush her too fast. Tentatively, he brushed his forefinger over her underwear and Cicely gasped, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. She didn’t know what she ached for, but she just knew she didn’t want him to stop. And when he darted out his tongue and swiped it over her clothed center, his name fell from her lips in a prayer.

“Goin’ to pull these to the side,” he told her, not wanting to catch her by surprise. “Stop me at any time if ya want.” He waited for her nod before continuing, pulling the edge to the side to reveal her wet pussy waiting for him. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the sight of her overwhelming him. “Beautiful, every inch of ya, know that?”

The giggle that left her mouth quickly turned to a gasp when he licked over her, the tang of her like a holiday meal, one to be treasured for the rest of the year. He was tender, not wanting to hurt her, brushing circles and lines up and down her sensitive flesh. When her fingers moved from his shoulders to curl through his hair, he smiled into her skin, the signs of her pleasure making him proud. He was hers, and she was his. In this moment, it was as simple as that.

“Harry.” She pulled his roots and Harry couldn’t help the groan that he let out onto her flesh, the vibrations making her thighs clasp around his head. When she went to pull them away, Harry stopped her, holding her thighs close as he licked up and down her again, kitten licks to her bud. “Oh my God,” she said. She went to clasp a hand over her mouth but Harry gripped her wrist, holding it to the bed.

“Wanna hear ya,” he mumbled. “Don’t care about the neighbors.”

Cicely decided she didn’t either, because the prospect of having to think about anything but the tension rising in her belly would have overwhelmed her brain. His tongue felt like heaven on her skin, the warm wetness making her thighs tense. She worried she was hurting him but Harry seemed to like it, so she didn’t stop, just tugged on his head to keep him close and moaned. The sounds leaving her body were ones she had never heard before, but they became her favorite things, wanting to experience Harry drawing them from her for the rest of time.

He pulled away for a second, replacing his mouth with his fingers, and looked to Cicely’s face. The rise and fall of her breasts made him want to rut into the bed but he held back, wanting the moment to be all about her. “How d’ya feel, love?”

“Good,” she said in a rush, her voice raw from panting. “Um, tense? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed out, returning to her folds, “that’s good, Ci.” The nickname had appeared a few times in the past few days and it fit perfectly in his mouth. He loved how it made her smile, eyelashes flutter as she looked down at him.

He held her eyesight as he licked her skin, wanting to watch her unfurl in front of him. It was like a boxing match in a way, reading his opponent to know the moment he was desperately waiting for, using his instincts to change his actions to draw the reaction he wanted. He darted his tongue to her slit and she bucked into him, so he hesitantly pressed at her slit, wanting to open her up a bit for him. He wasn’t small, he knew that, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She hummed in appreciation, so he continued, the feeling of licking inside of her making him grip at her skin in an attempt to hold himself to Earth. Her head tilted back, long neck exposed to him and he wished he could be in two places at once—at her neck and in between her legs.

When his tongue got tired, he replaced it with one of his fingers, Cicely moaning at the feeling. She watched him in rapture, the feeling of his digit inside of her alighting every part of her body. It was unusual, but not bad—she wanted more, in fact. She could feel herself reaching a precipice, of what she wasn’t sure, but she knew she needed more. “More.” Harry looked at her, questioning, and she nodded. “Please.”

Harry responded by curling his finger, twirling it inside of her to reach every inch of her and a quick motion over her bud. She could feel herself tightening around him and at first she thought it was bad but he mumbled how good it felt into her skin, so she let herself do it again. She could feel that edge racing towards her like she was flying, and she struggled to keep her eyes open before giving up, eyelids drifting shut and her head tilting back again.

Her hips bucked, the tension rising, and then with a brush to the spongy spot inside of her, she snapped with a cry of his name. Harry didn’t let her go, pushing in and out of her as she fell apart, kissing her inner thighs. Watching her finish was like a movie to him, one he would’ve paid his life’s earnings to see just one more time. Her cheeks glowed, eyes wide, chest rising with quick breaths as she calmed down. Slowly he pulled his finger from her and she hissed at the loss, Harry giving her a small smile as he sucked his finger dry so her juices didn’t get all over the duvet.

“I…” She didn’t have the words but Harry knew. “Come here,” was all she got out, and Harry responded in a flash, his body moving up hers immediately.

Their lips reconnected and the taste of her on his tongue made her crave more. Her legs wound around his waist and Harry grunted when her bare center brushed over his still clothed dick. He pulled back and brushed a hair from her forehead. “Ci,” he said softly, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You,” she answered, fingers gliding down his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—“

She pressed a finger to his lips that silenced him immediately. “I’m sure.”

He kissed every inch of her face, heart cresting at the giggles that spilled from her mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his lips to hers, Harry sighing into the kiss. Kissing Cicely was a euphoria he had never known before. It made every other thought in his brain fall to the wayside, which was exactly what he needed.

Suddenly, Cicely was tightening her knees at his hips and using them to rotate him. He fell to the side, his back hitting the duvet, and the sight of Cicely hovering over him made him twitch in his pants. “Is this okay?” Cicely asked, her fingers ghosting up his chest.

“Yes,” he replied, breathless from the feeling of her touching him. He could feel her everywhere, smell her, hear nothing but the beat of their hearts in the room.

Cicely gazed down at him, his chest rising and falling below her, the tattoos that littered his body. She wanted to trace each and every one of them, memorize his inked skin so that it filled her dreams. She started with his hands, ghosting over the silver rings that adorned his knuckles with her lips, Harry’s eyes never leaving her face. When she kissed the cross on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry couldn’t help but brush the pad of his thumb over her lips. She parted her lips, a coy smile on her face, and with a tenderness he didn’t know someone could have, captured the tip of his thumb in between her teeth.

She didn’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but with him she didn’t worry about what someone might think. Her thoughts were filled with him, the rest of the world gone for the moment, her mind only focused on what would make his breath catch in his throat. Inching up his forearm and then his bicep, she alternated between open-mouthed and soft pecks to his skin, tracing the outline of the rose with her lips. She scratched delicately at the ship on his bicep, a caress to the sails, and thumbed over what he informed her was Hebrew. Then, she drifted her hands across his shoulders, pulling at his tense muscles before she dipped her head, sponging a kiss across the A, then the 17Black, the two crosses, and then across her favorites—the swallows. His silver cross laid between them, stuck to his skin with sweat, and when she sucked the heavy chain into her mouth, Harry exhaled her name in a moan that made her grin.

“Feel good?” She asked, voice heavy with desire. Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to be able to properly describe the sensations running through his blood. Feeling her lips on his skin was licking a fire through him that rivaled the pits of hell.

And then, Cicely reached her favorite addition to Harry’s body—the barbells tucked through his nipples. Up until then, all she had done was touch them, but remembering how it felt when Harry licked her breasts, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for her to do the same. So she bent her head and tentatively brushed her tongue over his right nipple.

Harry bucked into her, his grip on her waist tightening to a pressure she hadn’t felt before. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes wide at the sight of her on top of him, mouth suckling on his pierced nipples. It was torture, and one he would happily submit to for hours on end.

She licked at the buds of his nipples, and then in a circle around them, tweaking the barbells under the pressure of her tongue. It was her new preferred method of pleasuring him, she thought as she watched his features contort above her. Watching him squirm and pant her name, begging her for more, had her squeezing her knees around his hips. When she accidentally rolled into him, she dug her nails into his shoulders at the sensation, moans tumbling from both of their mouths.

“I love them,” she mumbled as she licked over his left nipple, the slick of her saliva glistening on his skin.

“Yeah?” Harry didn’t know what else to say, his throat was raw and dry from his being unable to close his mouth.

“Mhm,” she murmured, the vibration sending shockwaves through him.

“Fuck,” he groaned and tugged softly at the strands of her hair. “Ci, I’m not—fuck, love, ya have to stop.”

Her head bounced up at that, eyes meeting his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry could feel a blush creeping across his features, trying to search for the words to tell her he was going to come in his pants if she kept this up. It had been too long and he was sensitive, so sensitive, and the feeling of her hips softly rolling into his by accident and her lips on his nipples and her fingers curling into his skin was sending him into another realm. “I’m not going to last if ya keep going,” he said, trying to explain.

Cicely glanced down where their centers were resting just inches from one another and then back to his face. “Oh.” Then, she moved like a cat down his legs, kneeling between them. Her fingers tucked into the buttons of his trousers, and with Harry’s help, she pulled them down his long legs. Cicely’s eyes widened, taking in the sheer size of him. She had never disrobed a man before, but she was expecting him to wear underwear like she was, only…he wasn’t. So he was exposed to the air, his dick red and throbbing against his stomach.

Harry must have been able to sense her apprehension, because he sat up, drawing her attention to his face. “Can you roll over for me, love?” He wanted it to hurt the least amount possible, and also not to overwhelm her, so he decided her on her back and him over her would be the best position.

She nodded, and crawled up, letting them switch positions on the bed. Fingers brushed across the top of her underwear and she watched as Harry pushed them down slowly, exposing her most intimate areas to his eyes. If it hadn’t been Harry, maybe she would’ve felt uncomfortable, but under his gaze she felt adored. He sat on his knees between her legs, and brushed a finger lightly over her folds, her skin sensitive under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said under his breath, almost as if he was just speaking to himself, awestruck by her.

Using her ankles, she pressed him closer to her, wanting to feel his skin against hers again. “Harry,” she murmured, reaching for him with her hands. “Want you.”

It was if the air had been sucked out of the room when those words fell on Harry’s ears. Cicely laid out on the bed in front of him, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, lips red and puffy from their kisses, her breasts rising and falling with every breath. The press of her ankles on his lower back had tugged him closer to her, so her thighs were wrapped around his waist, his dick just centimeters from her. “Okay, love, I’m comin’,” he said, leaning over her body and caging her between his arms. “It might hurt at first, so I’m going to go slow, hmm?” With his words he pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, wanting to help her relax as much as possible. “Stop me if it’s too much, don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“You couldn’t.” Her hands found his cheeks and she pulled him in for a searing kiss, before pressing their foreheads together. “I’m ready.”

Harry reached between them, palming his dick in his hand, tugging a few times, but he didn’t need much. Pleasing her had brought him nearly to the brink, and her touching his body had practically had him melting in her arms. When he brushed his tip over her slit she whimpered, and Harry brought their lips together when he pushed just the tip inside of her.

He barely held back the curses that begged to fall from his mouth, not wanting to make it all about him. He just searched her eyes, their faces so close there was just a hair’s distance between them, waiting for the pinch between her brows to soften. The pain wasn’t as bad as Cicely was expecting, but it wasn’t quite good either—somewhere in the middle ground. She just wanted him to move, to get it over with, almost. She had never been good with prolonging something, pain especially. “Move,” she murmured against his lips.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut at the thought, but then opened to make sure he could see her face, check in with her as he moved. “Promise me you’ll tell me to stop,” he asked, a hand brushing at the hair on her face.

“Promise.”

With that, Harry pushed the rest of the way inside in one motion, Cicely’s head tipping back as a low moan ripped from her throat. He stayed there, fully inside of her, his arms shaking on either side of her head as he tried to hold it together. Her hands pressed into his sides, fingers digging into his muscular back as she adjusted to him. It was an overwhelming feeling, being filled with him, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She didn’t know how to describe it, but it felt so right, especially with him.

It was like her body knew what to do, though, because once the initial burning feeling had subsided, her ankle pushed into his lower back, just centimeters from the top of his ass, and he pushed slightly deeper into her. Moans fell between them, Harry gripping the sheets for something to hold onto. “Want me to move, love?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, her lips surging up to find his.

And so Harry did. He pulled out, the feeling of her walls gripping him like a vice making his eyelids shut, and then back into her, losing himself to the feeling of being this close to her. One of her arms draped across the back of his neck, the other around his chest to keep him close to her as he pushed into her, deeply and slowly. He peppered kisses down her neck and across her collarbones, bathing in the sounds of her pants and breathy moans.

Cicely couldn’t focus on any one particular thing, just the feeling of him filling every inch of her in a way she didn’t know she was missing until this very moment. She had always dreamed of her first time being with someone she loved, and when Harry kissed her eyelids tenderly, she realized her dream had come true. When his hips swiveled into her, the angle changing slightly, Cicely’s head tipped back, her neck bared to Harry.

