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wheneverfeasible · 30 days ago

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Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

Chapter 2

chapter wc: 5.9k || rating: M (for now) || tags: sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, mean dom!Eddie, feminized!Steve, see ao3 for full tag list || ao3

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Once, when he was drunk and stupid, Steve had dressed up in his mother’s clothing. It had been a dare, of course, a bet sparked by boredom and too many shotgunned beers by the poolside. The others had already gone for the night, or were passed out downstairs somewhere, and it was just him and his two best friends, Carol and Tommy.

It had been a joke, and Carol and Tommy had laughed, and after putting on lipstick of his mother’s, Steve pouted at them just like that blonde actress his dad really liked, though he sometimes ranted about the indecency and depravity in her films. Steve wondered briefly how his father would feel seeing his son being the one crossdressing now.

Though he’d wobbled in them, Steve chased Carol and Tommy around his parents’ room in a pair of his mother’s more sensible heels, their combined laughter like a melody. His mother’s red dress confined his movements a little, but eventually he caught them and, first one and then the other, he left a dramatic lipstick mark on their cheeks where he kissed them.

It was nice. Back then.

Tommy had mocked him, but his eyes had lingered a little longer on Steve, and even Carol’s gaze held something like appreciation in them. When Steve looked at himself in the mirror, there wasn’t any sense of wrongness to it at all. He wasn’t a woman, that much was clear, but he didn’t mind the way he looked wearing his mother’s things, even if he had put it all on a little cartoonishly.

Staring at himself in the mirror now, Steve missed those simpler times. He missed how he and Tommy and Carol had been inseparable for a time, how Carol always had a juice box or banana or something waiting for him after practice when he needed the post-workout pick-me-up, or how Tommy always had his window unlocked when Steve needed an escape after family dinner.

How Tommy always had arnica cream waiting in case Steve came over with new bruises, or how Carol helped teach him makeup techniques to cover what wouldn’t fade easily.

When Carol and Tommy first got together back in seventh grade, it shifted dynamics a little, but their little trio had remained strong. Steve had thought then they would remain as they always had been, a united front. Instead, when Steve trusted them with his secret, everything imploded.

“Are you going to be okay, Vee?”

Steve glanced at the reflection of the woman standing behind him in the mirror, feeling her comfort a balm to soothe old aches he didn’t know he still had the capacity to hold. After everything else that had been done to him, the betrayal of childhood best friends still shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

“I’m fine, Tiffy,” he murmured, making himself smile to reassure her as he turned away from the mirror to take her hands in his. “This isn’t anything new,” he said with a wry chuckle.

“At least Daddy Kas isn’t fat like Cerdo was,” Selena snorted from where she reposed on her bunk, head propped up on her hand as she lay stretched out on her side. “I don’t know how you survived being his favorite when it always felt like I was going to be squished to death under him!” She shuddered slightly. “And hopefully Kas doesn’t make me call him ‘Papi’ like that pendejo did. Ugh, even I felt racist saying it.”

Rolling his eyes as the others laughed, Steve couldn’t keep his lips from quirking ever so slightly into a more genuine smile. He had told the girls everything—or almost everything—that had occurred during his time with Munson, much to Selena’s amusement, who had for some time called Porzio “Piggy” or some variation behind his back because of his unfortunate weight and tendency to make a sound that was almost a squeal when he came.

He hadn’t told them that he knew Munson from his past, however, that they had gone to high school together even, but everything else had been fair game. Besides one other thing…

They didn’t know that, if Steve failed to please Munson that night, this might very well be the last time they saw each other.

“It helped that Porzio was a lazy bastard and liked to make me do all the work,” he said with a sly grin, bringing Tiffany’s hands up to his lips to give them a small kiss before releasing her. He turned back to the mirror briefly to touch up his hair, fiddling with the small clips that pulled it back and curved to the side.

“No wonder your thighs always look fit to burst from your tights,” Zuri mumbled loud enough for them all to hear.

Steve mocked-gasped, picking up one of the clips he hadn’t used to toss at her. “Never had any complaints yet. Don’t act like you’re not jealous.”

Zuri dodged the small clip Steve threw at her and stuck her tongue out at him, though she cast a small smile to Mona when the other woman picked up the clip to clasp to one of Zuri’s space buns that she had her tight coils styled into still. Mona returned the smile with one of her own, her fingers lingering slightly before dropping to her side.

“I bet Daddy Kas won’t complain tonight either,” Selena added with a scrunched nose in tease, causing Isabel in the bunk below her to swat at her other hand dangling over the edge. “He looked like he wanted to gobble you up when he made you suck off his thumb!”

“Vee’s always been very good with his mouth,” Fen said with a throaty laugh and a suggestive wiggle to her brows, splayed across Janice’s lap who was braiding her fine black hair. “There’s a reason he’s the favorite.”

Steve felt his face flush with embarrassment, though it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Fen had a filthy mouth, though she always played at being sweet and innocent among their wardens.

About a month after Steve had been bought by Porzio, when Steve had been ordered for the first time to fuck her while Porzio and his associates watched, she had just shrugged and informed him that she hadn’t even been a backdoor virgin when she was first brought into this life, so he needn’t worry about hurting her as it wasn’t her first time. He had blushed even more back then, especially since she was even younger than he was.

“You’re all going to hell, I hope you know this,” he deadpanned, fixing the tight fuschia dress he’d picked for that night. It was thin strapped with a plunging v neck that went nearly to his navel, the bottom hem going to about mid thigh though one side was slit high, only held together by equally thin criss crossed straps. A soft pink lace thong barely kept his bits contained.

A Steve from a long time ago might have relished the fact that he was wearing something like this, might have laughed at the absurdity of it all, but now it just felt like any other uniform he was forced to wear. He wondered, idly, what Tommy and Carol would have thought about this one too.

“Knock ‘em dead, Vee,” Janice murmured, catching Steve’s eye with a seriousness that both caused anxiety and relief to course through him. He might very well be going to the gallows here, but at least he had never been alone.

Steve gave each one of them—Janice, Mona, Tiffany, Selena, Fen, Zuri, and Isabel—a small smile and a small wave of his fingers. “Don’t wait up, kids,” he teased back, scooping up the most important part of tonight: Kas’s rings, cleaned and polished and waiting to be used again. Just…hopefully not tonight.

He moved towards the door and knocked on it, alerting the guard on the other side that he was ready. Honestly, having their room guarded wasn’t anything new for them, but what was new was that their privacy was more or less respected. Though Steve didn’t have it as bad as the others with general day-to-day grunts working for Porzio, since the majority of the soldiers were predominantly heterosexual, the girls almost always had an audience when they bathed or changed for their duties. They had all expected that to remain the same.

Except, after being manhandled to their shared room, no guard lingered on the inside. Their room had obviously been searched, but it wasn’t ransacked or overly molested like Porzio’s people might have done. The only real disappointment was the wine Fen had secreted away after stealing it from one of Porzio’s parties was missing, but even then there hadn’t been a punishment waiting for them for the thievery.

Now, though they were still imprisoned in their room, Munson’s men waited outside and did not open the door to harass them whenever they wanted. At least, not yet. There was no telling how things might change, of course, as it hadn’t even been a full twelve hours since Munson and his men invaded Porzio’s mansion. And who was to say what would happen once they returned to Munson’s own domain.

Whether or not Steve was with them.

The guard set to act as his chaperone gave him a once over, something darkly amused but without the vitriol he was used to seeing in Porzio’s men who didn’t want to fuck him, and mockingly held out his hand for Steve to lead the way.

Were it Porzio’s men, he would have played it up, would have walked with a sway to his hips and played his role, but he couldn’t now. Not when he didn’t know what would be waiting for him on the other side of the doors he was far too familiar with. There had been days, weeks even, that he saw those doors and what was within more than he saw his own bed.

Steve knew the way well. He clenched the silver rings in his fist tightly, knowing that beyond being psychological warfare, his custodianship of them was also a test. These rings were a large part of Kas’s persona. Were Steve to lose or damage one now, he could only imagine the retaliation.

Swallowing the ball in his throat, Steve stepped up to the large double doors that led to Porzio’s room—now Munson’s. He ignored the soldiers on either side of the door, and the one at his back, and the way all three pairs of eyes seemed to burn a hole in his skull. The one on Steve’s left did have a look of distaste on his face, evident even in Steve’s peripheral, though oddly enough it seemed more to do with what he was wearing than what he was doing there.

Porzio made it no secret what he did, or that he would fuck anyone. Not everyone that worked for or with him agreed with his sexual liberation, but they kept their mouths shut around Porzio. Around Steve, on the other hand…well, Steve learned a fair few new swear words, and not all of them in English.

Munson’s men, however, didn’t seem to bat a single lash at the thought of Munson being some sort of queer. It was bizarre but not unwelcome, especially in regards to Steve’s (potential) continued existence amongst them.

Steve knocked on the door.

It was only a few moments’ wait, and then one side of the double doors cracked open, Munson appearing in the empty space to lean against the wood with a sharp grin. His dark eyes scanned over Steve, taking their time, which allowed Steve to do the same.

Munson had changed out of his blood splattered clothing, at least, though he wore more black slacks with a white wifebeater—Steve tried not to think of the significance of that terminology—with pale feet sticking out. Steve did his best not to stare, though his eyes tracked over the various pieces of ink and scarring now on display over Munson’s bare arms and peeking out from under his shirt, though not least of all his bare feet.

“Wonderful to see you again, my dear,” Munson all but purred from where he was draped against the door, one forearm pressed to the wood above his head. His eyes snapped to the soldiers and with a barest twitch of his brow indicated his orders. A mere split second later, all three men were walking away, causing Munson to return his grin to Steve, stepping back to allow him entrance into the room.

Determined to keep his legs beneath him—for however long Munson allowed that—Steve pushed his nerves away to stride into the room with his head held high. At least until a hand ghosted along his lower back and ass as he walked by, causing him to stumble slightly with a quickly drawn in breath.

Munson laughed at his reaction as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Rather skittish for an experienced whore,” he remarked, though the words were not quite as mocking as they could have been.

Steve felt a twinge of anger at Munson’s words, but he was good at keeping it off his expression now, his voice only slightly tighter than normal as he turned around to try to smile at the man who held his life in his hands.

“I am…merely surprised at seeing you, Daddy,” he replied, the part of him that adapted to survive wondering what sort of role Munson wanted him to play. The experienced whore, was it? Or did he like the skittishness? Should Steve sit on the bed, give him those come-hither eyes with smirking lips and teasing legs? Should he fumble and stutter and bashfully look at Munson through his lashes?

Instead, Steve did none of that, merely holding out his hand, palm up, rings nestled together for his new master to take his weapons back. Munson was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to Steve anyways, so what was the point? It was only delaying the inevitable.

Munson’s brow only quirked a little, then he was moving towards the bed himself, settling on the edge with spread legs. He pointed a finger down at the spot between his knees. “Kneel.”

Easier said than done, asshole, Steve wanted to snark back, but he merely swallowed back his sigh and moved to stand before the other man and, despite his annoyed thoughts, swiftly moved to kneel as instructed. Though his knees weren’t quite what they used to be after the abuse done to them, he had enough experience to move in his clothes easily, even when they otherwise restricted his movements.

He didn’t touch Munson, not yet, not until he was instructed to do so. He hadn’t lasted this long because he made things difficult for himself. And sure, maybe that meant he had been well and truly broken, but at least he was alive. At least…that’s what he told himself. Sometimes he wondered if he should have just fought fought fought until the end, but he had been broken already before he had driven the final nail in his coffin.

Firmly shoving all thoughts of that man to the back of his mind, Steve merely sat back on his heels and looked up at Munson expectantly. Nothing would ever change, and while some of the girls had wondered if this change in leadership would allow them a chance to escape, he knew better than that. Kas would never allow that to happen. If even just half the rumors of the Don was true, it was a miracle Steve’s brains hadn’t been bashed in as soon as Munson recognized him.

Munson’s fingers reached out, lightly trailing along Steve’s jaw where the bruising was, his thumb brushing over Steve’s bottom lip to slide over the healing cut there, courtesy of one of Porzio’s own rings. They had been gaudy things, more about flaunting his wealth than being weapons, but they still hurt when he backhanded Steve for whatever transgression he had made in that moment. He wasn’t looking forward to how cutting Munson’s would be.