He didn’t let the opportunity pass him by—he was on her exposed skin in seconds, covering her with kisses and nips. “God, ya feel like heaven,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck when she clamped down around him, knees pressing into the sides of his stomach. “How’d I get so lucky to find ya, hmm?”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, licking her dry lips and ducking her head down. His ring-clad fingers pushed back her hair and she tried to commit every one of his features to her memory forever. The tender touches of his hands on her skin, the antithesis of who everyone else knew him as. The cracked skin over his knuckles, still healing from a rough training day, the yellowing brush on his ribs from the fight two nights ago, the cut on his lip she had washed and kissed better. The searing gaze of his hazel eyes that felt like they managed to know the depths of her soul, regardless of how long she’d known him for. “H,” she whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

His hips stuttered and his head drew back, his whole body coming to a stop above her. “Ya—what?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she repeated, pulling at the hand that rested in her hair so she could kiss the tips of his fingers. “I know it’s fast, but…”

Harry shook his head at her, and at first she was worried it was too much too quickly, that she’d messed up. But then he lowered his forehead back to hers, and the words he uttered were so quiet she almost missed them. “I love ya,” he uttered, low in her ear. “No thought or falling involved.”

They were words he had never said to anyone else before, other than his family, and even those he hadn’t uttered in years. They were rusty on his lips, his tongue untrained in how to form the sounds. But when they landed between them, they felt right. So, utterly, effortlessly right. Harry couldn’t hide from her—he never could. She swept into his life and in a flash had ripped his strongest defenses to bits, battled her way into his heart. And perhaps it was silly to fall in love with a girl who was the opposite of who he was supposed to, but who gave a fuck anyways? She was meant for him—created for him to love, and he for her.

Cicely swept his lips to hers, tugging him into her in a kiss unrivaled by the ages. And then he pushed back into her, their moans passing between them in the tunnel their open mouths had created. She grappled at his skin, trying to find purchase, and Harry was barely holding on. “Closer,” she whimpered to him, “want to be closer.”

They were already skin to skin, but Harry knew what she meant without her having to spell it out. His hands tucked under her torso and he pulled her up, sitting back on his calves so she was sitting in his lap. His thighs burned, but he didn’t mind, because the way that Cicely keened when he pushed into her had him determined to bring her to an orgasm right there. Her legs draped around his, arms around his neck, their lips meeting and parting, the closeness she had craved successfully found.

“Oh my god.” Cicely gripped the ends of his hair, her head dropping to his shoulder as her body began to shake in his arms. “Harry.”

“Ci,” he mumbled, one of his hands drifting up to brush under her hair and thumbs running across the back of her neck. “Can ya look at me? Wanna see ya.”

Her head lifted and their eyes met, Harry staring deep into her as her legs shook around him. She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening and tightening, her grip on the moment beginning to fray as the euphoria she had experienced earlier bubbled back. All she could do was hold onto Harry and focus on the feeling of him inside her, brushing a soft spot deep inside of her. She could have sworn she could feel him in her fucking stomach, and it was a feeling she never wanted to forget. “H,” she panted out, their noses bumping as he pushed into her. His name was all she could think of, the only words she could conjure.

His hands splayed across her back, holding her torso to his. “Let go for me, love, okay? I’ve got ya.”

Perhaps that was all she needed—permission—because when he said it, the knot in her belly disintegrated, Cicely reaching a high unlike the one from earlier, a scream falling from her throat. More intense, one that had her toes curling and her whole body vibrating in Harry’s arm. Harry couldn’t hold it together anymore, the feeling of her clenching around him too much. With a bit of fumbling he was able to pull out of her, and his eyes fluttered shut as he came, a bit on her stomach, a bit on his. Her name was a prayer on his lips, repeated over and over again in the quiet of the room.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at the mess he had made. Without hesitating, she reached down and her fingers swiped at his sticky ropes of cum on her skin, and then she lifted her two fingers to her mouth, gently licking. “Fuck,” he panted, the sight sending his body into overdrive. “Gonna kill me, know that?”

Cicely just giggled in his arms, and then surged forward, reconnecting their lips, the taste of his cum on her lips, but Harry didn’t mind. He just wanted her, every bit of her, every ounce of the love she would give him. When they pulled apart, she ran her fingers across his rings before pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Wanna have a bath?”

His head bent to her chest and he sighed. “Don’t wanna go to the pump,” he mumbled.

She echoed his sigh, fingers brushing through his hair at the nape of his neck. “I forgot you don’t have running water.”

“Sounds bloody magical right about now,” he said, and she laughed, the sound filling his heart up to the brim, pieces of love falling over the edge. “How about I clean us up and we get some sleep?”

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Perfect. But only if you promise not to hog the pillow again.”

“S’rude,” he said, letting her fall back onto the duvet cover, her legs untangling from around him. He missed their presence immediately. “They are my pillows and all.” Cicely laughed again, and Harry moved from the bed, a rare smile gracing his face, one meant for her and only her. As was every single one of the smiles that had found his face since she came into his life—all for her eyes only.

The air was heavy when Cicely and Harry stepped outside at a quarter to eight the next morning. His fingers were intertwined with hers, the desire to be constantly touching after last night overwhelming both of them. Harry had on his nice jacket and his best pair of trousers, but he still paled in comparison to Cicely, who managed to make Nellie’s clothes look like they were made for her. She had combed her hair and washed up as best as she could, but she still knew her father would comment on her appearance, her being unkempt and dirty, although she didn’t care all that much. She wasn’t planning to go with him anyway.

After last night, she was Harry’s in every meaning of the word. Mind, body, and soul.

Josiah and Jack stood just past Harry’s front step, Josiah smoking a cigarette and Jack looking at them with an intensity that reminded her of Harry. “Mornin’, lovebirds,” Josiah said in an effort to keep the mood light but no one laughed. “Hope we’re feeling feisty this morning.”

Harry squeezed her hand, a reminder that he was there. They’d talked about this morning when they were curled up in bed last night, tracing one another’s naked skin. How nervous she was. This was going to mean she was cutting herself off from her family, for all intents and purposes. Giving up her name, her title, her standing. Even though there wasn’t much money left, her family still had an immense amount of power, power she had grown up knowing she would one day inherit. Now, within a matter of a week, she was prepared to give it all up for a better life. Perhaps her father wouldn’t see it that way, but for Cicely, she would rather live a life filled with love, than one that made her feel like a prisoner in her own home. She refused to become her mother.

“Remember, no killing him,” she told Josiah at the sight of the revolver tucked into his waistband. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Talk, right,” Josiah mumbled, but she ignored him. Her gaze instead fell to their surroundings. It was eight o’clock in the morning and most days it would be bustling, but today the street was silent. There must have been an order to stay inside, or to vacate the area in case things went sideways. She was thankful for it, she didn’t want children possibly put in harm’s way. But that didn’t mean it felt normal, because the sound of a quiet Balsall Heath was unsettling, the sight of empty streets except for the men who Josiah and Jack and brought with them.

There were probably twenty-or-so men, all with their J pins on their lapels, revolvers in their hands. Their eyes rested on Cicely and Harry, she realized, not on Josiah and Jack. “Is this going to be enough?” Harry asked behind her, reading her mind.

Jack was the one who replied. “Didn’t want to risk bringing out a full brigade and it turning to shit without them gettin’ a word in.”

It made sense. Her father would respond to fear more than anything else, and if he felt cornered or threatened she was screwed. “Cicely,” Harry murmured, and she turned. He was tense, she could see it in the way he held his shoulders and she couldn’t say she felt any different. “What do you want me to do?”

It felt unusual for Cicely to be in charge in a situation like this, and she could tell he felt helpless. Unable to use his fists or his body, giving over all the control to her. “Stay next to me,” she told him. “And please, for the love of God,  don’t get hurt.”

As Harry was about to respond, no doubt with something snarky, Cicely heard the sound of cars on the road. Her head turned and Harry stepped from his spot behind her to next to her, their hands still connected. The black police cars emerged from the fog, out of place on a street that mostly saw horses and the rare car—usually belonging to Josiah. But this time, there were at least ten, and Cicely’s heart began to race in her chest. What if her father wasn’t planning to just talk? What if in an effort to keep Harry, Josiah, Jack, and their men safe, she had put them all in danger? She heard the cock of a pistol and knew the men were anxious, and she didn’t blame them.

The cars stopped in a massive clump, car doors slamming in the quiet morning air as they climbed out. Her eyes scanned for her father, his gray hair and tall stature that put up a strong facade, but was secretly cracked straight through. And when he appeared, her gut twisted.

It was the first time she had seen him in a week, but the feeling of dread at the sight of him hadn’t left her. The memories of the words he had said, the things he threatened still echoed in her brain.

“There he is,” Josiah muttered, before taking another puff of his cigarette and then a swig from his flask, despite the early hour. “C’mon, boys.”

The men moved immediately, creating disordered rows around Cicely and Harry, an aisle of sorts standing in front of them. “Ready?” Harry asked her, his voice soft.

She nodded, and dropped his hand, wanting to appear as strong as possible when she faced her father. The mud of the street squelched under boots as she stepped off the stoop, but after days in it it didn’t bother her anymore. She could tell her father hated it though, his eyes on her as she moved towards him, the fog parting around her figure.

William King commanded a presence. His height and size towered over many, the graying of hair did nothing to disguise the fact that he was a striking man. Many of his features Cicely had inherited, namely his high brows and the set of his mouth, and when they stood next to one another it was plainly obvious she was his daughter. She had always despised it. He wore a simple black suit, as usual, a tie her mother had probably insisted he wear hanging from around his neck, his cufflinks glinting. He looked rich, as usual, even if he wasn’t. Perhaps it was his appearance that drew people into his circle, or the way he had with words, the stories he could spin in seconds to earn approval and trust. Cicely had seen it all her life and it made her sick.

So when he said her name, it drew bile in her mouth. “Cicely,” he said, a fake kindness she saw straight through. “Hello, darling.”

“Father,” she replied tersely, stopping a few yards away from him. “There was no need for the police, you know.”

“Oh?” Her father glanced around at their surroundings. “I’m not so sure about that, considering the ruffians you’ve decided to bring along.”

Cicely heard some muffled noises behind her, and she knew it was Jack keeping Josiah quiet, an outburst doing nothing to help the moment. “I felt the need to protect myself.”

William scoffed. “From who?”

“You,” she replied simply, cocking her head to the side. “So, Father, why are you here?”

He rolled his eyes before looking to the policeman next to him—someone high up, she imagined. “See what insolence I have to put up with?” Then he turned back to her. “To retrieve you from whatever games you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

“This isn’t a game.” Cicely’s voice cut like glass through the morning fog and Harry watched her in awe. She had known Cicely was strong, but to see her pushing back against her father, one of the most powerful men in Birmingham in addition to welding immense control over her life, was a scene he would always remember. “I left because you were going to force me into a marriage I don’t want, and I ended up here. And I’m staying.”

William stiffened at her words. “Stay? Here? In this slum? With him?” He pointed at Harry, who just stared at him in response. Jack’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, as if to remind him to stay calm, that Cicely wanted him to stay out of it as much as possible.

Cicely could feel a familiar anger boiling inside of her, the same one that had made her run out of her home in the first place, mount her horse, and ride away, despite the coming storm. “It is not a slum,” she said firmly, “and I am far happier here with him than I ever was living with you.” Her father flinched, the prospect of being dressed down in public, in front of people who were supposed to respect him, was the bane of his existence. Which was exactly why Cicely forged on. “I am done being your pawn in a game to recover the wealth that you lost at the gambling table. I don’t care about the business, about my ‘duties’, all I’ve ever wanted is to be happy. But you couldn’t even give me that. You want me to marry Clifford Stevens to save your business, you want to use me as your pawn. And I’m done.”

The air was silent when she finished speaking, her father shocked into silence at her outburst. Although she had spoken back before, never quite like this, and never in public. Her father looked at her with an unparalleled fury, and she could feel the tension rising between them. There were many times in her life when she had been afraid of her father, and this moment specifically might top the list. Then her father spoke, and Cicely’s world dropped out beneath her.

“If you want to give up your life, your name, your title, so badly, then how about I send you away? Lock you up and tell everyone you’ve gone insane?” He waved his hand around at the neighborhood and then continued, “it wouldn’t be much of a lie, either. After this stunt, I am quite concerned for your mental well-being.”

It took every strand of willpower in Harry’s body to hold him back from slamming William King to the ground. The suggestion that Cicely was insane was the farthest thing from the truth. If anyone was destined for the asylum, it was him—the dreams that plagued him and the fears that gripped his body. But Cicely…

She felt arms wrap around her waist, and she immediately knew they belonged to Harry. The feeling of his body against hers, the warmth of his hands on her body, the security they offered, managed to blur the edges of her simmering anger towards her father. Just as she was about to respond, she heard Harry’s voice.