As though hearing his thoughts, Munson released Steve’s jaw to hold out his hand. “Put them on.”

Steve clenched his fingers around the rings still in his hand for a brief moment to still their trembling, and then slowly he began slotting the rings onto the correct fingers, tensing whenever Munson cleared his throat when he’d start putting them on the incorrect ones until every ring was back in its proper place. Steve then dropped his hands back down to his own lap, clasping his fingers together as he waited for what came next.

Munson, for his part, leaned back with one hand while he examined the other, taking in the rings and how they glinted in the low lighting. The thick velvet curtains were drawn over the near floor to ceiling windows keeping the last vestiges of sunlight out, only the ornate torchères in the corners and the equally ornate table lamps on the bedside tables on either side of the massive bed casting a muted glow around the room.

Porzio had a tendency to overspend, to buy the most gaudy of decorations as though he were some rich lord on high, with far more culture and grace than he actually had. From the plush rugs to the thickly carved wooden furniture—including the four poster bed with heavy red brocade drapings—screamed at wanting to be seen as more important than he really was.

“You’re nothing like I remember, Harrington.”

Steve’s shoulders twitched in a small flinch when Munson said his name, a name he hadn’t heard spoken out loud in years, though he kept the grimace off his lips at least. His gaze remained on the other man’s hand, waiting for the strike he was certain was coming in one form or another.

“Neither are you,” escaped Steve’s lips in a snap without his consent, causing his eyes to widen slightly. “Sir,” he hastily tacked on, softening his tone to his gentler Vee voice he had thought he’d perfected. Having a face from his past thrown at him was causing no end of trouble, it seemed.

Before Steve could even babble further apology, Munson’s hand shot out to fiercely grab Steve by the jaw, his now beringed fingers digging into his bruises as the man leaned forward with a small snarl.

“Still a massive bitch though, I see,” Munson sneered, harshly squeezing Steve’s face between his fingers until a small whimper left him unbidden. With a scoffing roll of his eyes, Munson flung Steve’s face away from him and leaned back once more on the bed, this time with both hands.

Knowing better than to rub his smarting jaw, Steve drew in a shuddering breath after he was flung away, catching himself on the floor with one hand so he didn’t get sent sprawling to the side. He lowered his head in submission as he straightened back up into his kneel, trying not to let the heat of shame burn him alive.

“Forgive me, Daddy,” he whispered, fingers curling in his lap. “Please let me make it up to you.”

The silence that lingered after his request felt charged, heavy, making Steve’s muscles tense in anticipation of pain, even though he knew that that always made it worse. Kas was not known for being mild mannered. Though Steve had obviously never met Kas before, he had heard the stories. Knew that Kas would be smiling one moment and by the next you were swallowing your own teeth. He earned his nickname.

The rustle of the bedding and the creak of wood as Munson sat forward had Steve’s shoulders hitching slightly for whatever retaliation came his way, unable to suppress a flinch when he felt Munson’s fingers lightly play over the small clips in his hair. A softly exhaled breath left Munson, ghosting over Steve’s ear.

“Take your hair down, sweetheart. I can’t take you seriously when you have butterflies in your hair. And then we’ll put that bitchy little mouth of yours to good use.”

Oh.

Steve’s hands moved immediately to the clips and pins holding his hair up and curved to the side. It wasn’t quite as long as Munson’s—which was now roughly just past his shoulder blades—but it grazed the top of his shoulders in a more uniform length as opposed to the styled layers he’d once had. He greatly missed his Beloved Farrah Fawcett spray sometimes.

He worked swiftly, releasing the small clips and pins until his hair was free to fall loosely around him. The adornments were then set aside by the thick square post of the bed, making a mental note to remember them once he was dismissed. If he was dismissed. It wouldn’t do for Munson to somehow accidentally step on one.

Once his hair was free, Steve figured Munson’s words were permission enough. He raised up on his knees slightly to settle his hands just above Munson’s knees, sliding them up his thighs, but froze when he felt the muscles beneath his palms tense up. Looking up through his lashes, Steve tried his best to hide how nervous he was, especially when Munson just stared at him with that blank expression of his. Should he have waited for a more blatant command to suck the guy’s dick?

A smirk suddenly tugged at one corner of Munson’s lips however, a mocking little laugh leaving him. “I’m almost tempted to let you continue, to see just how well Porzio had you trained, but we have other matters to discuss tonight, sweetheart.”

Unable to hold his frown of confusion back, Steve stared up at Munson with a head tilted in question and furrowed brows. He knew better than to speak out of turn, however, especially when he was already traversing over incredibly thin ice. He kept his hands where he held them pressed into Munson’s thighs, not wanting to risk his ire one way or another.

“You know, you look like a dog when you do that, with your big dumb brown eyes. Did you howl like a bitch too when Porzio mounted you from behind?” Munson sat forward, bringing his hands to cover Steve’s, pressing them harder into his thighs. “Would you howl if I bent you over right now and bred you like the whore you are?” he asked in what was almost a crude bastardization of a lover’s whisper.

Nausea roiled in Steve’s stomach as he did his best not to flinch back as Munson’s face got closer to his own. He thickly swallowed, trying not to let his annoyance show when Munson took obvious enjoyment in his discomfort. He wondered if Munson would be this much of an asshole if he hadn’t recognized Steve, or if this was some form of revenge for being one of the popular kids when they were in high school.

If Munson had stuck around in Hawkins, had been there for Steve’s senior year, he would have seen just how Steve’s popularity had deserted him. Just like everyone else.

“If you want me to, Daddy,” he forced himself to softly murmur, instead of whatever else he might have told the former Freak of Hawkins High. “Say the word and I’ll howl, bark, and beg.”

Munson studied him for a moment, contemplative, before lifting a hand to lightly take the ‘V’ charm hanging from his collar between his fingers. “Well,” he replied. “You are already wearing a collar. Maybe I should put a leash on you, take you for a walk for everyone to see.” He smirked then, wiggling a finger under the strap of the collar until Steve felt a sharp pain as his knuckle dug into his throat, tugging Steve forward. “Maybe I ought to see just how well you can roll over.”

Steve did his best not to wince, to keep the grimace he wanted to spit at Munson solidly hidden beneath his Vee mask, but even so he couldn’t stop the wrinkle to his brow at the pain of the man’s knuckle digging into his throat or the sharp tug forward. He swallowed as best he could, looking up at the man who quite literally held his life in his hands.

“Tell me what you want from me, Daddy,” he breathed against the pressure to his throat, shifting slightly as though eager for whatever order Munson would give him.

It was fake, all of it, but what else could Munson expect? It wasn’t like Steve—or any of his girls—had chosen to be here. Just like the guns and the drugs and everything else, they were nothing but merchandise. Steve might have, once upon a time, thought about wearing dresses and makeup simply because he wanted to, but that brief moment in time was long gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to wear something simply because he wanted to.

Christ, what he wouldn’t give for some fucking sweatpants.

A reward.

Munson had said, hours earlier, that if Steve and the others behaved, they might get a reward. He had initially (though secretly) scoffed at the idea, figuring that by ‘reward’, Munson really meant some new act of depravity acted out upon their person. Those were the sorts of rewards Porzio always left them with.

Or the promised reward would be snatched out from under them for whatever minuscule infraction they caused, which was more probable. Even if Steve performed his services well, chances were that Munson would find some fault and taunt him with the loss of something he would never have to begin with.

But…but what if he did? He doubted the reward would be anything grand. Not unless it was something for Munson. Some shiny new toy to use against them, something to give Munson more pleasure than them. But maybe, if Steve behaved exceptionally well and stopped fighting against the thought of it being Munson instead of Kas…

Steve closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in a steadying breath, and then pushed everything that made him Steve into a deep, dark corner of his mind and slammed the door closed. He would be Vee, and Munson would be Kas, and maybe he could actually survive this new horror.

Opening his eyes once more, Steve offered Munson an almost pouty smile, moving his free hand up Munson’s thigh once more to press his palm to where he could feel Munson’s interest growing. He wasn’t fully hard yet, which wasn’t ideal, but he certainly wasn’t flaccid either. It was a start, and he could feel the twitch of Munson beneath his palm that spoke of further interest.

Except Munson moved his hands from Steve to grab his wrist and pull his hand away, though Steve did not let the brief pain pull him away from the persona he had to be. Munson wasn’t even gripping him too hard, certainly not hard enough to bruise, just something firm and demanding.

“Jesus, Harrington,” Munson hissed. His dark eyes narrowed as he studied Steve, fingers still tight but not quite biting around his wrist. “You really do know your role well. With that dumb expression on your face, I could almost believe you’re not plotting my demise at any given second, thinking about the best way to kill me.”

Steve paled. He knew Munson would never consider him a genuine threat, but he knew what Don Kas did to anyone who didn’t fall in line, who threatened his rule. Steve’s eyes darted to the thick, brutal rings adorning Munson’s fingers, the icy prickling of fear clawing its way through his gut and to his chest.

“Please, Daddy, I’m not, I swear,” he whispered, almost a whimper, verbally prostrating himself as he shoved himself further into the persona he had to be. Became more of the pitiful, obedient whore. “I would never. I’ll be such a good girl for you, I promise. I-I’m not Harrington anymore. I’m Vee. Only Vee. Only yours, Daddy, please.”

The fingers wrapped around his wrist finally tightened, the blunt edges of Munson’s nails biting into the tender flesh of his inner wrist, and then he was being moved. A gasp left Steve unbidden as he was yanked off his knees and spun, suddenly finding himself on his back with the familiar canopy of Porzio’s—Munson’s bed above him. At least until it was blocked out by Munson’s face staring at him with eyes like black ice.

Munson’s weight settled over him, thighs on either side of his hips to keep him bracketed in, one wrist pinned above his head while Munson twisted his other to expose his inner wrist to Steve’s eyes, though he knew what was there. He’d been there, after all, when it had been inked into his flesh: Porzio’s crest.

Steve, and the rest of the girls Porzio bought to keep, were tattooed and branded like a fucking pig, Porzio claiming ownership over their flesh. The only one who had yet to be branded was Isabel, the newest and youngest of the girls, though it was just an inevitability. Or at least, it had been. Now with Munson owning them, he had no idea what to expect.

Munson sneered from above Steve, and whatever Steve had thought of his grip before, it was certainly bruising now. Steve let out a small whimper of pain and fear, eyes flickering between the dark ink marked on his right wrist and Munson’s darker eyes above.

“Mine, you say? Yet here you are, wearing the brand of another man. What am I supposed to do about that, Vee,” Munson mocked. “You’ve been with Porzio for a while now. Do you really expect me to trust your loyalty?”

Despite himself, despite his fear, a scowl twisted Steve’s expression in a very Steve way; Vee didn’t make facial expressions like that. “I had zero loyalty to that cerdo,” he snapped, feeling like Selena’s term was appropriate in that moment. “I’m glad you killed him.”

“Yeah?” Munson’s fingers tightened their hold on Steve’s wrists, causing another pained gasp to escape him. “You gonna feel the same way when someone comes to kill me? You gonna drop to your knees for my killer too? Gonna spread your legs and beg your new Daddy to fuck you?”

Steve knew he was in danger, also knew that if he said anything but an agreement that Munson wouldn’t believe him. And hell, it was the truth. Steve would do whatever it took to protect himself, but more than that, whatever it took to protect his girls. If that meant letting Munson kill him now…

“Yes,” he whispered, which Munson had apparently not been expecting at all given the way his eyes widened slightly and his hold relaxed enough that Steve didn’t feel like his bones were being ground together.

Steve sucked in a breath to get the rest out before Munson’s rings took away his ability to form sentences. “Yes,” he repeated, “if it kept my girls alive. If I knew it would keep them safe. I am the bitch of anyone who holds my leash and I will do my job well, whoever it is. But…” Steve breathed, his gaze tracking over Munson’s blank expression, dark eyes unfathomable, but the Don made no move towards retaliation yet.