“How dare you?” Harry asked, tone so even that the delivery was chilling.

William King just laughed, a bone chilling one that made Cicely tense in Harry’s arms. But he refused to be afraid of a man who had done nothing but harm to the woman he loved. “How dare I? What about you? What could you possibly have to offer my daughter, other than a life on a shit-covered street and nights spent in dark warehouses where you beat the life out of people?” His words struck a chord in Harry, the insecurity in himself that he had tried to push away for so long, but the moment William said them, they were out in the open. “At least I know what’s best for her.”

“You have no idea what is best for me,” Cicely said, her voice rising. “You have never known!”

“Cicely King, that is enough,” William said, an exhausted sigh echoing in her ears that reminded her of every fight with her father she had ever had. “Either you come home with me, or I send you to the asylum where you can live out the rest of your days wondering if this little rebellion,” he spit the word at her and it made Cicely see red, “was worth it. It’s up to you.”

But Cicely shook her head. “I’m not doing either of those.”

“Fine.” Her father nodded to the policeman closest to him, and suddenly everyone was moving, a blur of black uniforms coming straight for her. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.”

Suddenly, Cicely was being wrenched from Harry’s grip, a policeman’s hands on her stomach tugging her away from Harry. A scream left her mouth as Harry was pulled by three different policemen, their hands tugging his arms behind his back. She could see the fear and confusion on his face—Harry hated when people touched him who he didn’t know, it sent him to the memories of France, and she knew this and the prospect of him being in pain because of her made her heart clench.

“No, stop, please—“ Sobs wracked her body as she watched the police, who had more men than Josiah, surrounded his men from all sides, effectively disarming them. It was a disaster of epic proportions. “Harry!”

Harry watched helplessly as Cicely was carried away from him, her legs kicking at the policemen who held her, her beautiful face covered in tears. “Ci, it’ll be okay, love,” he said, trying to stop himself from crying as well. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It had changed so quickly, the men coming for him faster than he could move, the number of them more than he could manage despite his strength.

But Cicely screamed his name again, wrestling in the arms of the policemen. And then, as she watched Harry get pushed towards a police car, she knew what she had to do. “Daddy, stop!” Her father turned at the sound of the childhood nickname she hadn’t used in years. “Daddy, please, I love him,” she said, words a whimper in the chaos.

But William King wasn’t moved. “No you don’t.”

“Daddy, wait!” She screamed at him, so loudly that anyone inside their homes would know exactly what was happening. “Let him go and I’ll do it. I’ll marry Clifford.”

That hard her father grinning ear to ear. “That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He waved at the policemen, and they immediately dropped Cicely, her feet hitting the muddy ground with a squelch.

She rushed towards Harry, ignoring the onlookers, and swept her hands over his face. His beautiful, loving face, that taught her how to feel like a real person. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her forehead resting on his chest, right above his heart.

Harry’s arms caged around her, holding her close to him, basking in the feeling of her fingers curling into his shirt under his jacket. “Remember what I told you last night?” She nodded. How could she forget? He had told her he was in love with her. “No matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her lips found his and they could feel the tears on one another’s faces, the memories of their hushed confessions filling their minds. Harry tried to commit to his memory the feeling of her lips on his, the way she fit against him, how she breathed into his mouth. “I love you,” she said so quietly he almost missed it amidst the commotion. “I love you so much, Harry.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing her nose softly. “I’ve always known.”

Cicely felt the arms on her before she heard the words around her. Men telling her it was time to go, her father’s voice reminding her of her promise. In a flash, Harry lifted his cross necklace over his head and slipped it over Cicely’s, the cross hitting the middle of her chest. “I’ll come back,” she said, eyes never leaving his as she was wrenched away from him, policemen holding each of her arms. “I promise.”

Harry watched helplessly as the love of his life was shoved into her father’s car, William King’s triumphant grin making him sick to his stomach. He watched, unmoving, as the car turned around and pulled away, Cicely’s face plastered to the rear window, her hand pressed to the glass.

Watching her drive away was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever experienced.

But once she was gone, the feeling of being alone was worse.

Cicely spent the first week that she was home shut up in her room, refusing to speak to anyone but Polly, her ladies maid who left her meals outside her door and drew her baths. Even then, though, Cicely didn’t say much. She filled her days with books and art and looking outside at the grounds, studying the trees and the sky. When Polly asked her questions, which she did every time she got a good look at Cicely’s red and puffy face, Cicely had no words to give.

How did she put into words what it felt like to have her heart ripped out of her chest?

To say goodbye to the one person who finally understood her?

To have just memories and his necklace, one single physical reminder of him?

To find more joy in sleep than being awake, because in her dreams she saw him?

There weren’t words for that kind of pain. There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. So instead of trying, she just sat in the cold metal tub in silence as warm water rushed over her head, her arms wrapped around her knees while her tears were washed away.

Harry couldn’t sleep. Cicely was his key to sleep, her presence and the smell of her hair, her arms around his body, her hushed words when he had a nightmare, pulling him from the depths of his brain. Without her, sleep had become his enemy, just as it was before her.

He saw her everywhere, it felt like. The golden blonde of her hair, blue eyes, the curve of her hips and the straight posture of her body. Every time he saw a woman with the same wave to her hair or a voice that made him like of Cicely, his heart would flip and for a split second he would let himself dream that it was her. But it never was.

Instead of feel, he drank. He drank glass of whiskey after glass of whiskey to dull the pain that flowed through him, sometimes with Josiah or Jack at the pub or in the office, other times on his own. He almost preferred to be alone, because it was in the depths of those moments that he saw her, heard her voice, her laugh in his ears like she was right there. Harry chased those moments, the ones where she was with him, because they brought him some semblance of peace—a peace he had only found once, and that was with her at his side.

Before the drinking started everyday, he boxed. He was training every day without fail, hours on end that left his body exhausted beyond anything else he had experienced before. His trainer, Freddie, kept telling him to stop, that he was going to hurt himself, but Harry didn’t care. In fact, he almost wished he would hurt himself, because it would make him feel something other than the depths of despair that currently consumed him. It was only when he was boxing that he could forget her, forget what her father had made her do, forget the look on her face when she was ripped away from him, forget the way she tasted and felt under his hands, forget the sound of his name on her tongue. Every other time of day, the memories haunted him like a shadow.

Harry had lived with shadows before. The difference was that this time, he didn’t want them to go away.

After a week, her curiosity got the better of her. So she got dressed with the help of Polly, a light blue dress pulled over her head and buttoned up the back, her hair brushed, Harry’s cross necklace tucked under the neck of her dress. When she entered the dining room, her mother and father both looked up from their breakfasts, a look of surprise on both of their faces. Her mother’s spoon hovered above her boiled egg, her father’s eyes darting up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Cicely,” her mother said, voice soft. “It’s nice to see you, dear.”

Cicely didn’t respond, just took her usual seat across from her mother, and took a sip of the tea that one of the maids brought her. When her breakfast was slid in front of her, she tapped her spoon against her egg, the sound of the metal on the shell the only sound in the room except for the crinkle of the newspaper pages. “Father,” she finally said, “may I see the paper?”

Her father lowered the paper slightly, enough to show his interest in his daughter’s request. “What for?”

Secretly, she wished to see if Harry’s matches had been reported on, as they sometimes were. She wanted any mention of him, the chance to see his name written in print and not in her own hand, on newspaper and not in her journal. “I’ve been removed for too long and I’d like to be caught up on what I’ve missed. You know how much Clifford likes to talk about the news and the markets.”

Her father seemed unmoved by her reasoning, lifting the paper back to its former height. “That is nothing to trouble yourself over. Just let him talk, he’s not seeking your opinion.”

Cicely looked to her mother for support, but she found none. Her docile mother just looked back down at her breakfast, the clink of her silver on the plate as she picked up her fork. “Can I see yesterday’s paper, then? Is it in your office?”

William King huffed and set down his newspaper. “When did you find an interest in the news? While you were living in the slums?” Her mother flinched at the word, but Cicely didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “You know you do not enter my office and this is no different. You have no business with the paper, so go back to your breakfast unless you have something decent to say.”

Polly might be able to get a copy for her, she thought to herself as she resigned herself to the rest of her breakfast. There was probably a copy delivered to the servant’s quarters that she could see, even just for a few minutes. In actuality, the news of the world was meaningless to her—she was interested solely in Harry. There was no way for her to contact him, since she had never even thought to learn the telephone number for Josiah’s and there was no way she could manage to sneak a letter out of the house to him. She needed something to know that he was okay, living his life, still out there.

“Clifford is coming over for dinner tomorrow evening,” her father said, closing the paper and letting it rest on the table. “You will be there, Cicely.”

Cicely suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She wished she had never left her room, stayed in there for at least long enough for Clifford to come and go without her having to see him. “Is he going to propose?”

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. “But if he does, you are to accept.”

She looked to her mother for support, for insistence that she needed more time to adjust back, that there wasn’t a rush, but she offered no such support. She just took another sip of tea and looked out the window at the gardens.

“I know,” she told her father, because there was nothing else to say. There was no sense in fighting it—it was the only way she got her father to let Harry go, and she had no doubt that if she didn’t follow through her father would just have him arrested all over again. She set her napkin on the table, suddenly no longer hungry. “May I be excused?”

“Yes,” her father said. “But don’t try anything, Cicely. Just because you’re home doesn’t mean that you can do as you like.”

As if she ever had been able to. “I know,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She needed to get out of the house, needed to be able to breathe again, needed quiet to silence the thoughts swirling in her brain. With a glance to her mother, she left the room, on the hunt for Polly before she went for a walk on the grounds. She found her in the hallway leading to the downstairs where the servants quarters were, a basket of sheets in her arms. “Polly,” she said, her maid turning to her, apron swirling.

“Miss!” Polly’s chest heaved. “You scared me. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Does the staff get a copy of the Birmingham Gazette?” She asked, leaning against the wall, voice hushed so others didn’t hear.

Polly nodded. “Every morning, miss.”

“Could I have this morning’s, possibly? After everyone is done with it, of course.”

Polly’s eyes widened., but then she nodded. “Of course. Should I leave it in your chambers?”

She gave her maid a smile, as she knew how controlling her father was. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Polly.”

“Of course, miss.” Cicely turned away, boots clicking on the floor as she made her way through the grand house to the rear, where the doors to the gardens were. She grabbed her shawl just in case there was a morning breeze, and pushed open the heavy glass doors, the cool dewy air wrapping around her.

Her mother was obsessed with the grounds of their home, the illustrious Wutherford House that had been in the King family for generations. When she had married William King, she took on the role of mistress of the house wholeheartedly, hiring more gardeners and setting them about the task of reshaping the topiaries and cleaning up the old fountain in the middle of the main garden. The old trees hung over the back section of the garden and her mother had put in a small bench for reading, which was Cicely’s favorite spot in the house. There was a wide clearing for games, which was used mostly in the spring and summer whenever they threw garden parties for their wide circle of friends.

As Cicely walked through the garden, her shawl pulled around her to protect against the chill in the air, she knew that perhaps she should care more about the fact that her family would love Wutherford without her marriage to Clifford. The truth was that as much as she loved the gardens and the wooded green space surrounding her home, the hills she spent years learning to ride on, the house itself just held bad memories for her. The prospect of having to return to this house for holidays and birthdays with a family led by Clifford Stevens made her stomach turn.

She had stopped caring about the future of her family the moment she discovered that their impending ruin was the fault of her father, and rather than take any responsibility, he shoved that role onto Cicely. The obvious answer to their problems was for him to stop gambling on every horse race and card game he encountered, to focus on the business, which, if he worked at hard enough, would turn a higher profit. Instead, he drank more, gambled more, and told Cicely she was to marry Clifford Stevens and make them all rich again.  

The leaves rustled from the wind, and Cicely shut her eyes, inhaling the smell of freshly wet grass, the heavy scent of rain in the air. For a moment, she let herself picture walking out of Harry’s home in Balsall Heath, the smell of. manure and coal hanging low in the air, mixed with the sweetness of the bakery at the end of the street. She wiped at the tears that slipped from her eyes at the image, and then opened them, thrusting herself from her imagination and back into reality. A reality she despised.

She made her way to the little bench under the tree, and sat down, her boots crunching over the gravel. Was there any way for her to return to Balsall Heath, to Harry, to the life she had lived there? It was a question that she had turned over in her head for the past week, conjuring up different scenarios and ways to escape, to get to Harry. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really know how to get to Balsall Heath. She had been unconscious on her way in, and crying too hard to see much of anything on her way out. Birmingham was a mystery to her outside of the wealthy areas where her friends lived, and those were far from Harry’s home. She didn’t even know his address.

It was moments like these when she was struck by how little she actually knew of him. The surface-level bits, at least, the insignificant information you learn about someone upon first getting to know them. Instead that, she knew his heart, his mind, the things that plagued him at night and kept him going through the day. She knew about his family, about his past, about how he didn’t know what the future held, because thinking of it made him sad. The parts of him that mattered she knew, and she knew intimately, just as he knew hers. She didn’t care all that much about the other bits, if she was honest. Other people might, but she didn’t.

“Miss.”

Cicely’s head bounced up at Polly’s voice, her maid making her way towards where she sat. In her hands was a paper, folded neatly. “Oh, thank you, Polly.”

Polly handed her the paper and did a small curtsy before walking away. Cicely unfolded the inked pages, and turned the pages, ignoring all the major news. She was searching for a very specific name, a specific mention that would give her a bit of hope to hold onto. It was a long shot, she knew that, but it still was something.

And then she saw. it. His name in a headline, a short mention toward the back of the paper. Harry Styles—Knockout Again! She sighed in relief, that he was still winning. Her eyes glanced over the words, reading the story quickly. It wasn’t much, just a short mention of his match, that he had won every round and ended with a knockout. She didn’t know the name of his opponent, but that was no surprise, she usually didn’t. He had told her the names of many of them, but he didn’t usually fight them multiple times over a short period of time—Josiah was pushing him at the moment. Harry had told her that Josiah wanted boxing to be one of his legitimate streams of income, to take it out of the warehouse and into bigger venues, making it posh and civilized rather than for the working man. In order to do that, he was raising the stakes, the caliber of the fighters.

Cicely brushed her fingers over his name, mouthing the word Harry aloud just to remind herself how his name sounded. Then she touched the cross pendant through her dress, the silver sat comfortably against her sternum. She missed him with every bone in her body, but she was powerless to change her situation. She had let him go in order to protect him, she told herself for the millionth time that week, and she just prayed he would stay that way.

Harry, Josiah, and Jack were sitting in Josiah’s office with an open bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass in each of their hands, the radio turned low in the corner. Most of the office had all gone home, and if Cicely had still been with Harry he would be home with her right now, not sitting in a stuffy office with his friends, smoking and getting drunk. In the week that she had been gone from his life, he had found himself spending more time with Josiah and Jack, craving human company to fill the space she left behind. Before, Josiah had gotten on his nerves, his dangerous streak bothering him after his time on the front lines.

But now, for some reason he craved it a bit. Craved the impact of a fist on his body in the ring, liked the idea of teetering on the edge of safety and risk. So when his glass ran out of whiskey and he leaned in to refill, he cleared his throat and Josiah stopped telling a story about some girl he had met at a pub the previous night, a barmaid who caught his eye.

“I want to do more,” Harry said, the amber liquid falling into his glass.

“Do more?” Josiah asked, his feet that had been sitting on the desk kicking off, body moving forwards to lean towards Harry. “D’ya mean doin’ stuff outside of boxing?”

Harry nodded and then snatched a cigarette from the box on the desk, and lit it quickly, a well practiced motion. “Need a bit more than just the ring.”

Josiah shrugged at him, taking a long drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash. “This have anythin’ to do with your girl?”

Jack was silent in the other leather chair, his eyes flickering between his brother and Harry as they spoke. “Just…need a distraction,” Harry explained.

“Well,” Josiah said, opening up a folder on his desk, cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked at the papers. “You could join us at the races on Saturday. Could use some extra muscle in case things go south.”

It was a racing day, a day when many bets would be happen and Josiah would be there, ready to manage them all as well as the crowd. He had gained control of the race course outside of Birmingham just a few months ago and had already made a killing, his love of horses, fine clothes, and gambling finding a perfect home on the course. Usually there wasn’t much trouble—a few rowdy men refusing to pay their debts—but Harry knew it was mostly Josiah finding something for him to do that would take his mind off of things. “Are ya expecting anything?”

“No,” Josiah answered, “but ya can never be too safe. In or out, Harry?”

He looked to Jack. “You gonna be there?” His best friend nodded, and so Harry agreed. “Might need to do some target practice,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Haven’t used a gun in a while.”

For most people, target practice in the dark in the middle of Balsall Heath might not have been possible, but for Josiah and his associates, it was a normal routine. They went to the docks where extra guns were stocked, and set up targets yards away. Josiah squared up to the target, lifted his gun, and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he took his shot, the bullet ringing through the air around them.

It wasn’t a fear of the sound of guns that made Harry refuse to carry a gun. That didn’t trigger the memories and the darkness that swirled through his brain. No, it was the feeling of the weapon in his hand. The gun felt like a long forgotten memory in his palm, the cold of the metal unusual against his skin. His rings clinked against it when he gripped it, and his eyes darted over the mechanisms, reminding himself of the steps that had become second nature during the war. Harry did let himself consider if he wanted to fire the gun or not, he just let his whiskey-clouded brain take over, flicking off the safety and stepping up to the target. It was natural to him, the way he lined up the weapon and pulled the trigger, his body absorbing the recoil.

The minute the bullet left his gun, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood and death, the wet earth of the field where he had laid, shaking and struggling to reload. The memories flickered through his brain, quick flashes of his present and past parallel in his brain. Jack’s voice is what roused him from his daze, a muffled, “Har?” that had his mind clearing to the moment at hand.

Maybe it was the whiskey in his veins, dulling his mind to the memories, or perhaps it was the fact that when he had aimed his gun he imagined William King, his smug face staring back at Harry as he ripped Cicely away from him. Either way, the experience of shooting the gun was not as bad as it had been the previous times he had attempted—all of which were in the direct aftermath of the war. Perhaps it was just time that let his brain run normally? Harry didn’t mind it, the numbness that he felt once his mind settled, the smoke clearing so that he could properly focus on the dimly lit docks, tin cans set up yards away. His eyes flickered to his target, curious how he had done, how much he had forgotten in the time he had spent abstaining from guns.

A perfect bullseye.

Cicely’s skin crawled the second her eyes set on Clifford Stevens, his perfect blond hair slick against his scalp, a smirk set into his face and his blue eyes staring up at her as she descended the stairs. She had hoped that seeing him wouldn’t be as bad as before, that she could convince herself he wasn’t the most horrible man, but the minute he leaned in to say something to her father and he laughed, she knew that would be impossible. Any man her father approved of was the devil in her book. She wished that they had invited other guests because perhaps in that situation she could’ve escaped him, even just for a few minutes. Laughed with her friends in the corner about how disgusting he was, the sly look in his eyes that made her want to curl in on herself.

But instead, it was just her, her parents, and Clifford. Her mission for the evening was to avoid being alone with him. If she could do that, then perhaps he wouldn’t propose to her right there and then, perhaps she could put it off for a bit longer.

“Cicely.” His voice was too sweet and she put on a fake smile, trying to act nicely towards him. “You look lovely tonight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes flickered to her father, realizing that he had probably told Clifford she was ill for the past few weeks rather than the truth—that she had run away from home and had fallen in love and lived with a man. Unmarried, to top it all off. That fact on its own would’ve caused enough scandal for her to be undesired by nearly every eligible bachelor in their social circle, so of course her father had lied. It just pained Cicely that she would have to lie, too. “Thank you,” she answered finally, before adding, “We missed having you over.” Her mother smiled at her, encouraging her praise of Clifford, and Cicely tried not to gag at the curling grin on his face.

During dinner, she pretended to be interested as Clifford talked about his business and her father peppered him with questions. She spoke only when directly asked a question, which thankfully for her, wasn’t often. She missed the days of quiet conversation with Harry during breakfast or curled up in his bed, his hands running through her hair. She missed everything about her time with Harry, but most of all she missed being touched in the way he did—with kindness and desire, petting her skin and squeezing delicately at her hand when she squirmed in his grip. As Clifford laughed at something her father said, she couldn’t help but wonder what intimacy with Clifford would be like. Would he touch her like Harry had? Would he be so kind and gentle with her?

Something told her he wouldn’t be. When she snuck glances at him, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing her eyes were on him, she noticed all the things he didn’t have that Harry did. The rings on Harry’s fingers that clinked against the crystal he drank whiskey from, the tattoos that littered his body, the soft smile he would give her when no one else was watching, the stone cold gaze he gave everyone else. His green eyes, soft curls, slightly disheveled shirts because he couldn’t sit still for long. If he had his way, she knew he wouldn’t wear a shirt half the time, but she had a feeling that Clifford loved his posh clothes, the way they told everyone how much money he had. Harry didn’t care about money, as long as he had enough to live comfortably.

“Are you all going to the races on Saturday?” Clifford asked, setting down his glass of wine.

William looked to Cicely’s mother, before back to Clifford. “No, we don’t have tickets for this week.”

“You should come with me then.” His smile is directed straight at Cicely and she tries not to scowl at him. “I have some extra tickets that you could all use.”

If one were to guess if Cicely liked the races, they would probably guess that she did, considering she loved horses. However, the races were her father’s favorite venue to place bets, which meant he was going to get wildly drunk and lose money and be in a terrible mood. A mood that Cicely and her mother would have to deal with at home, which was the last thing she wanted to do that night. But Cicely wasn’t the one who made the decision. It was her father. Who immediately raised his glass and accepted, and then took a long sip of his wine.

After dinner, they all retired to the sitting room, her father pulling two cigars out of the box on the table, handing on to Clifford. Cicely and her mother sat on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and trying to find the painting in the room interesting, despite seeing them every day.

Then, all of a sudden her father stood up from the chair he was reclining in. “Mary,” she said to Cicely’s mother, “would you join me in the other room?”

Her mother took William’s outstretched hand. “Of course.” Cicely looked at her mother in panic, knowing exactly what was happening. They were leaving her alone with Clifford and from the small smile on his face, his intention was to get down on one knee in front of her. She had hoped she would have more time, a few weeks or even days to make her brain forget Harry and accept her fate, but it looked like her father didn’t feel that was necessary. He wanted Clifford’s money and wanted it now.

When the door shut behind her parents, Cicely looked to Clifford, who was sitting opposite her, leaning into the couch with one ankle propped up on his knee, a cigar between his fingers. “So, Cicely,” he said, inhaling from his cigar when he paused, “we’ve been getting to know each other for the past few months.”

She inhaled, holding her breath slightly as she listened to his words, a pressure in her chest building. He sat up, uncrossing his legs and setting his cigar in the ashtray. He reached out for Cicely’s hand, and despite not wanting to, she took it, his soft skin feeling wrong against hers. She wanted Harry’s callused fingers and healing knuckles, marks and scars from a life lived. Instead, she had the hands of a man who only knew how to hold a pen and sign his name.

They stood in the middle of her living room, Cicely’s heart beating rapidly not in excitement, but dread. “In that time, I’ve come to the conclusion that you would make the perfect wife for me.” His words held no fondness of feeling and Cicely noticed it immediately. No mention of love or caring for her, just the perfect wife. When he dropped to one knee and pulled a box out of his pocket, Cicely held back the desire to run from the room and stayed standing, holding in a scream.

“Will you marry me, Cicely King?” He opened the box then, a ring glinting in the low light of the room. The massive diamond that was set into the band would’ve impressed most women, made them excited to show it off, but for Cicely it was just a reminder of what this marriage was: a business transaction.

She didn’t even look at his eyes, because she knew if she did she wouldn’t be able to say yes. And she had to say yes. It was for Harry, for the man she actually loved, for the man she wished was on his knee in front of her. She had no choice, truly.

“Cicely?” He asked again, voice harsh and urgent, demanding of an answer.

“Yes,” she said, letting go of a breath. When he slid the ring onto her finger, she finally looked at him. The smug look on his face, as if he had won a prize. It made her sick. The ring on her finger felt like a rock dragging her to the bottom of the river and she just hoped she would come up for air.