“But when Porzio decided to move against you, I knew from the start that it would not end well for him. He was an idiot for trying. Everyone knows who Kas is. Maybe that means you have a lot of enemies who would like to kill you, but…you haven’t fallen yet. So if I’m going to throw my genuine lot in with anyone, the smartest play would be to get behind the strongest player. You. So no, Porzio didn’t have my loyalty because he couldn’t protect us.”

Steve nervously licked his lips, trying to put all his sincerity into his next words, trying to straddle that line between Vee and Steve. “It’s like you said, sir. Quid pro quo. If you can keep my girls safe, if you continue to tear down your enemies, I swear to you that I’ll do whatever you want. I swear that you’ll have my loyalty, and my girls’ loyalty. If someone moves against you, we’ll stand with you.”

Steve drew in a shuddering breath then, willing away his fear-induced nausea, and let his muscles go completely lax beneath Munson who still had yet to react. He had to make this count.

“I’m yours, Daddy. However you want me. However long you want me. Whatever you want to do to me, I’ll gladly accept. Burn this mark off of me and brand me with your own. Carve it out of my flesh. Why would I ever want to belong to anyone other than Don Kas the Bloody-Handed?”

It was a risk, he knew.

After all, this wasn’t just the mobster that had been growing a name for himself for years; this was Edward Munson, the boy whose school life Steve’s friends had made a living hell. It didn’t matter if Steve joined in with them or not. It didn't matter if Steve gave the occasional protest when he saw it go too far. Steve was the perfect scapegoat for any old resentment Munson might be harboring.

And more or less telling him that, yeah, if someone did manage to best him, Steve would be the pliant whore for them as well? It might not matter that Steve was choosing him over anyone who might try, all that mattered was how Munson would take Steve’s promise of current loyalty, if he would believe him.

Steve had been doing this for years already, however. Porzio might have been his longest owner, but he wasn’t Steve’s first. The life expectancy of someone like him? It wasn’t looking good, nevermind the fact that Steve was now closer to thirty than he was twenty like when he first got trapped in this life. He knew his time was running out no matter what.

All Steve could hope to do was protect his girls for a little while longer.

Munson’s expression shifted finally, a sneer returning to his lips as his fingers tightened once more. He pressed Steve’s other wrist to the mattress above his head as well and leaned down to breathe his next words into Steve’s ear, causing Steve to shiver.

“I don’t think I trust you, sweetheart,” Munson growled against him. “Not yet at least. Who knows what deceit you’re hiding under that pretty little dress of yours.” Munson’s tone turned mockingly sweet then, and Steve could hear the smirk in his voice even if he couldn’t quite see it. “So why don’t you do Daddy a favor and…take it off.”

And then Munson was off of him, the air chilled where he had once been. Steve sucked in a shaky lungful of air as he processed Munson’s words. Processed what they must mean. With great difficulty he lifted his head to see Munson standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed lazily and expression expectant, his gaze traveling over Steve’s form and lingering where the bottom of his dress had risen almost entirely to his hips, a flash of pale pink lace peeking out.

Dread filled Steve once more, but this he understood. This was familiar. Munson was giving him a chance to prove himself. If he could make this good for Munson, could please him, then Steve might just be able to live to see another day.

Carefully, slowly, Steve slid off the bed. Then, taking a deep breath, Steve began to undress.

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

Let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list!

#fic: bloody hands broken hearts #mafia steddie #mafia boss eddie munson #sw steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie au #plot thots

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keanureevesisbae · 2 years ago

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Captain Syverson x fem!reader

Summary: You never had a dad figure in your life, but when you meet Sy, all of the sudden you had a man who was willing to be that role model for you. But all you have to do is let him.

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: so, in case anyone remembers a sad little sob story I posted about how i was jealous because i didn't have a dad figure in my life, i turned it into an entire oneshot. Hopefully you like it. (also, I totally intended on not posting this until this weekend, but I suppose I am feeling generous today 😘 )

masterlist // henry cavill masterlist

You grew up in a female household. Your mother, your maternal grandmother and two of your aunts. No siblings. Just you and your favorite women in one house.

While it was amazing, there was one downside to it and you felt it deep in your heart: you always had this feeling you missed out on that fatherly type in your life. A role model, one your friends got for free and loved dearly.

You always wondered why your dad abandoned you to start another family elsewhere. Weren’t you fun enough? Weren’t you pretty enough?

Weren’t you enough?

Being dropped like that, you always felt more at ease with women. You weren’t necessarily afraid of men, but minding your own business and leave men be, was the easiest way for you to go.

However, you met Sy: the most amazing and wonderful man alive. Looking gruff and slightly terrifying at first, but once you peeled off that first layer, you were met with the most amazing and sweetest man you’ve ever encountered in your entire life.

He was a friend of your friend’s boyfriend and while you two instantly clicked, there was a certain hesitation. But Sy was patient and that patience showed you his character, because it took you months before you felt secure enough to let Sy in your life. You often joked that his parents did a splendid job with him.

But then you met said family. It was the first time you saw such a close family. Three older brothers who were all married with a few little ones, a loving mother and a father.

The type of dad you never had.

Falling into an old and safe habit, you found yourself gravitating towards his mother on family gatherings and sometimes a sister-in-law. You were civil with the brothers, however you always stayed clear from the dad, afraid that he’ll intentionally or unintentionally would hurt you the most.

‘You know,’ Sy offered through the phone, ‘you could call my dad.’

You were now staring at a flat tire and you knew that if you called a tow truck, you probably were gonna get ripped off anyway and you would sell a kidney to afford the change of tire. Naturally, you called your boyfriend, who could fix everything, but he was currently stuck at work and threw that one offer in the air that you really didn’t want.

‘No,’ you said, ‘I can handle this.’

So, after you hung up, you got to work. In theory, you could do it. You watched a YouTube video and you tried to fix the tire, but you lacked the strength and nearly found yourself sniffling on your driveway after many failed attempts.

Time went by and a car stopped in front of your driveway. You looked up, to see the infamous dad Syverson get out of his truck. ‘Hi kid,’ he said. He always called you kid when you arrived there.

‘Hi,’ you said, discreetly wiping away your tears. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Sy called me,’ he answered, ‘telling me you had a flat tire. I thought I’d drop by to ask if you need help.’

You sighed. ‘Of course he did,’ you muttered.

‘You mind?’

‘No,’ you said, ‘go knock yourself out.’

You found yourself watching him from a distance, while he changed your tire. He did every step in the tutorial you watched, but the thing was: he had strength, you didn’t.

‘You got something against me, kid?’ he finally asked.

You shook your head. ‘No.’

‘You barely acknowledge me when you’re over,’ he said. ‘Is it something I did?’

Yes. That’s the worst part of it all. It is something he did. It’s the way he loves his sons, their wives and the grandkids. It’s how he loves his own wife. It’s how he always greeted you with a wide smile. How he even got you a little nickname he hadn’t given to anyone else. It was you who was on the receiving end of the nickname ‘kid’, not the others.

‘No.’

He looked up and halted his work. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘Sy told me about your own dad.’

Of course Sy would share that sob story with his parents. ‘Right.’

‘Your dad is an idiot,’ he said.

‘True.’ You took in a breath and said: ‘I grew up around women. All I’ve known is female role models. Never had a dad-figure in my life. Guess I am just a horrible human being and incredibly jealous for seeing how others have a great dad and I don’t.’

‘That doesn’t make you a horrible person,’ he told you. ‘It makes you a normal human being. You know, I had a deadbeat dad. He barely was around and when he was, he ruined everything. I always promised myself that once I am a dad, I wouldn’t be like that.’

‘Mhm.’

‘Dads fix tires,’ he continued, ‘dads cook dinner. Dads pick you up from a night out. Dads teach you about life. Dads are there for you, whether you need them or not.’

‘Not mine,’ you whispered. ‘My mom always told me to do it myself.’

‘I get that.’

‘I was already doing an okay job with the tire,’ you mumbled.

‘True,’ he chuckled. Then he turned around so he was actually facing you. ‘You know, you’re dating my son, which makes you part of the family. You got a flat tire, call me. Your family needs some help fixing something? Call me. You’re family, kid.’

And you realized you hadn’t been acting like family. Instead, you always kept him at arms length, even when he tried to be family.

Tears burned in your eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘I just want to be that dad-figure for you. All you’ve gotta do is let me.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘And when you are ready for that, let me know. I’ll be right here for you, kid.’

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It had been three months since that conversation and a lot had happened. You were still dating Sy and ever since your little talk with his dad, it truly felt like you were part of the family now. Sy and you were closer than ever before, his dad and you were two peas in a pod. Turned out, you shared many similarities and he felt like that father figure you always wished you had. He came over to your family’s house and fixed a few things that needed fixing for a while now.

But dad Syverson still understood your wish of being independent and whenever he helped you out, he told you to watch and learn and sometimes wrote down a few tips too.

Today, you and Sy were going to a family gathering again and you could say that you were buzzing with excitement.

‘Sy, hurry up,’ you pleaded. ‘Your dad is gonna show me how to turn on the bbq, without losing your eyebrows.’

He chuckled. ‘I swear you’re always happier to see him than me,’ he joked. You leaned against his shoulder, before he said: ‘You know, honey, I love you very much.’

‘I love you too,’ you whispered. ‘And thank you, for ignoring my stubborn ass and called your dad that faithful flat tire day.’

Sy smirked. ‘Come on, you honestly think I would let you hurt yourself, because you’re my strong-willed sweetheart and doesn’t want to ask my dad for help?’ He pressed a kiss on top of your head. ‘I… I am glad you accepted the help. It made you happier in the end.’

Dating Sy meant gaining an entire family and to say it was amazing was a gross understatement. You said your quick hi’s to his brothers, the sister-in-laws and the kids, kissing Sy’s mom, before rushing over to the backyard, where you saw Sy’s dad.

‘There she is,’ he said with a wide grin and you launched yourself in his arms. ‘Finally some common sense in the building,’ he joked.

Sy joined you not too long after, hugging his dad and he said: ‘I’ll be the first Syverson to sit through a bbq lesson from my dad.’

‘You guys never listened?’

Dad shook his head. ‘Kid, you’re the first one who voluntarily has signed up for the bbq lessons from dad Syverson,’ he told you. ‘Are you ready?’

You smiled and nodded. ‘I was born ready, dad.’

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

henry cavill taglist: @diegos-butt // @thelastsock // @liecastillo // @mis-lil-red // @sofiebstar // @abschaffer2 // @crazybutconfidentaf // @summersong69 // @gearhead66 // @xobriellaxo24 // @bourbonrice // @kebabgirl67 // @eldarwen333 // @kingliam2019 // @cherry-gemz // @sillyrabbit81 // @enchantedbytomandhenry // @lyrarodriguez // @islacharlotte // @sunshine96love // @oddsnendsfanfics // @xuxszx // @omgkatinka // @pterodactylterrace / @peaches1958 // @pandaxnienke // @raccoon-eyed-rebel

#henry cavill #henry cavill one shot #captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson oneshot #enough

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xatsperesso · 2 years ago

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It's nice to see how Kalego changed from Iruma's pov. He was first the scary and stern teacher, the guy who "hated" him for have turned him into his familiar and that Iruma didn't want make more angry toward him.

Now, i think that Iruma sees him unconsciously as a father figure.

First we see it during the Harvest Festival when he has the trauma vision, Kalego is here, like if he was at the same level that Sullivan, Opera, Azz and Clara (when Balam isn't here). Sign that he's important for him now. And the fact that he instinctively called him for help in the last arc.

From Kalego's side, i don't think that Dantalion fully joked when he called out Kalego by saying "my my was it favoritism that i just see, Kalego ~?" when Kalego send a personal message to Iruma, showing clearly sign of worry. Same when Iruma comes back, first he asks "what the hell didn't you do" and then immediatly "are you hurt?" before showing sign of being a little impressed when Iruma says "i'm going to win"

The mini arc about his contract with Iruma shows that he trusts and likes him enough to tell him the truth about what is Cerberus and rassure him about the future "even if you lost me as familiar…" we see how their bound changed and become more positive.

I think that it's not for nothing that DadLego is popular XD

(well it's not hard to be better than Iruma biological father -_- but still, Kalego is totally become a father figure)

(meanwhile Opera and Balam are the mothers-hen)

Yesss i love him so much

He acts like an asshole

But he very obviously cares about them now. Like i dont think he's had any negative feelings towards them since the royal room thing (he looked very serious when irumean came demanding the room)

Now he's an exasperated dad trying to help gis idiot son who sometimes does drag

And i really love the way he trusts iruma regarding the familiar thing, the thing that destroyed his scary-do-not-disrepect reputation. Now he's just kinda ok with things like these

That's just so cute, and will decimate his reputation the second anyone find out, but he still lets him

And it's not like he only favors iruma, he likes the whole class but in more subtle ways. But to be fair its not like they are the ones who had to have an unbreakable bond for a year

And true, balam and opera are mother-hens. They will smother iruma and affection the second he's within arm's reach

I love this trio

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #iruma kun #naberius kalego #m!ik opera #balam shichirou

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shrinkthisviolet · 2 months ago

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Talk Shop Tuesday:

Share a few lines, scene snippets, or character interactions you're particularly proud of! Feel free to pick them apart - tell us all about the symbolism, the deeper meaning, the fun description choices you included, anything you're proud of!!

Bonus: as a whole, how much of the symbolism you consciously include in your fics do you think your readers pick up on? Do you ever include references or in-jokes in your fics for the sake of a particular friend or reader?

Oooh gladly!

Morgan and Eowells’s chess game in Chp 10 of i still love you (i promise) is a favorite. I was super into chess when I was a kid, so I love loading chess games with symbolism (there will be more chess games with symbolism in the future 👀)…and his one has it in spades.

This end note explains more clearly who each piece symbolizes and why, but for the quick rundown: Queen = Barry, Rook = Cisco, Bishop = Caitlin, Knight = Hartley, King = Morgan, Player = Eowells.

The king is cornered with a queen and a knight—Morgan is cornered due to Eowells’s skillful positioning of Hartley and Barry in suitable positions to attack. And if the bishop was moved once more, it could’ve cornered the king too—Eowells was trying to convince Caitlin to agree with Barry, and perhaps with more time, he might’ve. The rook stands far away—Eowells didn’t try to persuade Cisco, because Cisco is like a son to him and Morgan is his daughter, so that’s a connection he wants strong and preserved.

I also love the idea of superhero naming, and mantles, and what have you, so two similar examples for that one:

Morgan’s preferred name is her mother’s maiden name. Tess chose that name for Morgan, in a sense “giving” her that name (ofc she didn’t know it would be Morgan’s preferred name, that’s an Eowells decision, but the symbolism of “giving” her that name stands—Eowells did not give Morgan that name, Tess did). In addition, Tina unwittingly named Morgan “Sentry”. So, in a sense, Morgan was named by both of her mother figures!

(On a related note, it’s important to me that Nora is unwittingly named by Iris the same way—this hasn’t come up in the AU yet, but it will, since I love it in canon. More agency for mom figures (female characters in general) in the Flash is sorely needed tbh, and I’m happy to provide it)

And another example is RF!Morgan in sometimes i think you might hate me (maybe you just wanna be me). Team Flash, specifically BARRY, calls her the “Reverse Flash”*, and they’re the first ones to do so. Barry formally names Eowells’s successor—and isn’t that just a kick in the teeth?

*notably, this is not them calling her the same RF who killed Barry’s mom and framed his dad. That is just an assumption Jesse made, and RF!Morgan thus assumed it was something Team Flash told her, which shows how poorly she thinks of Team Flash

Hmm what else, what else…oh! Also this, from your eyes will need some time (to adjust):

Barry trudged into the Wells house—mansion, really—determined to hate him, and determined also to hate this mysterious daughter—the key factor in this man being allowed custody of Barry. He pictured a girl a few years younger, annoying and bratty and loud. Anything that could help him hate her—anything could help him hate this. Except… Except she wasn’t any of those things. Oh, she was loud. Very loud, enough that Barry recoiled with a sharp wince when he first heard her cry. But she…she was a baby. A year old, according to Dr. Wells. A whole 10 years younger than him. He tried to deny how his heart swelled three sizes, how his immediate instinct upon hearing her cry was to ask her what was wrong. It took a few days for him to settle in, and for him to gather the courage to ask to hold her. “Hi,” he cooed. “Hi, Morgan. I’m Barry, I’m your new brother.” (That, somehow, came easier to him than calling himself Harrison Wells’s anything.) Morgan peered up at him with wide eyes. “Bo-ther?” He laughed. “Well, I guess in a way. But...no. Br-o-ther.” He hadn’t laughed, or even smiled this much, since...since that night. Only with Iris, and she…she was… Not gone—they were still classmates in school, much to Barry’s relief—but not a few doors down anymore. No longer somewhere he could walk to in his sleep. He hadn’t even asked Dr. Wells if he could go visit, unsure how the man might take it. When he’d left with Dr. Wells, left Iris behind, things had seemed truly hopeless. But now, holding his new baby foster sister, something had…changed. He felt hope again for the first time in a while.

I love platonic love at first sight, I must confess 💞 especially for these two. I also really love that aside from Iris, Morgan is the first one to make Barry smile since what happened with his mother. It also foreshadows that Morgan and Iris are his two most important relationships moving forward!

A similar moment occurs in Chp 2 of time was(n’t) in our favor:

“Barry!” She screamed, and someone close to his heart—Jesse, he realized—was screaming too, and then Dad had him by the shoulders and urged, “Run, Barry, run!” and then gold lightning surrounded him, and then…

“Someone close to his heart” is literal and figurative here—baby Morgan (who isn’t yet called Morgan because Eowells hasn’t appeared yet) is close to Barry’s heart literally, and figuratively because she’s so dear to him 🥺

And earlier in that same chapter:

“Oh, Jess,” he murmured, slipping out of his bed and walking to her crib, straining a little to pick her up from it. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?” Jesse just curled into his shirt, whimpering. Barry bounced her a little in his arms, cradling her closer and singing “Twinkle Twinkle”…he even tried reading a little. But when Jesse wouldn’t stop shaking, he figured maybe a change of scenery would help.

This was just adorable 🥺 I love writing them (this is Barry and baby Morgan ofc)

Also, ofc, all the soulmarks in met you at the right time (this is what it feels like) are symbolic, but that’s a given. The symbolism isn’t too hard to figure out 😅 but for now, I’ll hold off on explaining.

All of main gehra tamas tu sunehra savera (main tera) was so wonderful to write—combining my two favorite pairings was so fun—but what was especially gratifying was making Zuko the “magic” one with his rainbow fire, like Aisha in Ms. Marvel is, but also giving the discovery of the cottage to Mai, even though that was also Aisha’s role. It’s not a perfect 1:1 recreation, and tbh I think that’s what makes it work. In any fusion fic, being flexible and bending the rules is the name of the game, and I had fun with it.

And I adore this part:

“She looks at you as though you’re magic.” Mai smiled. “I can’t say that I blame her.” Zuko chuckled, eyes fixed on baby Izumi as he wove another ribbon of rainbow fire above her head—she squealed with delight. “I’m not the one who can summon shurikens and make them bend to my will.” “They’re not summoned.” Mai rolled her eyes playfully. “I told you. I keep them hidden up my sleeve, and when the time is right—” “You release them just so. Yes, I remember.” Zuko smiled, turning to her. “I still say it’s magic, Firelily.”

So adorable 🥰

I could go on, but I’m gonna cap it here for now, because these are the ones that really stick out to me. Though I’m sure there are plenty more that aren’t occurring to me 😅

Also, to your bonus question: I feel like I include more symbolism than my readers pick up on 😅 I do make in-jokes and references that aren’t always caught, and if I don’t explain my symbolism…sometimes a keen-eyed reader will catch it, sometimes they won’t. I’m trying not to over-explain in endnotes as much as I used to, but sometimes I can’t help it—I gotta share! It’s why I love the director’s commentary ask game so much 💞

talk shop tuesday!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs

@thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

@miss-eli-starfleet

#talk shop tuesday #thank you so very much for this ask!#tagging oc peeps because there's a lot of morgan stuff in here #morgan wells au

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justanotherfangirlst · 2 years ago

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A Gift of The Heart

"Thank you again for inviting me over and helping pick out flowers Mr. Brookstone. I really appreciate it," Daniella thanked before taking a sip of tea. Lou waved his hand.

"Please, it's Lou. You're going to be my daughter-in-law and I won't have any more of this 'Mr.Brookstone' mess. As for your flower help, you are most welcome. I remember Lily being just as frustrated with all the decisions," he reminisced.

Cole walked into the living room as Lou took a sip of his tea. He waved his son over to sit next to Daniella before reaching for another tea cup. Cole set the bag he had brought in between his feet as he took his tea from his father.

"I take it you got what you needed?" Daniella asked, motioning to the bag.

"Yes. I think," Cole answered.

"I'll give you two some privacy. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," Lou said with a knowing smile before standing and walking through the door and down the hall.

"What do you mean, 'think'?" Daniella asked with a small smile. Part of her hoped that it was a joke, but another part was beginning to panic at the chance of something going wrong.

"Well, I think the size is right. But I need to test it first," Cole explained as he set his cup down and pulled a small box out of his bag. He opened it and pulled out a silver ring with a diamond in the middle of a small lily.

Daniella gasped as she took in the sight of the beautiful ring. After Cole had proposed and they started making plans, he had not mentioned a ring. Cole set the box on his leg and held out his free hand.

"May I?" he asked softly. Daniella nodded and gave him her left hand.

Cole gently took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. He let go for Daniella to admire the ring on her hand and to make sure that the ring would not fall off her finger. Daniella took another close look at her hand before turning her gaze to her future husband.

"How much did this ring cost?" she asked.

"Umm...well it wasn't expensive to have it resized if that helps," he answered.

"Resized? Cole, where did this ring come from?"

"Well, it was my mom's ring. When I called Dad the day I decided to get our Yin Yang pendant, he insisted that you have Mom's ring. And I totally agree. I want what they had. The undying love they both had. Through thick and thin, they always said that they loved each other before going to sleep. Mom and Dad were the perfect pair, and I see that with us. We've definitely been through a lot and I don't think that I could ever have done it with anyone else. So I had this ring resized to match the other ring that you sometimes wear. And I know that this is a little too fancy for fighting and stuff so I got us matching wedding bands to wear when we don't want to wear the fancy ones," Cole explained, reaching into the bag and pulling out another box.

"Oh Cole, I don't know what to say...I wish Dad had left something meaningful for me to return the favor. I mean, I have his monastery, or the rebuilt version but nothing like this," she said, holding up her left hand.

She took a breath and slipped the ring off her finger, handing it to Cole.

"But your dad did leave me something meaningful," Cole replied, placing the ring back into it's box.

"What's that?" she asked, scrunching her eyebrows together, trying to think of what Cole was referring to. Cole looked up from the box and smiled as he took in her facial expression. Her thinking expression was one of his favorite looks on her, how cute she looked when trying to figure out the problem at hand. An expression that he had drawn in his sketchbooks while she was working.

"He left me you Moon Flower," he answered, leaning forward and kissing her forehead before standing up and grabbing the bag. He turned to face her so that he could take in her shocked looked and the blush that was creeping across her face. Another set of sketches that she would never see.

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

I thought it would be so cute for Dani to have Lily's wedding ring. At first I thought that it would be Lou and Lily's Yin-Yang pendant but I thought this would be cuter.

Daniella belongs to me Cole, Lou and Lily belongs to LEGO

Please do not use my character or work without my permission

#ninjago #ninjago oc #ninjago oc x canon #oc: daniella #cole brookstone #the wedding

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gretagerwigsmuse · 2 years ago

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kylie kylie kylie! i'm so happy and excited this is finally here! i am not kidding when i say i've read it THREE times since i woke up two hours ago 🥰 i always love your writing, but to see it combined with one of my favorite holiday movies was so so lovely! also i cannot fathom how you said this was going to be shorter because i could read every little detail of bradley and mav's visit to vermont! my family makes the same type of "cookies," but we call them magic bars (with fake solemnity my dad says the 'magic' is love lol) and i'm making some later today!! i included my favorite parts below ugh this made me so happy! but first - what's your fave number from white christmas? i LOVE LOVE LOVE in the minstrel show number, the part when they tell the jokes is my fave and then the second time they do we'll follow the old man because it reminds me of my grandpa 🥰

“Not so much as a ski resort as an inn for skiers.” - please mav! why did this make me laugh each time i've read it haha

He sighs. “I know, been a quiet couple of seasons. Not much snow-” “Because of global warming” - she won me over from the get from this line (and she's not wrong)

“Dad’s happy to have you and your Dad here.” “Not my dad.” “I know, but from the way Dad tells it, it’s close enough.” He can’t bring himself to say anything, heart aching at the thought of all the years he lost out on over misplaced anger. - this is so stinkin' CUTE, god i love how they're still kind of wary around each other, but still have that craving to want more from their relationship already. i just love mav calling bradley son in the movie and the fact that she calls it out here, but spins it on bradley is so sweet!