Clifford stood, sliding the box back into his pocket, one hand clasped around Cicely’s. At his full height, he towered over Cicely, but not in the way that Harry did, where it made her want to curl up into his body. Clifford’s height felt intimidating, as if he was trying to make her shrink simply with his existence. When he pressed his hand to her cheek and said her name, she held back the reflex to flinch, and let her eyes close as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips felt foreign to her in every way. They were rough, and they pushed and prodded at hers in a way that was hurried. It was wet, as if he was trying to swallow her lips and she struggled to figure out how to get out of the kiss, how to pull away without making him angry. But she couldn’t stand it, because she was supposed to be kissing Harry. She was supposed to be smelling his cologne and whiskey and an underlying scent of gunpowder and sweat. Instead, her nostrils were full of cigars and overly sweet cologne and pomade for his hair. Her fingers found his wrist and pulled enough to allow him to release her, and she stepped away slightly, creating some space between them.

He was breathing heavily and she just wanted to escape. “You’ll need to come to my house next week and meet my family again, but this time as my fiancée,” he said. “I think you’ll get along well with mother.”

If she was anything like her son, then she was sure she wouldn’t. “I’m sure I will.”

“Cicely?” The door behind her opened, and her mother and father were standing there, excited looks on each of their faces.

“We’re engaged,” Clifford said quickly and Cicely’s chest tightened at the words. He lifted her hand which was still in his, showing the gaudy ring on her finger.

“Congratulations, son,” her father said, making her way towards them and shaking Clifford’s hand with enthusiasm before turning to Cicely. He kissed her forehead, a demonstration of tenderness she hadn’t experienced since she was a child—if she ever had. Apparently all she had to to get her father’s acceptance was become engaged to one of the wealthiest bachelors in Birmingham.

Her mother was the one who saved her, pulling her into a hug that allowed her to let go of Clifford’s hand finally. She was able to take a breath of fresh air, escaping his dreaded cologne for a moment. “I’m feeling quite tired,” she lied to her mother when she pulled away. “I think all the excitement has gotten to me.”

“You’ve only recently recovered,” Clifford cut in. “Perhaps it’s the illness?”

“Nonsense,” Cicely’s mother said. “She’s perfectly well, just tired from the day. You should go to bed, darling.”

Cicely nodded, taking a few steps away, before realizing she should say goodnight to her fiancé. “Goodnight, Clifford.”

He gave her a terse smile, one she returned with an equivalent lack of tenderness. “Goodnight, Cicely.”

She didn’t wait a second longer before walking out of the room, holding back the tears long enough to reach her rooms. Once the door shut behind her, she collapsed to the ground, pulling the cross out from under her dress, and holding it tightly as she wept for her future.

Harry was supposed to be moving through a couple rooms at the tracks, keeping an eye on the betting and the crowd in general. He had been placed in the more posh area since it was less likely to get violent, and because he was polished enough looking that he fit in—especially with his suit on so his numerous tattoos were hidden from view. He maneuvered through the large ballrooms, music and chatter around him as people drank their glasses of champagne and ate snacks that the staff served. People seemed to disregard him, their eyes not lingering on him longer than a passing glance, and Harry didn’t mind it. It allowed him to blend into the background and focus on his job, which was watch people closely.

He had a gun tucked in a holster under his suit and he tried to ignore it, pretend he couldn’t feel the cool graze of the metal when he moved, but it was a hopeless endeavor. So he distracted himself with a whiskey and looking at people’s clothes, and creating stories in his head for all of the wealthy patrons who he didn’t care enough about to properly learn anything about.

He pulled out his silver pocket watch and checked the time, before shutting it and downing the rest of his drink. Time to move to the other room. He set the glass on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and exited the ballroom, letting the door shut behind him. He moved down the carpeted walkway to the next room, where there was yet another bar and fewer card tables, more space for dancing. This was the room he disliked, because it was louder and more rowdy.

Pushing open the doors, the thrum of the band music surrounded him immediately. He stepped inside and let his eyes sweep the room as he moved to the side, preferring to anchor himself in the space before getting another drink. Josiah had also pointedly told him not to drink too much, so he was trying to pace himself, although he liked the feeling of the glass in his restless hands. Women crossed in front of his path, guided by male dance partners, the swirl of skirts and laughter rolling through the air.

He was two steps away from his target location—an empty space against the dark walls of the structure, void of any patrons—when he saw a flash of blonde hair that had him faltering. It was as if all of the air in his body had been sucked out, the moment his eyes fell on her.

It couldn’t be her, the rational part of his brain screamed. There was no way it was her. He had been seeing her ghost for the past two weeks, a ghost of the woman he loved, and there was no way she was here. Not now. Not like this.

But then she turned and perhaps it was the weight of his gaze that had made her turn, because she immediately found his eyes across the packed room. Blue eyes that made his heart rattle, parted lips that made him want to fall to his knees, the slope of her neck that he wanted to adore with his mouth.

Cicely.

It was her.

Her in a red beaded dress, her hair perfectly curled in a wide brimmed red hat to match, eyes wide as they studied one another. Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Someone bumped into him but he just mumbled a Sorry under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from her. How long had he dreamed of this moment, of being in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her, being able to reach out and touch her skin?

Under her gaze, his skin burned. The memories of their last night together, the gasps and moans she let out when he touched her, the curve of her hips and arms wrapped around him as he pushed inside of her—the memories invaded his mind immediately. The need to touch her suddenly was a aching desire inside of him, something he couldn’t ignore or wish away. It was going to eat away at him if he didn’t satisfy it. He needed to hear her voice, to touch her cheek, to kiss her red-painted lips.

He wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them, push aside every person that stood in his way, and take her into his arms, to let himself be drowned in the smell of her perfume. But he couldn’t, because to Cicely’s right was her father, who thankfully hadn’t noticed Harry, but that was unlikely to last long. To her left was another man, whose hand grazed Cicely’s back in a way that had Harry’s skin prickling and knuckled clenching. A woman was standing next to William King, an older lady with the same shade of hair as Cicely’s—her mother, he presumed.

How was he going to get her alone? He looked around the grand ballroom, which he still couldn’t believe existed. He had never encountered such exaggerated wealth before, but Cicely probably lived in it every day. Towards the back of the room he noticed a red swinging door, which servers were coming in and out of. There would probably be restrooms back there, ones the regular patrons wouldn’t touch. Ones he could speak to her in.

Keeping her eyes on his, he nodded to the red swinging door. She glanced at it, and then back at him, before nodding ever so slightly. That was all Harry needed. He was moving immediately, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He didn’t look back to see if she was following, he knew she would come once she could get away, and until then he would wait for her. Hell, he would wait for her anywhere for however long it took.

He pushed open the doors and moved into the narrow hallway, narrowly missing a collision with a server and a silver tray. “Watch it!” The server said, brushing past him and into the ballroom. Harry sagged against the wall, taking a deep breath before moving slightly farther down the hall and out of the doorway. His eyes searched for a restroom or even a coat closet, some place where they could talk privately. Finally, he saw the small sign for the restroom a few yards down the long hall.

With a shaking hand, he thumbed over his rings, twirling them on his fingers to distract himself from waiting for her. He itched for a cigarette, for something to do with his hands while he waited. Eyes were trained on the swinging door, which trumpets and band music swirled out of, the pop of champagne every once in a while. Where was she?

Then, as if conjured from a dream, the doors swung open and she stepped through them, hands falling to her sides when she saw him. It was as if time stopped—they were just a few feet from one another, a thread pulling them to each other, knotting their hearts together. His mouth was dry, words gone, mind blank. The very presence of her blinded him as if she was the sun in mid-afternoon, so bright that he had to shield his eyes as he stepped outside.

She was in front of him and she was stunning.

But then she spoke, and Harry forgot how to breathe. “Harry,” she said, her words soft and delicate amidst the chaos around them, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He surged forward, capturing her head in his hands, cares about who was around flying to the wind. His palms cradled her jaw, and before he pressed his lips to hers, he caught a glimpse of her eyes fluttering, a small smile on her face before her kissed her. Her lips tasted like champagne and her and it sent his brain spinning. The tenderness of her fingers on his wrists, holding him close to her as he kissed her, as he remembered what she felt like against him.

She parted her lips slightly and licked at his bottom lip and Harry couldn’t help but quietly moan at the sensation. “Ci,” he mumbled, parting ever so slightly, the nickname he had been wanting to say for so many days finally resting on his tongue.

“Hi,” she said, eyes twinkling as he took a hesitant step back so they could look at each other properly.

Her hand brushed at his jaw and the heat of her skin against his, the prodding of her fingers sent sparks through his body. “There’s a restroom down the hall,” he murmured. “I know it’s horribly improper, but I—I need to talk to ya.”

She just nodded, securing her hand in his, a smile meant just for him on her lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again. He led her down the hall, darting around servers who littered the hall, his fingers slotted between her gloved ones. Her small purse hung from her wrist, swinging between them as they moved.

When they reached the restroom, Harry pushed open the door, pulling her inside and shutting it tightly behind him. It was all levels of improper, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. His fingers left hers only to slide the deadbolt on the door, leaving them in a locked room, their chests both heaving as he found her eyes. “Cicely…” He couldn’t even find the words as he brushed his fingers across the rise of her cheekbones, watching in rapture as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. When she leaned into his touch he knew nothing had changed—that what they felt two weeks ago when she was ripped away from him was real. It was all real.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, hands running up the length of his suit-covered torso, making him inhale sharply. She was so close, pushed against the door, his body towering around her, caging her between his hands that were pressed against the door.

“Josiah runs the betting and security,” he answered. One of his hands pushed a strand of her hair back, the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers making his heart soar. “Been a bit off lately, needin' more action than usual, so he thought this might be a good fit.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words, a sharp contrast to the way her fingers curled edged under his suit jacket. “Action? Why do you need more action?”

How did he explain to her that her leaving had destroyed him? Made him want to hurt everyone in his path and fighting wasn’t enough to keep the edge off? “Fightin’ isn’t enough,” he struggled to say as her fingers drew circles over his shirt-covered stomach. “Not since…”

“Since I left,” she finished, glancing up from his body to his eyes. “I understand.”

Harry’s eyes fell to where her fingers laid on his chest, his suit jacket long since pushed open. His gaze caught on something that was new, something he didn’t remember—a large diamond on her ring finger. “What’s that?” He asked, voice rough in his throat as he stumbled over his words, barely able to process what it meant.

Cicely lifted her hands off of his chest immediately, her expression changing from one of joy to frustration. “It’s an engagement ring,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

He swallowed slowly, her words ringing in his ears. “Clifford? Already?” She nodded, and Harry took a step back, suddenly needing space from her, space to process what that meant. She was engaged—she belonged to someone else now. “Congratulations, then.” His voice was venomous and he knew it was cruel, but he couldn’t help it. He was jealous, horribly jealous, that the diamond on her finger wasn’t from him.

“That’s not fair,” she said, shaking her head. “You know why I had to accept.”

“Do you love him?”

His words fell heavy in the room, his heart pounding as he waited for her response. He didn’t think she did, but a part of him was begging for an answer, for reassurance that she still loved him. “No,” she said confidently. “I despise him.” Then she pulled at the neck of her dress, her fingertips sliding across a metal chain, and when she pulled his cross free from the confines of her dress, his heart stopped.

The cross he had given her because it was the only thing he had to give. “You—you’re wearin’ it.”

She stepped towards him hesitantly, reaching out her hand, the one without the ring on it, to slide her fingers between his. “Of course I am.” Harry studied her, the rise and fall of her breath, her red lipstick slightly smeared from where his lips had captured hers, the glint in her blue eyes under the soft lighting of the room. “I still love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the room, but to Harry it was a deafening roar.

It was all he needed to kiss her. He hauled her against his body, finally feeling the curve of her flush against him as he kissed her. Her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly on the strands as their lips slotted together. His fingers dug into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and all Harry could smell was her perfume and soap, the perfect combination that would haunt his dreams for nights to come. Their noses bumped and she let out a soft giggle, which only made Harry want her more. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, a whimper filling his ears in reply.

“I’ve missed ya so much,” he said, ducking down his head to leave a string of kisses down her neck. She moaned, a sound that Harry would play on repeat for the rest of time, and pulled at his hair, making an utter mess of it he was sure. He couldn’t find it in himself to care though. He would let her ruin him any day of the week.

When he nipped at the curve of her neck, she let out a slow and breathy, “Harry…” and it had his mind tumbling. He turned her so she was pressed against the countertop, the stability of the counter behind her allowing him to gain some leverage against her.