Bob had also said it would help keep his mind off the ejections and crash-landings that had plagued him since he’d returned to the aircraft carrier very much alive, but he didn’t need to bother you with that. - oh sweet boy! please bother me! please!

You shift, yawning as you move to tuck your feet up on the couch. He reaches out for you, tugging you into his side. “So you can have a pillow if you fall asleep.” He whispers. He can’t tell for sure in the dark room, Rudolph being the only source of light, but he’s pretty sure you blush at the movement. He does too, but he hopes you don’t notice either. - SCREAMING?!?! pretty sure i squealed the first time i read this part, ugh i want to be curled up beside him watching christmas movies!!!

“I... can’t even imagine what that was like.” He thinks that maybe he could, but any other words are failing him as he listens to you. - BRADLEY!!! you sweet boy! you probably can imagine more than anyone!!

“No, it isn’t. Your life isn’t defined by that accident, Dad. It doesn’t negate all the amazing things you did before it happened. It doesn’t change the fact that you were a legend and everything Pete and Bradley and Uncle Sli have told me confirm that. And not only that, but you raised me by yourself-” - awwwwww yes tell him how much he means to you, with or the navy!

Your Dad eyes Pete for a minute and then blows out a breath. “Whatever in the world did I do to deserve you Pete Mitchell?” - plssssssss i love the icemav here!!!

Bradley pauses, grabbing his coat from the rack. “Oh, but you have your dress blues on and I-” “I know, this is for you.” He says, flipping the coat on and slipping it around your shoulders. “Don’t want you getting cold.” He says as you slip your arms into the coat. - again - i SQUEALED!!!! this is so adorable!!!!

“And up here, where it’s quiet and slow, not so fast-paced and life or death, it’s maybe something us Navy pilots could use more of. Something I could use more of.” You smile. “Well, we got plenty of it up here.” “And, well, maybe I could just use a bit more of you.” - yes! they need to slow down and be reminded that sometimes they're just 'some guy' and not the best of the best of the best? and what better way to do it with a lovely innkeeper? bradley's gonna be racking up a lot of frequent flyer miles! but also i liked that they were properly friends beforehand? like obvious you can tell they had a crush on the other (the blushing! pls bradley was born to be a blusher!) but they actively talked to each other, they didn't just want to jump each other from the get-go? even when she thought bradley did something wrong, how upset she was was a testament to how much she did like bradley

day 11 - i’m dreaming of a white christmas - bradley “rooster” bradshaw

a/n: i call this “kylie takes a plot of a christmas movie and does whatever she damn well pleases with it”. this has been a many weeks labor of love and is probably one of my top 3 pieces from ficmas so i truly hope you enjoy!! :)

summary: (white christmas!au) Years after the legendary Tom “Iceman” Kazansky retired from the Navy after a truly horrible accident, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw finds himself following his recently reconciled godfather, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell to the far remote corners of Vermont to visit an old friend.

He doesn’t anticipate meeting the notorious Iceman, whose legacies still stretch far and wide throughout the Navy, nor Iceman’s equally captivating civilian daughter.

What begins as a trip to continue to mend and repair his relationship with his once estranged godfather turns into a scheme to push his godfather towards happiness while maybe finding some of his own along the way.

In other words, the White Christmas!au no one but me asked for.

12 days of ficmas | main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: swearing, kissing, fluffy fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, did i mention there’s fluff, mentions of depression, mentions of cancer, a dash of angst like the way all things in life should be, misunderstandings, minor Icemav, no mentions of Sarah Kazansky or Penny Benjamin, Bradley’s Bronco is invincible atp, kylie writes slider for the first time in her life, i stole the iconic dialogue, fuck if i know anything about the Navy

word count: 9,751

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know, where the treetops glisten and children listen, to hear sleigh bells in the snow

The sound of Bing Crosby’s voice crooning floats through the old truck. Bradley reaches out to turn the radio down, muting the man, as Maverick turns on to an old dirt road, turning off from the paved road they’d been following for miles.

“Where exactly are we going Uncle Mav?”

Keep reading

#bradley fic

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years ago

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BABY MAMA

A/N: woke up and just knew i needed to write about dad Harry, bc lets be honest, he is my fav. this fic is perfectly fine as a oneshot, but if you'd like, it could be a sequel to Grammy Winner Husband and Baby Grammy, i wrote things to line up with them!

PAIRING: Husband!Harry / Dad!Harry x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

masterlist

The arena is blowing up, the fans are screaming from the top of their lungs and Harry is putting out a show just as good as the previous ones have been. He is blowing the stage up, singing, dancing, joking around with the fans, enjoying this time he gets to spend with the people who got him to this point in his life. He’ll never be not grateful for what he has, what he is experiencing, no matter how hard this life can get sometimes.

“Dallas, how are you feeling tonight?” he asks in the mic as he walks back to his water bottle to have a few sips. The crowd erupts, the screams almost burst his eardrums, but he just chuckles, easing his thirst with some water before he returns to the microphone stand.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he teasingly asks, though the reaction is the same. Insane screaming. “Alright, let’s move this show on before you get bored,” he chuckles playfully, the band starts playing the next song and he is back at what he does the best. Performing.

Though not far from the arena, there’s someone who thinks there’s something he is even better at than performing. That person is you, and you’re one hundred percent sure Harry is best at being a father to your five months old son.

Owning the stage, putting out the utter best he can, Harry’s thoughts still wander away from the show he is supposed to be focusing on. He can’t help it, his instincts are just completely drawn to his baby in the hotel suit, dying to know how he is doing. Leaving for the show late afternoon was harder than usually, because baby Theo was having a fever and coughing quite badly. His heart was breaking that he couldn’t help his son, didn’t even know what could be done for such a tiny baby.

“Love, he’ll be alright, okay? The doctor is on the way, it’s gonna be fine,” you told him gently as he was cradling Theo to his naked chest, always so eager to be skin-to-skin with him. Harry kissed his soft little curls on top of his head before nodding, though you knew it was eating him away.

“Call me or Jeff if something happens, okay?” he told you, handing Theo over to you, who was finally asleep after fussing for hours.

“I will,” you nodded, but he cupped your face to make you look at him.

“Y/N, I mean it. I’ll come off the stage if—“

“You won’t come off the stage, Theo is gonna be fine, he just probably got a cold from the aircon at the greenroom in Denver. He’ll be here when you get back, okay?”

He knew this tone, this was your momma bear voice and he would never argue with you when you used it, so he just nodded, kissed you and then Theo’s chubby cheek before heading out.

Now as he is nearing the end of the show he can’t help but think about finally being back at the hotel with his wife and baby, though he won’t let it be seen how eager he is to get off the stage.

The last song passes, the whole arena blows up from the energy and he is throwing kisses everywhere as he heads off the stage, down the aisle that leads him backstage. As he puts on his mask he turns around one last time, throwing some more kisses around to his beloved fans before disappearing behind the curtains.

“Did she call?” he instantly asks Jeff instantly, who hands him his phone over, a text from you already waiting for him.

Doc just left, everything is fine, left some meds for bub. Love you Xx

Even though this is what you told him before too, he feels relieved that the doctor confirmed it, but he still can’t wait to see the two of you.

“Alright, get the car ready, I’m leaving in ten,” he tells Jeff.

“Got it,” he nods, not even daring to argue with him. He knows better than to stand between Harry and his baby.

His legs bounce nervously on his way back to the hotel and he jumps out of the car as if it was on fire, running inside in a rush. He swipes the keycard through the reader on the door and opens it quietly, scanning over the place for you and Theo and there you are, sitting in one of the armchairs with his sleeping son in your arms, your hand gently tapping on his bum. You must have just finished feeding him, because a rag is still thrown over your shoulder and your shirt is all wrinkled around your chest. Theo loves playing with the fabric while you breastfeeding him and Harry loves watching his tiny fingers grab onto it and massaging it aimlessly.

“Hey,” he breathes out, quietly pushing the door closed behind him before he walks over, kneeling in front of you. He kisses Theo’s forehead first, before pressing his lips to yours too. “How is bub feeling?”

“He is doing good. The doc gave him some meds for the fever and we have a syrup for the coughing. He said he’ll be fine in a few days,” you softly explain to him, nodding towards everything the doctor left you on the coffee table.

Harry grabs the bottles, inspecting them as if he knows anything about medicine and you can’t help but smile as he furrows his eyebrows, reading the packaging.

“Want to put him to bed?” you ask him, his head snapping up right away.

“Of course,” he nods eagerly. You both stand up and he carefully takes the little boy from your arms without waking him up. “Hey bubs, I missed you,” he coos at Theo and as you watch him sway with the sleeping baby, your heart could easily burst from just the sight of them.

You didn’t know what life would be like as a family of three. After Harry posted a picture of you with his Grammy award and your belly ready to pop, the whole world went crazy over the fact that Harry Styles is going to be a dad. Despite the buzz, you managed to stay hidden for the rest of your pregnancy and just three weeks after that post, Theodore Styles decided to come to the world. Harry cancelled everything for the first two months, it was just the three of you, showering in the joys of parenthood. You had all the ups and downs, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Then tour got rescheduled and Harry was hesitant whether it was a good idea to go on the road with a five months old.

“Sarah and Mitch are coming too, she gave birth a week after me,” you reasoned when Harry was about to cancel the whole tour. It took you some time to convince him that it’s gonna be fine, though you knew he would be extra cautious with Theo.

Now as you see him gently sway his way to the bassinet next to your bed, knowing that he just performed to thousands of people and now he is here with you and your son, you wouldn’t change it to some peace at home. Besides, you’re convinced tour is gonna do good for Theo, make him get used to people around him, not just the two of you or the grandparents and aunts. During the first night in Vegas, he barely spent an hour in your arms, everyone wanted a piece of him and you gladly let them befriend him, especially because he loves meeting new people, just like his daddy.

As Harry lays him into the bassinet and stands next to it with a lovesick smile on his face, you sneak behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smells so fresh, he surely had a quick shower before heading back to the hotel, but you’re already planning to seduce him to join you for a quick shower as well. He won’t say no.

“Watched a livestream for a bit, you were so good,” you hum, kissing his right shoulder blade and you don’t miss how he leans back against you. “Loved the shimmery outfit.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles softly. Reaching around, he pulls you forwards so he can wrap you in his arms, kissing your forehead gently. “I missed seeing you dance at the side,” he smirks at you and you don’t miss the reference to the old times.

On his first solo tour, when you weren’t even married yet he often caught you dancing like crazy at the side of the stage, it would always make him laugh mid-song and you loved hearing his giggles through the mic, so you often did it on purpose. A few nights ago in Vegas you did the same, but with Theo in your arms, a massive ear protector on his head so the noise didn’t hurt him. When Harry spotted you, he almost started crying, he mouthed I love youand then carried on with the show.

“I’ll be there soon,” you smile at him, cupping his face in your hands to pull him down for a kiss that’s more than just a peck. “Now, I need help with something,” you mumble against his lips.

“Anything, baby.”

“I need you to help me shower,” you tell him cheekily. He pulls back and stares down at you with a playful grin, his hands already wandering under your shirt.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, I need someone to wash my back and… maybe somewhere else,” you hum seductively and start pulling him towards the bathroom, peeking at Theo one last time, but he is sleeping so deep, the two of you can have some alone time.

“Alright, I could never deny anything from my favorite milf,” he grins, but you smack his chest with a gasp.

“Harry! I told you not to call me that!” you protest, the two of you walking into the bathroom not to bother the sleeping baby in the room. You start running the water right away so it can be nice and hot for you when you walk in.