But she took it a step further. Her hands left his body and pressed against the top of it, lifting her body up onto the counter and letting her legs fall open. The action had Harry searching for restraint, because the sight of her sitting on the countertop, chest heaving as she looked at him, had him aching for her. With a glance for approval, he pulled up the hem of her dress, running his hands along her calves as he moved it. When it reached her knees, he was finally able to slot himself between her legs, and the feeling of her bare calves winding around his waist made his head drop to her shoulder. “Ci,” he murmured, pushing at the sleeve of her dress to expose some of her shoulder. “What do you want, love?”

“Everything,” she answered immediately, brushing the hair back from his eyes tenderly. “Anything. You.”

He kissed her skin softly, a contrast to the exchange they were having, but it was all he wanted—to tenderly touch her body. But, unfortunately they were in a bathroom at a horse race and if she spent too much more time in here, her family would come looking for her. “Not now,” he said, forcing the words out of himself because it took every bit of restraint to say them. “Your family is probably searching you already.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling at his chin so she could pepper kisses over his skin.

“But I do,” he told her, thumbing across her cheek. “When I have ya again, I want to take my time and I want ya in my bed, not on a washroom counter at a race track.”

She ducked her head into the crook of her neck, her soft breaths filling his ears. “When will ‘again’ be, though? When will I see you again?”

“Do ya want to see me again?”

She chuckled and the sound made his heart soar, as cheesy as it sounded. “Of course, you pest.”

“Love, you’re engaged.”

In an instant, she pulled the ring off of her finger and let it drop to the counter. “It doesn’t matter—you’re the one that I want. You know I don’t want to marry him.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her head enough to be able to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, but if ya wanted to come back to Balsall Heath, I’d make ya mine.” Harry hadn’t thought about marriage all that much, but the minute he saw that ring on her finger the only thing he could think of was how he wanted her to be his wife. He wanted her until the end of his days.

Her eyes widened, reaching her hands up to grasp his wrists. “You would?”

“Yes,” he answered, confidently. “Would you like that?”

“Very much.” She pressed her thumb across the inside of his wrist gingerly, a tender trace that had him weak in the knees. “How am I going to get to you? My father won’t let me leave the estate.”

Harry leaned back slightly, the wheels of his mind turning a mile a minute. “Think ya could sneak out at night?” She considered it for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll use one of Josiah’s cars and meet you a few yards away from the house tomorrow night at two in the morning, okay? I’ll need you to get to me, but if you can do that, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do it,” she replied, a blazing fire in her eyes of excitement that he shared. “I’ll try and bring some of my clothes if I can.”

“Bring anything you’ll want.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips softly. “You’ll be with me for the rest of your life if you want to be.”

“Mrs. Styles,” she whispered, and the words had him hauling her into him for a deep kiss that rattled both of their souls. “What if my father comes after me? What if you get arrested?”

Harry just shook his head. “Leave that bit to me. I’ll talk to Josiah and Jack, we’ll figure somethin’ out. You just focus on sneakin' out.”

Cicely nodded. “I love you, Harry.”

He kissed her once more before he answered her. “I love you too, Ci.”

Harry tried not to watch her walk away, but after feeling her skin under his, it was impossible not to. Especially when he thought about how she was going to be his for the rest of time.

The moon hung high in the sky the following night when Cicely rose from bed. She had packed her bag after Polly left her for the evening, a small duffle bag with her favorite dresses—one of which was all white—a collection of undergarments, and some precious family heirlooms her mother had given her. At the bottom of the bag was a photo of her family, just for memory’s sake, and her journal. The last thing she needed was money. Harry hadn’t asked for any, but she didn’t want to be reliant on him. She would need a new wardrobe of clothes and the least she could do was contribute.

She pulled on her dress, a deep blue she hoped would blend into the night and tugged on a light coat to keep out the cool night air. With a last look at her beloved room, the draped canopy and plush rugs, she shut the door behind her, her shoes clasped in one hand and her bag in the other. The house was silent as Cicely crept down the halls, avoiding all of the spots that creaked, and descended the stairs carefully. Her ears were focused on any sound that could suggest she had woken someone up, but so far, she was in the clear.

At the base of the stairs, she turned right, heading into her father’s office. She knew the code to the safe by heart, having learned it at fifteen when she wanted a new dress but her father refused to pay for it and she had watched him flick the combination. Since then, she’d snatched cash from it every once and a while, the code never changing. Tonight, she hoped, would be no different.

Her father’s office smelled of cigars, and she padded across the carpeted floor to his large oak desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books he had never read covered most of the walls, the other space occupied by painting her mother had picked out. The only things that her father had selected for the space was the cigars on his desk and the pens he used to sign his name. She dropped her bag to the ground and knelt next to the black safe, running her fingers across the metal. It was cool to the touch, just as she remembered it. She glanced around the room to ensure she was alone, before flicking the combination of numbers on the dial.

It clicked softly, and she pulled open the door, stacks of cash and a few gold bars sitting inside. She ignored the bars, and instead grabbed two stacks of fifty pound bank notes, and then turned around to slide them into her unzipped bag. When she turned, though, she found her mother standing in the doorway.

“Mother,” she said, chest rattling from the surprise. “I—“

“I know,” her mother replied simply. She pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown, her usually perfectly coiffed hair limp around her face. “I won’t tell him.”

Cicely looked at her mother in disbelief. “You—you won’t?”

Her mother shook her head and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know you don’t want to marry Clifford. You haven’t wanted to marry a single man we’ve introduced you to since you came out in society. But then you go and you meet a man who we would never approve of, and you fall in love.” Cicely made a sound of interruption, but her mother just gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay, darling. I’m not mad. I’m nervous for you, for your future, but I am not mad.”

It had never occurred to her that she was seeking her mother’s approval, but now that she had it, it was as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “I love him, Mama.” She used the name for her mother that she had used as a child, and hadn’t since then, and saw her mother immediately soften.

Her mother moved from the doorway and made her way to Cicely, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands. “Fight for him, you hear me? Fight for the love you feel. It doesn’t come around often, but when it does, you have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.” Cicely brushed at the tears falling on her mother’s cheeks, and she realized her mother hadn’t touched her like this, with such tenderness, in years.

“I will,” she promised.

Her mother kissed her forehead, shutting her eyes as she did it, and then pulled away. “Will you write? You can address it to Polly and have her give them to me. I just,” she faltered, brushing a hand against her daughter’s hair, “I want to know you’re alright.”

Cicely nodded. “I’ll write as soon as I can.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother to you.”

The words splintered Cicely in two, because although most times over the past year especially she had been disappointed in her mother, she had been the light of her life before that. She had been the bright spot in a dark house, a kind touch and a lingering kiss on her forehead when she needed it. “I love you,” Cicely told her simply, knowing that was what her mother needed to hear.

Her mother, ever the woman of few words, simply replied, “I love you, too.” Then, she stepped away, giving her daughter a lingering last look before she turned away. She left the room without looking back, her white nightgown curling around her ankles as she moved.

Cicely was left alone in her father’s empty office, tears prickling her eyes.

But she wasn’t done in the office. She had a plan on how to keep her father’s hands off of Harry, because she knew he wouldn’t rest if she just left—he’d come after them both. Her father, though, underestimated her. He always had and it would be his downfall.

Cicely turned back to the still open safe, and lifted the base of the safe—something her father definitely know she knew about—and pulled out his personal ledgers. The ones that had records of his gambling debts, his personal assets, and of the true wealth of their family. She knew that these were the one thing that truly scared her father, that the world would know the truth of his wealth, of his status, that his family was nearly broke and his business about to go bottom up. That he owed money to what seemed like every man in Birmingham and the surrounding area, and he was barely staying afloat.

She folded the ledgers in half, and stuck them into her bag as well, before finally shutting the safe and turning the lock. Then, she grabbed a pen and paper from her father’s desk and began to write.

Dear Mother and Father,

Don’t come looking for me. I don’t want to be found.

If you do, I’ll send a copy of your ledgers to every paper in Birmingham and London, and everyone will know the truth about your family.

Yours,

Mrs. Cicely Styles

She used the name purely to make her father mad, but also because it brought her immense joy to scratch her future name in ink. She would be a King no longer.

After folding up the note, she tugged Clifford’s disgusting ring off of her finger, and placed it on the note, leaving both for her father to find in the morning. With that, she picked up her bag and her boots, and left the office, making her way through the silent halls of her childhood home, pausing only a few times to take her last looks at her favorite paintings or rooms, to memorize the walls she had called home.

Outside, the air was heavy in the early morning hours, and she was thankful she had put on a coat. She bent down and pulled on her boots, lacing them tightly, and then tugged the door shut behind her, the lock clicking softly behind her. With her bag in her hand, she descended the steps of her home, taking the unlit path to the main road, the crunch of the gravel under her shoes keeping her company as she walked.

She only hoped that Harry had kept up his side of the deal, that he was there waiting for her. Deep in her gut, she knew he would be, but a part of her was still nervous as she walked down the drive. But she thought back to the way he had looked at her in that tiny restroom, the shine in his eyes and red puffy lips from kissing her, the way his fingers gripped her hips, how he told her he would make her his. There was no way he wouldn’t be there.

When she made it to the road, the moonlight was her only guide. She turned right, then left, and then she saw the faint outline of a car on the road a few yards away, just as Harry had promised. It was on impulse that she began to run, the muddy road definitely getting her skirts dirty, but she didn’t care. Harry was a few yards away, freedom was barely out of reach. The wind rustled through her hair and her bag banged against her calves as she ran to him.

And then he was there, leaning against the hood of the car and gazing at her in awe. “Ci—“ She cut him off with the impact of her body falling into his, her lips colliding with his. He found her immediately, hands coming up to cup her face as they kissed, a deep yearning in her body finally fulfilled with him. “You did it,” he said when she pulled away, brushing at her cheeks with his knuckles.

“I did,” she answered with a triumphant smile, “and I stole some money and insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“My father’s personal ledgers—records of his debts, of the family and business finances.”

His eyes widened, and then a rare smile peeked out. “My brilliant girl,” he said. “Now come get in the car.” He took her bag from her hands and walked to the boot, placing it securely inside while she slid into the passenger side.

Instead of turning the car around and heading back in the direction of Birmingham, Harry drove forward, north in the direction of Manchester. “Where are we going?” She asked, turning to look at his face, barely visible in the dark blanket of the night.

He reached his hand over to her that wasn’t on the steering wheel, and tucked his fingers between hers. “We’re goin’ to the sea.”

“The sea?”

He nodded. “Josiah told me to get ya and get out of town for a bit. Let it settle down with your father.”

The idea of Harry, a seaside town, and no worries sounded like heaven to Cicely. “How far is it?”

“A few hours,” he replied. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” She settled into the seat, which wasn’t all that comfortable, but with Harry holding her hand, she fell asleep almost immediately.

They rented a room in a little hotel on the sea, bright blue walls that made Cicely smile when they stepped inside. She stood in front of the window, which faced the water, the waves lapping at the shore as the sun rose. Harry didn’t know if he had ever seen a more breathtaking sight.

He dropped their cases on the floor, and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. The sound had her turning around to face him and Harry’s chest tightened immediately. They were finally alone, alone in a room with a bed and no one would be interrupting them. For a few moments, they just gazed at each other, taking in one another’s presence. Harry’s eyes trailed down Cicely’s body, memorizing the slope of her nose and the planes of her shoulders, the curve of her waist and length of her legs. Her bare knuckles, void of her old engagement ring. A silver chain peaked out from under her dress, a reminder that she wore his necklace, a symbol of what she had helped him believe in again.

Every cell of his body seemed to scream with desire, after two weeks of being without her. Even though they had had only one night together, it was a night he would never forget. From the way Cicely gazed at him, undressing him with her eyes, he had the suspicion that she had thought about it just as much as he had.

The orange and pink hues of the sunrise fell across the walls, casting her in a glow that likened her to an angel, and Harry decided it was an apt comparison. To him, she was an angel in every sense of the word. “Cicely,” he said, her name falling lightly in the room.

“I need you.” Her words cut through him like glass, sharp and gravelly as she hadn’t been awake for long, and honest. “H, I need you.”

When she repeated the words, Harry was moving in an instant, crossing the distance between them. His hands wound through her hair and pulled her towards him, their lips meeting in a sigh. Without the pressure of time, Harry decided to take his time with her, wanting to savor every moment. So he kept the pace slow, nibbling on her bottom lip and licking into her mouth languidly, inhaling every one of her whimpers and gasps as if he only got air from her. Perhaps he did, though, because when he was touching her it felt like he could finally breathe again.