“Why? You are a milf,” he smirks, so full of himself, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Then you’re a dilf, just so you know.”

“Baby, my fans have been calling me that for years, even before Theo,” he chuckles softly.

“You were destined to be a dad,” you giggle, getting rid of your own clothes. “Hey, if Theo feels better tomorrow, we could maybe take a walk in that park we saw on the way here,” you suggest, but when no answer comes, you look at Harry and find him just standing there, fully naked, staring at you grinning widely. “What?” you ask, glancing down at your own naked body. Suddenly, you are way too aware of the weight you haven’t been able to lose after giving birth, the stretch marks on your waist and how you’re not at all freshly shaved. Just as you’d move your hands to cover yourself a bit, Harry grabs your wrists and stops you.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he hums, dropping his head until his lips could reach yours.

“Stop being such a flirt,” you giggle, feeling your face heating up.

“It’s the truth! I have the prettiest baby mama and that’s a fact.”

He looks at you with so much love and adoration in those beautiful green eyes, it almost makes you cry, knowing that this man is your husband and you get to spend the rest of your life with him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you kiss him hard, pulling him into the spacious walk in shower.

“Then come and get your baby mama wet,” you giggle against his lips, making him laugh with the ambiguous request as he shuts the glass door behind him, his lips hungrily kissing wherever he can reach and you’re pretty sure the hot water is not the only thing that’s steaming up the glass.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #dad!harry

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angelisverba · 4 years ago

Text

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you��. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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cades-outsider · 3 years ago

Text

Robby Keene X Reader *SMUT*

Warnings: Smut!

You got me Hypnotized

You pace back and forth around your room nervously, you were finally going to meet your boyfriend Robby's dad; Johnny. Nervous didn't began to express how you felt, this was a huge thing for Robby and so it was to you too. You knew Robby and his dads past and you really wanted to make a good impression on Johnny.

Robby was laying on your bed, resting his back against the headboard while he tried to calm your nerves down. "Babe, he's going to love you. There's nothing to worry about" he said lovingly.

You stoped pacing around for a moment, his positive thoughts and words starting to get to you. Soon you began pacing again, now speaking your thoughts "but what if he doesn't like me? What do I wear? What do I say?" You started overthinking, this was such a big part of Robby's life and you didn't want to screw it up.

"Baby, calm down" Robby says getting up and walking over to you in comfort.

He lifts your chin up with his ring covered fingers bringing you to look into his striking eyes, "he's going to love you... and if he doesn't I'll personally karate chop him" He laughs, his smile lighting up your mood as his apparent dimples show through.

You sigh defeated as a laugh slips past your plump lips, this causing Robby to glance down at your lips while wrapping his arm around your waist.

"I guess you're right" You hum, moving to lay your head on his chest; hearing his soft heart beat while you do so.

"I'm always right" He jokes, causing you to laugh against his shirt covered chest.

He places his hand against your head, gently rubbing his fingers through your soft locks, causing you to sigh in comfort as your eyes start to get heavy.

"And don't worry about what to wear, i'll help you pick something out okay?" He agrees as you softly nod still resting your head against his chest, he begins to sway you both back and forth humming a gentle song.

"As far as I know we'll just be going out to diner, so everything will be fine" Robby comforts as you lift your head from his chest looking up at him, a sly smirk forms across his lips almost as if he had something planned for today.

"What's that smirk for?" You ask suspiciously, causing Robby to look at you.

"No reason" He replies as a mischievous look flows through his eyes.

You hum suspiciously but nonetheless you back down, thinking nothing of it as you get out of Robby's grasp. "So are you going to help me pick out an outfit for tonight or what?" You playfully tease as Robby continues to smirk.

"Alright, what are your first top options?" He questions crossing his arms as you rush over to your closet opening the double doors.

"We have this pair of pants with this top, this dress, or this jacket" You say picking out your top two favorite options.

Robby looks at them for a second before something catches his eyes in your closet, he smirks before walking over to it and placing it on your bed "this is the one" He smiles, obviously hiding something.

He walks into the bathroom to allow your privacy with changing while you look down at the outfit he had picked for you. It was a black pencil skirt and a white tank top with a sheer covering as the cover up.

You tilt your head, impressed with his picking as you began to get changed, you speak up letting Robby know he could come out.

He opens the door and leans on the frame, "well you look beautiful" He compliments causing your cheeks to heat up the shade of scarlet.

You shyly smile as Robby walks over, already dressed in his outfit when he got here. "Come on beautiful, let's go" He takes your hand, letting you slip on your shoes before grabbing your keys and leading you both out to your car.

A few moments you arrive at your designated destination, it was a beautiful Italian restaurant a little outside of reseda. Robby walks over to your door and leads you over to the front entrance telling the young lady that you had a reservation with Lawrence.

They escorted you to your table and placed a couple menus in designated seats, a few seconds later Johnny walked in with a kind smile and nervous fidgets as he was placed at your table.

You offered him a kind smile as the waitress placed your drinks on the table "so I'm assuming you're the famous Y/n?" Johnny kindly asks as you lend him a eye catching smile.

"Yes, i am. It's so nice to finally meet you Mr. Lawrence" You kindly say as Robby sends you a reassuring smile.

"The pleasure is all mine Y/n, and please call me Johnny. I'm not that old" He jokes with a chuckle causing you and Robby to let out a little laugh yourselves.

About half an hour rolled around of just endless amount of talking, eating, and just having fun. Soon you feel a warm hand against your thigh, the cold metal of Robby's rings causing you to gasp. Catching Johnny's attention "are you okay Y/n?" He questions obviously worried for his future daughter in law.

You quickly get ahold of yourself "O-oh yeah! I just have a slight cold is all, I'm okay" You smile reassuringly as you glance at Robby, that same mischievous smirk on his lips.

Johnny nods his head understandingly as he goes back to eating and starting up a conversation with Robby. Soon Robby's hand got to the edge of your underwear, causing you to suck in a breath as you took a bite of your food to cover the slip up.

You turned to look at Robby to see him calmly caring on a conversation with his dad while he was fixing to finger fuck you under the table.

You started to get oddly aroused by the fact that you could get caught in this position, causing you to become very soaked the more you thought about.

Soon you feel Robby's two fingers slip inside of you, not even giving you time to think as you lounged back in the chair, he was being very discrete with manipulating the sounds causing your eyes to slightly roll back at his skilled fingers.

As observant as Johnny can be sometimes he didn't suspect anything not once, the situation was making you very touch aroused and almost on the edge of cumming with the burning knot in the pit of your stomach.

Soon you felt the tip of his ring hit your insides as his finger brushed against your g-spot causing your body to jerk slightly against his hand though you kept your noises at bay.

Luckily Robby felt the jerk from his hands as he kept Johnny's attention on him, "so Y/n, are you interested in any martial arts per say... karate?" He asks slyly as his attention turns to you.

You quickly compose yourself "yes actually, I have. Sometimes Robby will teach me certain things and it makes me want to start learning" You smile, slowly grinding your hips against Robby's fingers also getting Johnny's attention to turn back to Robby's.

"Oh? Is that so Robby?" Johnny asks impressed as Robby's fingers increase in speed, hitting your g-spot right on a couple times causing you to slip up a moan quickly turning it into a groan of pain as you fake bitting your tongue.

Johnny thought nothing of it as he continue to spark up conversations between you two, soon your high was bulging through so you tap Robby's thigh as a sign letting him know which only makes him go harder, also adding a third finger causing you to cum on his fingers with a slight whimper under your breath, only Robby could hear causing him to let out a satisfied smirk.

Johnny soon turns too grab a waiters attention for the bill and while he does that Robby slips his hand from underneath your skirt and starts sucking on them with a moan at the taste pretending it was from the food when Johnny turned back around. Your jaw almost dropped to the floor when he did that, also sending a sly smirk your way.

Johnny quickly pays the bill for you and leads you outside to where your cars sit, "It was lovely meeting you Y/n, I'm glad my son has finally found the one" He smiles kindly giving you a loving father hug as he does to Robby.

"Thank you Johnny, it was amazing meeting you as well!" You smile kindly as he gets in his firebird.

You and Robby rush back to your car, you slip inside the passengers side putting your hands over your face "I cannot believe you just did that Robby" You start laughing as you try to calm your racing heart down.

Robby lets out a chuckle as he begins to drive back to yours, arriving in only five minutes. You both soon enter in your house, your parents being gone with the LaRussos due to work.

You and Robby walk upstairs, you flip on your bed as Robby does the same, pressing his lips against yours in a lustful kiss until his phone starts ringing. Pulling away from the kiss with a groan Robby looks at the caller ID to see it was Johnny.

"Hey dad" Robby mumbled slightly as they start their conversation.

Soon a mischievous thought pops into your head as a revenge plan to get Robby back from fingering you whilst at the same dinner table as Johnny.

Robby had walked over to your desk to sit in your office chair, spinning around while he and Johnny continue on talking, smirking slightly you get off of your bed and walk over to Robby, once he spins to where he can see you, you put your hands on the arm rest and stop the chair.

Robby looks at you confused as you slowly get onto your knees, his eyes widening when he realizes what you're going to do, though not apposed to the idea.

You start unbuttoning his jeans before unzipping them and sliding them off his legs. By the time you had slipped off his pants he was already hard from the position you were in, though you gently cupped his bulge before slipping his boxers off letting his cock slip out lightly hitting his v-line.

He lets out a slight his from the cold air as his hip push upwards, you smirk as you slowly start jerking his length in your hands, getting him warmed up.

You lean down and lightly swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock, running it upwards along his slit causing his hips to buckle and him letting out a strained stutter in the middle of his sentence.

Speeding up your pace you bob half of your head down his length, tightening your lips around his pulsating cock while teasingly stroking the other half of his cock.

Robby's head almost falls back as he grips his phone harder trying to keep a steady conversation with his dad. You began swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock again, but lazily this time with slipping more of his cock in your mouth.

Robby has enough of you not taking him all the way so he moves your hair out of your face, wrapping it around his hand and pushes you all the way down on his cock, you lightly moan at his dominance sending vibrations through his length causing him to grit his teeth and let his head fall back.

He continues to push your head down balls deep down his cock, Johnny must've asked him if he was alright because he responded with a strained answer.

"Y-yeah, I-I'm fine dad" He roughly bites his bottom lip, pushing your head down more causing you to tighten your lips around his thick cock.

Soon Robby ends the call, throwing his phone on your bed as he tries to catch his breath. "Look at you, such a filthy slut... sucking me off.. while I talk to my dad. You really like my cock don't you?" He runs his tongue over his teeth, with a mischievous smile.

You can't help but whimper as you continue to take more of his length, Robby raises his eyebrow at this "oh you like that don't you?" He smirks pushing your head further down.

Just as he was about to climax you pull away from his cock, causing his hips to stutter and his hands to dig into the armrest of the chair.

He groans looking up at you with a slight lusty glare as you did not let him finish. You smirk almost evilly as Robby roughly grabs your chin pulling you closer to him.

"You know y/n, I'm gonna make you pay for that" He replies to your smirk, causing you to gulp slightly from being so turned on.

"Then make me..." You purr out.

Robby's stands up grabbing you by your thighs letting your legs wrap around his waist, his once again hardened cock resting in between your thighs the only thing separating you two is the thin piece of fabric.

Roughly placing you on the bed he presses his lips against your as his right hand goes under your skirt, moving your underwear to the side causing you to let out a low moan when he slips a finger into your dripping core.

He doesn't give you time to process as he adds two more fingers causing you to breath the kiss panting for air as Robby leans his head on yours, watching you with his fiery eyes.

He pulls his fingers out and begins rubbing his middle finger around your clit, "Robby..." You whimper aloud, spreading your legs wider for him.

"No cumming, pretty girl" He smirks as he feels you clench around his fingers, getting close to your high.

Your once lidded eyes widen as you feel the burning pit in your stomach, "but- Robby I- can't hold it" You whimper desperately, grinding your hips so you could try and orgasm faster.

Just when you think you got through to him as he speeded up his actions, he removes his fingers literally one second before you could cum, causing your whole body to jerk and your legs to try and close.