She tried to speed up the kiss, tugging at his lip with her teeth, but Harry refused. With a hand cradling her jaw, he held her in place as he kissed her gently, a tenderness flowing from him that he only knew with her. Her hands curled into his hair and scratched at his scalp, finally settling into the pace Harry set, and the sensation had his skin puckering with goosebumps. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her closer in, so he could feel the bend of her body against his, and it made her let out a breathy gasp.

That was when Harry was done with slow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, he could tell from the way she clenched the back of his shirt, holding him tightly to her. So he turned them slightly, and stepped towards her, directing her backwards to the bed in the center of the room.

She fell to the feather duvet cover in a puff of air, a soft giggle escaping her that made him suck on her jaw. She scrambled at his back at the feeling, it being her sweet spot, the one that made her crazy. Harry knew and used it to his advantage, wanting to hear every sound he could pull from her. She was like a band all in one person, the combination of every type of instrument and sound to create one, beautiful song. A song he would listen to again and again.

“My boots,” she mumbled, nudging at his nose. Harry glanced down and realized she was right—she still had her boots on. They were hanging off the bed, obviously because she was trying not to get the duvet dirty with mud. He squatted down immediately, fingers deftly untying the bows at the top of her lace-up boots.

Her eyes found his as his fingers pulled at the laces, tugging them free from the holes. Her tongue darted across her lip, taunting him as she wet it, and Harry leaned in and kissed her ankle in response. When she squirmed, he did the same to the other ankle, loving how she shakily exhaled, body craving more. “Better?” He asked, pulling them off fully.

She nodded, eyes watching him lazily. There was a calmness to the moment, a difference from the last time he undressed her. That time they were desperate to discover each other, the culmination of days of tension. Now, they were desperate, but in a different way—to be simply be close again.

His fingers slid up her calves where her stockings covered her skin. Skin he desperately wanted free. “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” she said, her lip tucked between her teeth.

Harry pushed up the hem of her dress, revealing her knees and then the milky white of her thighs, where her garters laid. With deft fingers, he unclasped them, releasing her stockings. He inched them down her legs, kissing each centimeter of exposed skin and basking in the pants that left her mouth. He left her stockings on the floor, and then tugged off her garters, not wanting a single scrap of clothing on her when he made love to her.

“You,” she said, voice ragged with desire.

He cocked his head, cheek resting on her thigh. “Wha’?”

“Your clothes.” Her hands tugged at the neck of his crisp white shirt. “I want them off.”

Her desperation made him kiss her skin, tonguing delicately over it in a circle. “Yeah?” She nodded, digging her fingernails into his fabric-covered shoulders. “Can ya help me, love?”

It was a poor excuse to get her hands on his skin, but he knew she didn’t mind. She sat up, Harry slotted between her legs, and slowly released the buttons on his shirt. With each exposed area of skin, she kissed it just as he had, and the feeling of her lips on his skin had him fisting the duvet cover, the warm hot air sending him spinning. By the time she had all of his buttons undone he was a panting mess, so when she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and grazed her fingers over his nipples the deep, drawn out groan that ripped from his chest wasn’t far off.

She smiled at his reaction, and then she bent her head, her tongue flicking over the bars though his nipples, his body jerking against her. “Fuck, Ci,” he rasped, digging his fingers into her hips. Her skirts sat around her waist, so he wasn’t holding her bare skin, and he needed it. Needed to be able to run his hands across her, to mark her up as his. But she seemed to have other plans in mind, because when she sucked his nipple into her mouth he lost all ability to think, much less ask her for what he wanted. With her other hand she tweaked his other nipple, not wanting to leave one unattended, and together the combination had him rattling in her hold.

“I love these,” she whispered, releasing his nipple with a pop. She had told him that before, but each time she did he enjoyed hearing the words. It made his heart soar, the praise from her lips filling him up fully. Her eyes peeked up at him, blue irises blown out under her eyelashes. “What if I got some to match?”

He growled, a sound he had never made before, but it was just a natural reaction to the image of her perfect breasts with bars through the nipples. Of her body bending and jerking against him as he suckled on the sensitive skin. “Think I’ll never let ya out of our room,” he replied, looking down at her lips ghosting across his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His eyes widen at her words, and she giggled, the vibrations ricocheting off his body. “C’mere, you.”

She scrambled backwards on the bed as he shifted, rising onto the bed on his knees and crawling after her. Her dress still adorned her body and Harry wanted it off. Wanted to see her, all of her. His hands pushed up her legs, brushing at her skin and watching as her lips dropped open slightly, air puffing through them at the feeling of his hands on her. When he reached her underwear, she simply nodded, an answer to a silent question. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, pulling them down the length of her legs before tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Next, he pulled her chest up and reached around her, blindly finding the buttons on her dress. The position meant she was pressed right up against his bare chest, and he didn’t think either of them minded, based on how her breath caught.

He popped each button with ease, fingers crawling down the freshly revealed expanse of her back as he made his way down. Once he was out of buttons, he pushed at the neck of her dress, exposing her shoulder. He moved without thought, wanting simply to cover her in kisses, and nuzzled her skin with his nose before gingerly brushing it with his lips. As he worked across her skin she shrugged off the bodice and then pulled it over her head.

Her fully revealed body knocked the air right out of him. It took him a moment to be able to think again, the sight of so much bare skin and just her brassiere, her underwear gone and showing him her most intimate parts. Between her breasts laid his cross necklace, the cold silver contrasting against her warm skin. His hands pressed to the chain and then her skin, eyes flickering over her face as her head dropped back in pleasure at his touch. Fingers popped the clasps on her last remaining garment, and once that was dropped, she was completely bare for him. Her blonde hair and bright eyes, soft pink lips swollen from his kisses, her seemingly miles of unmarked skin, except for a few red marks that he knew were from him. The prospect of leaving traces of him behind for her to find tomorrow had him hardening in his trousers. Ever since he had started thinking of her as his, he couldn’t find a more alluring thought.

“Beautiful,” he exhaled, unable to find any other words to describe her. There weren’t enough in the English language to encapsulate her. To explain the way his heart sung for her, how the valley of her breasts made his heart quick, the blush on her cheeks urging him to dust his lips across them. How he craved her hands on his skin, everywhere and anywhere she would put them. It was as if she had been designed for him, to drive him crazy and make him forget anyone or anything else existed. When he looked at her, it was all he could focus on—and he could barely do that, because the sight of her smile had his mind melting.

The air in the room was filled with a mixture of her perfume and remnants of his cologne, a chemically balanced combination that made Harry dizzy. Pants from her delicate lips filled his ears, the soft husky voice that murmured his name when he hadn’t touched her for too long, causing his eyes to flirt up to hers. “Remember what you did last time?”

“Wha’?” His mind was too hazy to think straight, to process what she was asking.

A blush creeped across her features, and suddenly Harry knew what last time she was referring her to. “Our last night,” she explained, rasping as he leaned in and nibbled at the taught skin at the base of her throat, her head bobbing to the side to give him more access. “When you—you touched me.”

How could he forget? It was all he could think about for days after. Her taste on his tongue, the way her fingers curled into his hair and tugged at his scalp. A tangy sweetness meant only for him, something she didn’t show anyone else, a piece of her that was his and his alone. It was intoxicating, the taste of her, and he was desperate for another sip. “I remember,” he answered, brushing his fingers up her neck to turn her head so she faced him. “What about it?”

“I...” She fumbled with her words, pupils darting around his face and then anywhere but them. He wanted her eyes back on him so badly it was embarrassing, begging for her attention, but he knew that she was bashful so he let her gather her courage away from his gaze. “I want to do that to you.”

Harry’s body practically shook at her words. The prospect of her mouth, those plush and warm lips around him, between his legs and her hands on his thighs? The image that his mind conjured forced a series of curses from his chest in a rasp, her name mixed in. “Ya sure? Don’t have to do that.” Of course he wanted it—he wanted whatever shreds of her that she would give him—but he knew that he wouldn’t last long anyways. Just seeing her fall apart would be enough for him to be over the edge right after her.

“I want to,” she said, eyes finally coming back to his face, connecting with his green ones.

“Never done it before, right, love?” She shook her head, ducking down, but he pushed at her chin softly. “Hey, none of that. I’ll show ya, okay?” Knowing she was nervous and embarrassed, he kissed her cupid’s bow tenderly, before connecting their lips for a short peck. “Love that I’ll be the only one who gets to feel your mouth.”

That had her smiling, her bashful expression gone and replaced with one of temptation and desire. When she pushed at his shoulders, forcing them to the side so that he laid on his back, her hovering over him, it had him keening into her. The sight of her naked body above him, his necklace hanging from her neck, her blonde hair creating a curtain around their faces of their world and their world alone, was enough for him to whine, low and desperate. She was the only person who could make him like this—utterly destroyed for her.

Harry decided to see how far she could go on her own, wanting her to build up her confidence before he started to guide her. So he let her fingers creep down his torso, hissing when she scratched over his butterfly tattoo, a coy smile fluttering across her face. She popped the button of his trousers and with a glance to his face for reassurance, pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down, her eager hands taking his boxers with them. When she saw him, hard and red against his stomach, her reaction wasn’t quite as surprised as the first time.

This time, she dropped to her stomach between his legs and Harry leaned back, letting his head fall to the pillows and the wrought iron headboard, watching her in rapture. Gingerly, she knelt her head down and licked the underside of his cock, a tentative touch that had Harry grasping at the sheets, breathless. It was so unexpected, the warmth of her tongue and the light touch that sent shivers up his body.

His eyes followed her as she explored, touching him with her index finger, running up the length of him. He hummed in response, pleasure coursing through his veins at the feeling of her hands on him. “So good,” he murmured, lifting his hand from the bed and threading it through her hair, softly pulling at the strands to show her how good it felt. When she paused, he knew that she didn’t know what to do next, so he moved his other hand to cover hers. “Can ya lick your hand for me, Ci?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion at his request. “What?”

“Makes it easier,” he explained.

With her eyes on his, she brought her hand to her mouth, opening her lips enough for her tongue to poke out. The same tongue that had been touching his hard cock just moments ago now licked a broad stroke up her hand, once and then twice. “Like that?”

He swallowed thickly, wondering if she knew what she was doing to him simply by existing. “Perfect. Now, hold me in your hand,” he directed, closing his hand around hers and guiding her to his length, helping her wrap her dainty fingers around him. The touch made him hiss through his teeth and her head bobbed up to make sure he was alright. “Feels good,” he told her, and the words made her soften, tension leaving her. “Now, run it up and down—yeah, just like that, love. Fuck.” The drawn out curse made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, obviously pleased with herself.

Harry kept a loose hold on her hand, just enough to help her keep a steady pace, but soon he was faltering. Desire was swirling in his belly, and he knew if they kept this up too much longer he wouldn’t be able to last. But he wanted her mouth. He was selfish, and he wanted to feel her mouth wrapped around him, even if just for a moment.

“Wanna take me in your mouth?” He asked, hushed tones that made her nod. His hand on hers moved to her chin, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “Don’t use teeth,” he informed her, keeping his words soft, “and ya don’t have to take it all.”

She nodded, and then she opened her mouth, tugging playfully on the pad of his thumb. A strangled whimper left his mouth, the sight of her mouth on his thumb leaving him breathless for her. Then, she released him and bowed her head, licking softly up his length.

When her lips opened and then closed around his tip, Harry barely held back from bucking into her. She was warm, soft, and wet, a sinful combination that made his head fall back, a hungry groan ripping through his throat. Then she sunk down on him slowly, taking him bit by bit, keeping her teeth sheathed as he had told her. Harry was panting more than he ever had before, struggling to keep his eyes trained on her. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. The sight of her long eyelashes battering against her lids, her pink lips around his cock, watching his reaction, it was enough where he nearly came right then and there.

She seemed to quickly understand that she had to breathe through her nose, and did so as she moved up on his length. At his tip, she licked over it, her deft tongue circling where he was weeping for her. The hand that was holding her hair tightened, and he cursed at the feeling. But then she sunk back down on him, and Harry saw stars as she began to find a pace, moving up and down on him with ease.

He knew he was muttering utter nonsense, some combination of her name and curses and things like God, pet, feel so good, but he didn’t care. He could barely think, let alone censor his words. As she moved up and down, his hand wrapped in her hair so he could watch her, he could feel his abdomen tightening, the tell-tale sign that he was close. He didn’t want to finish her mouth, he wanted to feel her around him first.

“Ci,” he said, her nickname broken in his throat. “Gotta stop, love.”

Her head bounced off of him immediately, eyes studying his. “Why?”