"Robby please.." You let out another desperate cry as he begins pulling off your shirt, along with your skirt before discarding of them.

Eagerness took over you as you quickly unclasp your bra and pull down your soaked underwear, "someone's eager" Robby smirks as you began pulling his shirt off.

"Shut up and fuck me" Ending your demand with a desperate whimper.

"Be patient pretty girl, we have time" Robby runs his finger down the valley of your breasts, the coldness of his metal rings causing you to get goosebumps.

Leaning down he takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue as he roughly squeezes the other, his hardened cock resting in the middle of your soaked pussy.

Finally giving in to what you both want he slowly slides the tip of his cock in your entrance, looking up to meet your eyes "is this okay?" He whimpers out, whilst you nod eagerly.

Finally bottoming out he slips his whole length into your pussy, leaning upwards he grabs ahold of your legs and spreads them wider as he begins to fuck you into missionary.

He watches as you start moaning, your boobs bounce up and down with each individual thrust, you hold your legs up while he holds onto your knees for support so he won’t thrust sloppily.

"What a sight to see pretty girl" Robby smirks as his head falls back once you tighten your walls around his cock.

You let out pathetic whimpers as your eyes roll into the back of your head, arching your back you start groping yourself while Robby watches as his cock slips further inside of you only to hit your g-spot after every thrust.

Him hitting your g-spot causes you to whine, harshly gripping onto your boobs Robby smirks "found it" He groans as he feels your pussy slowly bringing him closer to the edge.

"Faster p-please" You weakly moan out as you harshly wrap your legs around his waist causing him to hit a much deeper place inside you.

Your hands grip the bed sheets as your back arches, pushing your breasts into range as Robby grips onto one for support.

"Robby Im close!" You whimper out squeezing the bedsheets firmer.

This action causes Robby to snap his head up and grab ahold of your chin, leaning down to stare you in your eyes. He manages to deepen his thrusts by the different angle "look at me when you cum" He demands, feeling himself come closer to the edge as well.

You practically melt at his actions as you continue to look up at him lovingly as his cock starts hitting your g-spot straight on causing that burn in the pit of your stomach to only increase more, now feeling like fire as he kept speeding up and slowing down every now and then.

You keep your eyes from rolling back to keep a steady stare down with Robby as that knot breaks in your stomach causing you to clench around Robby, cumming all over his cock; some leaking down your thighs and onto Robby’s v-line. Just then you realized that you just squirted.

You were so dazed into your orgasm that you didn’t care as he tried his best to ride out your orgasm, fixing to pull out "wait no cum in me Robby… please" You nod, letting him know you were still on the pill.

Robby whimpers at this as his hips stutter, finally releasing into you. His hot cum shooting inside you, some filling you up to much as it spilled out of your pussy.

You both take a few breaths as Robby slowly pulls out, cum dripping down your thighs. Just then you look at Robby. His whole stomach and cock was drenched with your cum from where you squirted so hard.

Your cheeks flush from embarrassment, "oh god Robby I’m sorry" You say guiltily.

Robby chuckles "babe, I just made you squirt for the first time. That was so hot" He smirks as he leans down to press a fluttering kiss to your lips.

You smile as he picks you up bridal style caring you both to your bathroom, filling up the tub with water. He places you into the warm water letting you sit on his lap as he rested his chin on your head.

"I love you"

That was the first time he said I love you.

_______________________________________________

This was requested by @peachymelon69

#wattpad #robby keene #cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk #tiktok #cobra kai imagine #masterlist #x reader #robby keene x reader #robbykeenexreadersmut #smut #cobra kai smut #smut x reader #robby keene x y/n

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years ago

Text

The Bakugou Kids - Bakugou Katsuki

(Dad)Bakugou x (Mom)f!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Cursing

Summary: Bakugou and Y/N love their son with their entire beings, but sometimes, parents need a break. Especially when those parents are responsible for creating a literal demon spawn. He is kind, well behaved, and cute of course! But he does have Bakugou blood in him. With Y/N already away on a girls trip, Bakugou has to find out how he’s going to deal with his (now) many, many kids.

A/N: You passed down your duplication quirk down to Katsuo.

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You asked your husband as you stood at the doorway. “Katsumi may be a calm baby but she’s still a baby. And Katsuo’s quirk just kicked in and it is mine. I would know how difficult it can be to manage.”

“Stop worrying, Babe. It’s just a duplication quirk. And he’s only 5, how powerful can it really be?”Katsuki said, wrapping his arms around you. “Just go on your little girl’s trip with Ponytail and Racoon Eyes. I can handle the brat.”

You looked at your husband with a raised brow and smile before rolling your eyes and giving him a kiss. “Alright then. I’ll see you in a few days!”

With that, you walked out of the house and into the cab to meet your friends at the resort. Katsuki chuckled before walking back into the house to find his son napping on the couch. His spiky, blonde locks were all messed up with bed head while his E/C eyes he inherited from you remained shut. Katsuki walked over to his newborn daughter and picked her up while he took a seat next to Katsuo’s sleeping form, rubbing at his soft hair until he woke up.

“Can’t be all that bad, right Katsumi?”

The baby girl merely cooed with sparkling ruby eyes that mimicked her father’s.

—

Wow. Wrong. He was so wrong! It had only been 2 days since your departure but things had already gone so wrong! When you said your quirk was difficult to manage, Katsuki thought it would be difficult for Katsuo to manage. Not him!

Katsuki should’ve known his son would’ve taken the opportunity to act out while his mother was away. He had always been your little angel while Katsuki saw him as his little gremlin. With Y/N gone, Katsuo has been pushing all kinds of limits. Limits that had Katsuki beat.

Katsuo had been fortunate enough to inherit a quirk. And not just any quirk, but your quirk. Duplication. Basically, he can create copies of himself. When you were his age, you could only create 4, max. Katsuo was different though. He had Bakugou blood flowing through him. He was advanced the second he was born. So now, Katsuki was stuck looking after Katsumi, Katsuo, and Katsuo’s 16 other copies.

“Aye! Number 15, you’re gonna break that lamp! 11 and 8! Don’t wrestle in the mud! Go take a bath! NUMBER 3 GET OFF THE KITCHEN ISLAND! KATSUMI!” The adult blond screamed, looking for his infant daughter, eventually finding her sleeping in her little rocker on the living room floor. “Oh right, you don’t talk yet.”

Katsuki sighed as he slumped down next to his daughter, and leaned his back against the couch. He looked around the room and saw the 17 Katsuo’s making a ruckus around the house. All he could do was question how the hell is 3 month old daughter could possibly sleep through all this.

Katsuki almost lost all hope for humanity until a knock was heard on his front door. Knowing exactly who was there, he quickly got up from his place on the floor and ran to the entrance. “You idiots are finally here!”

Katsuki pulled in his 3 friends, the boys of the Bakusquad, and slammed the door shut. The 3 friends all stood in shock at the sight of the house. Not that it was overly messy or anything. It’s just that there were about 16 more figures in the house that aren’t usually there.

“You gotta help me!” Katsuki said, running infront of them, shaking his best friend’s shoulders. “I love my kids! I do! I love Katsuo, I swear! BUT I DIDNT SIGN UP TO BE A FATHER OF 18 FREAKING DEVILS!”

“Okay! Okay, relax man. We’re here.” Kirishima said, patting his friend’s shoulder as he wept. “How the hell are we gonna take care of 17 little Bakugous?”

“Right? We thought 1 Kacchan was a lot. Then you brought another one into the world, who apparently brought some unannounced friends.” Kaminari joked.

“They’re demons!” Katsuki exclaimed. “This has to be some fucking Karma for the shit I did. I knew I should’ve listened to my old hag better. Now shits came back to bite me in the- HEY! PUT YOUR SISTER DOWN! SHE’S NOT A FOOTBALL!”

Katsuos number 7 and 5 placed a sleeping Katsumi back in her rocker with an annoyed pout before running off to play something else.

“Welllll, there’s nothing that 3 cool uncles can’t fix!” Sero enthusiastically said. “Hey kiddos! Who’s ready to have some fun?”

All the mini blondes stopped their movements, some freezing mid-air, and looked to the slim man. They all shouted in joy at the sight of their uncles and ran to pounce on the 3 men, including their father. From the point of view of the boys in the Bakusquad, it looked like a Bakugou stampede.

“Run, run, RUN, RUN, RUUUNN!!!!” Kaminari screamed as the boys all ran for their lives to escape the herd of Katsuos. This was going to be an interesting day.

—

Safe to say after the day had passed, the boys of the Bakusquad were completely exhausted. Sero had half his clothes torn, Kirishima’s hair fell from it’s great spikes and even lost some red hues, Katsuki’s eye bags had never been heavier, and Kaminari was just straight knocked the fuck out. They were all thrown across the couch as Katsumi rested in Katsuki’s arms.

“What do we do?” Kirishima exclaimed.

“I don’t know.” Katsuki said, looking at his scrambling son(s). “There’s just too many.”

“And we’ve already lost a soldier.” Sero said pointing to Kaminari’s sleeping form. Katsuki and Kirishima followed his gaze and bowed their heads in respect towards the defeated Kaminari.

“Well now what? Is Bakugou just supposed to live like this for the next 3 days?” Kirishima asked.

“Hell no. If I do, there’s not gonna be anymore Katsuki. I’ll just be some body without a soul because my damn gremlins sucked it outta’ me.” Katsuki said with his head dropped down.

“Well how do we get them to calm down?” Sero questioned.

“I don’t know. They’re all mini me’s. Nobody could get me to relax.” Katsuki said in defeat, but that’s when Kirishima had a lightbulb go off for him.

“Except for Y/N!” The red head said, popping up from his seat on the couch.

“Uh, if you haven’t noticed Shitty Hair, this all started because she’s away on her trip.” Katsuki said with sarcasm as he looked at his friend as if he was an idiot.

“I know that! But Y/N wasn’t the only one to tame you, Bakugou!” Kirishima said in excitement.

“So then who else?” Katsuki asked.

“You know,” Kirishima smirked. “Denki’s favorite person. Y/N and.........”

It took Katsuki a second before his eyes popped when he finally got it. “No!”

“Yes!” Kirishima said.

“No way! We’re not going to her!” Katsuki complained.

“Who?” Sero asked.

“Nobody!” Katsuki screamed.

“Oh it’s somebody alright! Somebody who was able to tame the beast in Bakugou the second he was born!” Kirishima said.

“Who?” Sero asked. Katsuki finally sighed before he gave in, realizing this was his only hope for sanity. He grabbed his phone and made a quick call before explaining to his dark-haired friend.

“The demon of all demons...”

—

The door opened to reveal a tall standing brunette and an elder feminine blonde.

“...My mother.”

—

The boys of the Bakusquad all sat lined up on the couch as Mitsuki stood at Katsuki’s end and smacked her son’s head.

“You idiots! Y/N leaves for 2 days and all hell breaks lose?!” Mitsuki screamed at the 3 young men.

“You old hag! Quit hitting me! Ima’ grown man for crying out loud!” Katsuki screamed as he rubbed his head. Masaru simply bounced the sleeping Katsumi in his arms as he watched the scene play out.

“Well if you’re such a grown man then why can’t you manage your own kids without your wife’s help?!” Mitsuki argued, leaving Katsuki silent as he grumbled. The eldest blonde sighed before continuing. “Alright listen, I’ll watch these little devils for the next few days until Y/N comes back. I’d love to spend some time with my grandbrats. Why don’t the 3 of you go take a break and-“

“THANKS! Let’s go losers!” Katsuki said dragging his friends to the exit. Mitsuki and Masaru only laughed at their son’s behavior as they began tending to the kids.

The boys of the Bakusquad all quickly walked out of the house and headed for their cars as they all walked together.

“So, where to?” Sero asked.

“We could go head up that new resort in Tokyo!” Kaminari suggested.

“Naahhh. That’s where Y/N’s having her girl’s trip. Wifey would kill me if she saw me there instead of at home with the kids.” Katsuki said with his hands in his pockets. Kirishima raised his brow at this.

“Oh? So then, maybe we should go back and-“

“You know, on second thought,” Katsuki said with wide eyes once Kirishima made the suggestion. He took his hands out of his pockets and placed them behind his friend’s backs to keep them moving. “Maybe she won’t kill me..if I’m lucky..and wish..upon a shooting star....a million times over. Hah.....yeah. TO THE RESORT!”