He thumbed at the rise of her cheekbone, then slipped down to her lips, slick from her saliva around him. “Same reason as last time—not gonna last if ya keep goin’.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at him, before moving backwards, falling onto her ankles. “But I…”

His eyebrow quirked at her insinuation. “Did ya like that?”

She blushed, color fanning across her cheeks, and he loved it. “Maybe.”

The chuckle that spilled from his lips had her moving towards him, and he took her gladly, his arms securing around her naked body, eager to have her lie down on top of him. He moved his forearms so that they were under him, pressing up, so he could meet her halfway. They found each other as her legs were moving to either side of his right thigh, finding a perch on his body so that she could balance as they kissed, lips slotting between each other.

Then Harry had a particularly sinful idea, but one he thought she would enjoy. If he entered her now there was no way he would last long enough for her finish—he needed her to catch up to him, and he had just the solution. He moved his hands to her hips, pressing his ring-clad fingers into her skin and ever so slightly, brushed her back and forth across the swell of his thigh.

A sweet, little cry left her lips when her clit brushed across his skin, and Harry soaked in the sound. “How’s that feel?”

Her hands fell to his chest, her thumb brushing across his nipple piercing without meaning so, and it had Harry’s body jolting immediately. When his thigh jumped up, she mewled, curling her fingers into his skin. “You—it—yes,” she rasped. Her hair hung in her face as she leaned onto his chest, using his body to support her weight as he moved her across his thigh. He wondered how his leg hair felt against her skin, if it tickled it the way he imagined.

She was panting above him, and his eyes kept switching between her contorted facial expressions and where her center rubbed over his thigh, unable to decide which one deserved more of his attention. “Want to move on your own, love?” He asked her, squeezing the flesh of her hips.

Slowly, she nodded, and Harry released her hips, letting one of his hands fall to the thigh that was hooked over his own hip, the other pushing her hair out of her face so he could properly see her eyes. They were fluttered shut as she rocked back and forth. The confidence she was exuding was a sharp contrast to other moments they had spent together, but he loved how she was trusting her body, letting it tell her what she needed and how. Watching her take what she needed from him, the slick of her center coating his skin as she moved, it had him tugging his lip into his mouth, teeth biting into the skin.

A breathy, languid moan left her mouth, and Harry rose up, reconnecting their lips so he could absorb her sounds into his lungs. It was give and take, one of his arms around her waist as she moved slightly faster, and she chased the pleasure in her body, pants and moans falling onto his tongue.

“Harry,” she said, words broken as she pulled away, but Harry didn’t let her go. He had her lip caught between her teeth, a mewl from her throat being what finally made him release her. “I need you.”

He pushed at her hair, the feeling of her bending her head into the curve of his palm making his heart thrum. “Ya ready for me, love?”

“Please,” she begged, hands curling into the base of his scalp, her nails prodding at his skin.

He glanced down at their position. Would she want to be on top? He didn’t know. “Do you want to be like this?” She nodded, and so he tugged the knee that was between his legs to the other side of his body. Slowly, she shifted forward and Harry fell back into the pillows, letting her take the lead. He wanted her to take control in whatever ways she wanted, to show him what she desired and pursue it. So he let her hover over him, his fingers drumming on her thighs as she reached between them, her soft hand picking up his cock from where it laid on his stomach, hard and aching for her.

As she moved, her eyes flickered to his and they held one another’s gaze as she sunk down on him, bit by bit just as she had taken him into her mouth, both of their jaws dropping slightly as they reconnected. Cicely was panting above him, one hand anchored on his chest as she adjusted to his size, and Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth practically grinding together as he tried to hold himself together.

The feeling of her like this, above him, her hands grappling at his body to gain strength, her knees secured around him, it had him floating and falling at the same time. It was as if he was free-falling through the air and the only thing his mind was able to hold onto was her. The way her neck curved as she threw her head back, the shape of her lips in an O when she moaned at the feeling of him inside her, how her toes curled against his calves.

One of his hands smoothed across her cheek, gripping the spot below her ear, his thumb on her cheek and his fingers pressing into her scalp. The other fell to her waist, his palm cupping the curve of her waist as she sat on him, full and slightly shaking on top of him.

“Ya okay?” He asked, urging her to tell him how she was doing, to check in.

“Yes,” she answered, always a girl for proper words, not his butchered vocabulary from the war and sub-par education, her accent posh and perfect. He loved how it sounded in his ears, like sweet honey on a dessert. “You—you feel so good.”

He knew exactly what she meant, because so did she. And when she rose up on her knees, pressing the tops of her feet down onto his shins for leverage, and then sunk back down, Harry saw stars. The tight grip of her walls around him, sucking him deep into her, filling every nook and cranny. It was as if she was suffocating him, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. “You do too,” he managed to choke out. “Tight—so tight. Fuck, love, you’re too perfect.”

He didn’t realize there were tears falling from the corners of his eyes until she was bending down and licking at them, sopping up his salty tears with her tongue. “Don’t cry,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his. “I’m here, I’m not leaving, I’m yours.”

The words had his chest constricting, a ball in his throat he couldn’t swallow. The combination of her words and the tenderness of her touch and the way she was surrounding him was a combination he didn’t know if he could manage. He slipped his arm around her chest and pulled her close to him, wanting her flush to him. The pebbles of her nipples brushed against his, and they both moaned as they kissed, their lips a mess of saliva and hushed promises of love. His necklace nudged against both of their chests, the cold metal shocking to their skin. He helped her move, working her hips over his as she tired in his arms, neither of them wanting it to end.

Her fingers brushed his temples and his eyes fluttered shut, her soft skin always shocking him. He had never met someone who was so soft in every way—her skin, her touches, her words. She was like a warm bed on a Sunday morning that you never wanted to rise from, just wanted to stay curled up with your eyes closed. That’s what he wanted to, to curl up inside of her and let her have him, body and soul.

Their noses bumped and a giggle fell from her lips, the sound of it making him smile. “I love ya,” he whispered, the words caught in the tiny space between them. “Didn’t even know I could feel like this about someone.”

She nudged her lips with his, pecking and pulling at them, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I didn’t either,” she told him. As she rocked back on him, his cock hard and weeping inside of her, she scratched at his scalp, curling her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine ever loving someone else how I love you.”

For some reason, those words are what made Harry’s heart and abdomen clench, his orgasm moving through his bones. “Need ya closer,” he mumbled, dropping his head to fall into the crook of her neck. She cradled the back of his head there with one of her hands and then she managed to drop her body more into his, letting all of her weight rest on him.

Harry shifted so that his feet were flat on the bed, and bent his knees, using the position to push up into her. He could feel the exhaustion in her body, how she was holding on for him but was rapidly tiring. When he nudged deeper into her from the position, she whined his name, a Harry curling through the room like a wisp of smoke.

She was tightening around him, walls pressing more and more on his length, and he knew she was nearing her release. He pressed a string of open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and nosing at the strain of her neck. “Let go for me,” he told her, echoing his words from their first time together, knowing she needed the reassurance. “I need it, love.”

He bucked into her once more, and that combined with a bit of harsh suction on her neck was all it took to have her shaking in his arms, gripping him like a vice. Her nails dug into his scalp and he grunted, pushing up into her two more times to push her through her orgasm. His name spilled from her lips, a prayer and a pleading beg all in one, as she scrambled for more, rocking down onto him. She was dropping her weight into him fully, letting him support her as she fell to pieces in his arms. Then, he pulled her hips up and pressed down into the bed, disconnecting their bodies so he could finish in the narrow space between them, his ropes of come landing on both of their stomachs.

The weight of her against his body as both of their breathing patterns slowed, her head resting on his chest, calmed Harry in a way he hadn’t experienced in so long. Exhaustion settling into his bones, a desire to sleep finally running through his veins. Her fingers danced up his arms, pressing softly into his tattoos and drawing circles on his skin. He was still sticky on his lower abdomen, but he didn’t care and she didn’t seem to either. Neither of them wanted to move from their positions.

“I love you,” she said, breath fanning across his warm, sticky skin. “Somehow, I have this feeling that I’ll love you forever.”

He ran his fingers through the strands of her hair that rested on his shoulder, humming softly. “Hope so.” He was going to wait to do this properly, be on his knees in front of her in a nice suit and everything, but with her pressing tender kisses to his skin and hugging him close, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Ci,” he said, forcing her eyes up to his. “Will you marry me?”

Surprise didn’t even cross her face, just joy. Joy in the way she grinned at him, how her hands grabbed at his cheeks tugging his head towards hers so that their foreheads rested on each others. “Yes. A million times yes.”

A rare graced Harry’s features, his heart soaring so high he didn’t know if he would ever come down. “Yeah? Ya will?”

“Already said,” she told him, nuzzling her nose to his cheek. “Need me to say it again?”

“Maybe a couple of times.” This banter between them was new, but Harry loved it. How comfortable they were in one another’s presence, how he was able to let his guard down for her, how no matter what thoughts crossed his mind they were safe in her hands.

Cicely leaned her elbows onto his chest, picking her body up, so she could properly hover over him. “Yes,” she said, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She peppered her lips across every bit of his face, covering his features with her lips until he was tugging at her head, a chuckle leaving his chest.

Harry was happy. It was a happiness he hadn’t felt in years, one without end, seemingly stretching into infinity. It felt almost like a dream, and he never wanted to wake up. “I was goin’ to propose to ya properly,” he admitted, pulling her head back down onto his chest. “Couldn’t wait though.”

“Hmm,” she hummed into his skin. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her head as she settled into his skin. “Maybe I will.”

Her fingers brushed across his skin, tracing the bird cage tattoo. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Her words were a whisper, but in the silence of their room is rang loudly.

“I’m the one who should be shocked,” he informed her, pinching at her hip. “I’m just some scrappy boxer. You’re this beautiful creature with class and poise who decided I could possibly be worthy.”

Cicely picked up her head, resting her chin on his chest. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than that to me.” Her hands ran across his cheeks, pushing at the tendrils of his hair with a tenderness that made Harry want to cry again. “You’re strong, you’re honest, you’re loving. You fight for what you believe in, even when it’s hard. You have fought in battles on every field imaginable, home and abroad, and you haven’t given up on life. You’re still you, even if you hide it from people a bit. How on earth could I not find you worthy?”

Harry ducked his head, and exhaled into her skin. Her words had struck a chord in him one that ripped through the walls he had constructed years ago and laid him bare for all to see. “I’ll always fight for ya,” he told her, voice raw and rough against her ear. “Every single day of my life.”

They looked at each other, the waves crashing against the shore outside their hotel in a tiny town, far from the worries that would one day reach them. For now, though, it was Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry, a combination no one expected but worked perfectly all the same.

That night, Harry was roused from his nightmares with soft touches to his cheeks and his name a hushed drawl in his ear, Cicely hovering over him and naked against his skin. His heart hammered in his chest, struggling to breathe as he hovered in that place between the dream and reality, trying to piece together what was happening, where he was, unsure if she was even real. He had dreamt of her for so long, so holding her hips as he inhaled slowly made him consider that perhaps he had never woken up in the first place.

“Harry,” she murmured, brushing a hand over his cheek. “I’m here, baby.”

The name made his heart clench, and his fingers dug into her skin, his breath coming choppy into his lungs. “Remind me,” he begged, voice broken. “Remind me of reality, Ci.”

Without a pause, she began to speak, telling him their story in the darkness of their room, perched on his lap. She told him about the moment when she first saw his face, about how she fell in love with him because of his hesitant touches and loving glances, how she craved him every second that they were apart. In hushed tones, she described their reunion, the first one and now the second one. Told him about how much she loved him, pressing a kiss to his ring finger where she would one day place a ring of her own on the man she adored with her whole being. By the time her story ended, Harry could breathe again, his face pressed to the valley of her breasts as she held his head, cradling him against her heart. They stayed like that until he could sleep again, and when he did, the ghosts of his past were nowhere to be found. Instead, they were filled with bright hues and her, her face in a kaleidoscope of color and emotion that he wouldn’t be able to describe even if he had the entire dictionary at his disposal.

Perhaps they were built for one another, constructed with equal similarities and differences, designed to balance one another’s ebbs and flows like nature did. His roughness matched by her tenderness, her exuberance tempered by his earnestness, their pasts both painful for different reasons, enough to where they understood pain and how to heal each other. Two sides of the same coin.

Or, perhaps, just two people unequivocally and endlessly in love.

THAT’S IT! come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, emotions, favorite parts, etc. i love u all xo

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l @grace-ful-gold @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986