As they walked, Kaminari attempted to look at the house once more, prompting Katsuki to turn his friend’s head back around. “No, no, no, don’t look back, they can smell fear.”

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Time Travel ft. Leia and Vader

(Helped by @atagotiak)

I was reading a bunch of different time travel fics, and my brain slotted in that one "Vader hands over the Empire to Leia and is now her most devoted sycophant" dynamic and mixed it with the "Luke and Vader time-travel and Vader does the right thing but only because it would make Luke sad if he didn't."

I landed on "Leia time travels to prequels era, but her least favorite family member has also traveled with her, though it takes him a few months to find her because he has less resources without the entire Imperial Navy, but he's still a scary Sith in all black with a breathing mask and intimidating cape."

"Tiny angry lady who wants to force democracy and her giant Sith father whom she hates but has resigned herself to pointing at threats like a tank who inexplicably loves her" is a delightful dynamic.

The first few months included a lot of concern about "why do you know so much about Sith if you're not trained or looking to be one" and then Vader shows up and calls her 'daughter' and she insults him and it's like "Oh. That explains it."

Council Member: We have a Sith in the Temple. Vader: Former Sith. Leia: Listen. He is your best chance against Sidious. Also, do you want Dooku dead? Vader can make him dead. Council Member: Your father i-- Leia, scrunching up her face: Don't call him that.

Like Leia is deep in conversation when the Temple starts panicking because Vader just. Showed up? He snuck in, somehow? So Palpatine wouldn't catch him on video entering through the front door? And people try to keep her away from the trouble, because there's an entire array of Jedi Masters to deal with this Surprise Sith, except she can sense exactly which Sith it is and once she shouts "oh you have got to be kidding me!" she just starts running and, well, it's Leia. Nobody can stop her.

(Leia does have less combat training, at least less force-assisted combat training, than the Jedi. But then the Jedi don’t want to hurt here here. She's not fighting her way down, either, she's just running really fast and all the best fighters already left. They had a head start. So Leia's mostly running past random padawans and the like.)

She shoves her way to the front of the group of Masters who. Well, they're certainly ready to attack. But Vader is just standing there. Doing nothing. Still intimidating as fuck but he's not doing anything.

And then Leia bursts onto the scene like "You motherfucker."

She hits her head on a clipboard and whines because UGH he's a walking WMD and they could REALLY use him against Palpatine but also. She hates him so much.

She tries to hand him off to the Jedi council but he insists that he will only take orders from Leia herself.

Jedi: Wait, what. Leia, completely ignoring them: Did you follow me here? Vader, through the mechanical wheezing: I have no loyalty to my master and no empire to serve. You are all that I have left. Leia: Me? Me? I'm all that you have left? You committed a genocide that killed all the family I had except for the twin brother you later mutilated! Jedi: Wait what Vader, going to one knee: I pledge my loyalty and blade to you and only you, daughter. Leia, ready to explode: I. I just. Jedi, some of whom really want to say things but are slowly realizing that they just accidentally acquired a Sith Lord by proxy: What. Leia: I hate you so much but I can't even get rid of you, you're too useful. Vader: I live to serve. Leia: Yeah. Got that. Fuck. Someone get him a full medical rundown, I don't know the last time that mess of a life support system was updated. Jedi, agitated again: WHAT Leia: Listen, I don't like him, but I'm not stupid enough to throw away the second most dangerous person in the universe when I can point him at the most dangerous person in the universe. Especially not if he's going to listen to me. Jedi: But... he's a Sith. Leia: Please trust me when I say this: you might be able to take him down eventually, but he will take dozens of you down with him, and right now he's... honestly, I'm pretty sure he's more depressed than malicious. Jedi: You hate him. I can feel it. Leia: Yes, but I can be professional about it. Vader: They have not yet d-- Leia: Nope! No talking! Not until I've had a chance to process this mess!

There is a whole lot of Leia snapping at Vader to stop it whenever he starts giving off vibes like he wants to take the most violent shortcut possible.

She is not the gentle hand that Luke would be.

Leia isn't a Jedi or working for them but she's wormed her way into being an ally. They don't 100% trust her, especially not with Vader just showing up and declaring her family but like

How do you say no to a WMD walking into your house and saying "I will fight the monster you cower from at night."

There's a lot of Leia snapping off an admonishment that sounds just a little too odd and then when questioned she just says "He knows what he did."

tbh I'm not sure how long it takes for them to tell anyone that Anakin is Vader. They might hold it off in hopes that Anakin can just retire to be Mr. Amidala after the war is over.

Well, Leia hopes. Vader just lets Leia make that call and then glowers at his younger self every time they're in the same room.

I do feel like Leia tells Obi-Wan the truth first

Imagine. Imagine a Vader who’s past still isn’t known. But has gotten somewhat comfortable around the Jedi (not really but the bar for what counts and comfortable for him is low). And Obi-Wan habitually banters with darksiders, right? If Vader’s guard is down for a moment and he, without thinking, references an inside joke...

Might be the most fun in terms of ways to tell Obi-Wan "We're time travelers and Vader is what happens if you let Palpatine drive Anakin off the edge"

If Vader has decided to pledge himself to her orders after destroying her planet, then fine. She can work with that. She's not going to be happy about it, but she can make it work.

The Jedi Temple hates having Vader anywhere nearby but he is actually very good at hiding himself from people, including Palpatine And for all that Leia seems perpetually irritated with her apparent bodyguard, he does seem to listen to her.

Jedi council: We still haven't figured out how to handle Dooku Leia: Do you know his location? Jedi council: Yes. Leia: [sigh] Leia: Vader, deal with it. Alive if possible.

(Leia does need to clarify an acceptable level of violence against the people protecting Dooku.) (She needs to clarify... many things.)

Leia always says "Vader" and one time a poor fool just asks why she doesn't call him dad and she snarls out "He is not the man that raised me, and I am glad for it."

Someone less foolish later prods more compassionately and she lets them know she was adopted and didn't properly meet Vader except in passing until she was nineteen.

"And then he tortured you." "And then he tortured me, yes." "Damn." "Didn't even find out we were related until a few years later when he chopped my brother's arm off." "You... wow." "I know."

At least one exchange that is L: You mean when you tortured me? A: He did what. V: I was not aware of our relation at that time. L: Not the point! I am fully aware of your interrogation methods and I refuse to let you be the one to acquire the evidence for-- A: Wait no go back he tortured you? L: Move on, please, we already have. A: That means I'm... oh Force, I'm going to torture my own daughter what in the actual fu-- L: We're moving on.

(“I end up torturing my own daughter” If Leia’s feeling especially spiteful I can see her saying “you mutilate your own son too”)

Concept: Leia is very free with traumatizing details of her past re:Vader and Anakin thinks that it sucks but doesn’t think much of it bc Sith. And then some time later he finds out...

(I love characters who use the traumatizing details of their past to shut down conversations.)

It's such a wonderfully horrifying concept for him to try to awkwardly comfort this girl he kind of knows because having a Sith for a dad sounds like it would suck and Leia seems nice, even if she's kind of weird and uncomfortable around Anakin, but he saw her flinch around a few other tall people wearing black robes the way she stiffens around Vader so maybe it's just that!

It is not.

Vader does get a significant amount of medical treatment. Including a bunch of "holy shit, that's a lot of drugs" and similar. There is so much lightning damage.

hnnng I'm just really in love with the image of Tiny Tiny Leia sitting behind a desk for some fancy negotiation, the picture of professionalism, while Vader just stands behind her shoulder, looming, glaring expressionless death at whoever came to speak with his baby girl.

Not that he would call her that, because she'd just hate him more and he's really not sure how to fix that problem, other than doing whatever she asks with no complaints and hoping she appreciates it.

Vader: [looks at children wandering by, has complicated emotions] Leia, tired of his shit: What now? Vader: I killed them, once. Leia, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath: And you're not going to do that again. No killing children. Vader: I know that. Leia: Great. I am... regretting asking. I am so very much regretting asking.

I do really like the idea of someone asking Leia once if she wants Jedi training and she says, no, actually, she's fully aware of the fact that she's angry little ball of hate sometimes, especially towards her bio father, and she'd like to refrain from putting herself in a position where she knows enough about the Force to Fall. She wouldn't Fall. But it does make people shut up.

#leia organa #princess leia #Darth Vader #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #time travel #Phoenix Posts

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secret-treasury · 3 years ago

Text

Dad!Sirius

little blurbs about sirius being the best dad ever. Also includes some sirius X reader, Marauders.

Babysitters

Atlas loves when Lily babysits them. He is just smitten with her and he especially likes her hair. She’ll hold him and he would just stare at her with awe. He would pull a little on her hair and would get pouty when told off for it, especially from James. He isn’t a fan of James' because he always takes Lily away from him at the end of the day and he doesn't like that, but eventually he’d grow to like him... a little.

Neo on the other hand enjoys hanging out with James. She follows him everywhere and wants to be with him when he does random things, she is like his little shadow. She gets pouty if she doesn’t get to play with his glasses and he always tells her to be careful with them so as to not break them. She has an attitude, she rolls her eyes at him. “Well… she's a pads kid alright!” he’d joke. To which she responds with an excited “Padtoot!” and laugh while running away with James' glasses to get her dog plushy.

Remus is however Neo's favorite babysitter and for one reason only. He has a beard and she loves beards and just wants to grab at them. Luckily both Sirius and Remus keep their beards trimmed short so there isn’t much for her to grab. Sirius did the prank on her where he hid the lower part of his face behind a towel, then when he revealed his clean shaven face, Neo was SO upset she wouldn’t stop crying. Whenever she saw him until his beard grew back she’d cry at the sight of him. When he finally had his beard back she had missed him so much. She’d have a similar reaction to remus shaving but milder. Neo loves hanging out with her uncles but daddy is still the best. Remus and Atlas get along great, atlas loves to sit in uncle Remy's lap while he reads, and most of the time he falls asleep, Atlas is a very cuddly and sleepy boy so it works out well.

Regulus is a decent babysitter but confuses the twins slightly when they are very young for the simple reason that he looks similar to their dad. Before they eventually learn the difference, he would be kind of an ‘imposter Sirius’ because they are aware that isn’t dad…. But he really looks like dad….

Bath time!

Both Neo and Atlas LOVE bath time, especially with their dad. They both just can’t stop laughing when Sirius makes himself a bubble beard and causes bubbles to fly everywhere when he talks. He’d create fun narratives with pirates and priateship and sea monsters.

The only thing Atlas doesn’t like about bath time is washing his hair, he cries so much because he doesn’t like getting shampoo in his eyes or when water runs down his face. Luckily Sirius is super gentle with him and makes sure he feels safe the whole time.

“Close your eyes” the little boy does as his father says and shuts his eyes really hard. Sirius puts some shampoo in his palm and rubs his hands together before massaging it into the boy’s hair. Atlas starts whining a little bit. “It’s alright buddy” sirius comforts. When it’s time to wash the shampoo out he gets pouty again. Sirius tells Atlas to lean his head back while he supports the little boy’s back with his hand.

“Are you keeping ‘em closed?”. Atlas nods and again focuses on keeping his eyes shut as hard as he can. “Here comes the water,” Sirius warns. He would never do anything to break his son’s trust, especially not for a laugh. All three of them sing a song together, usually some type of nursery rhyme, to help distract the little scared boy from the water.

Neo was easier to handle albeit a bit wild. She loved singing the song whilst water was running down her face and it sounded like she was underwater. She’d laugh a lot and then accidentally breath in some water. She’d be upset for a moment and cough a bit but in no time she’s singing happily again. Sirius often found himself singing nursery rhymes in the shower when he would wash his own hair, just a weird habit he had when the kids were little.

After bath time he would help them into their cute little bathrobes and then the two kids would run to their mama looking like little jawas. Sirius would join them moments later, clothes splashed with bathwater and bubbles still in his beard. He didn’t mind though.

Bedtime

Sirius would teach them to brush their teeth by themself as soon as possible. He would seat them on the bathroom counter, give them their little toothbrushes and portion out the tooth paste. Neo was the most troublesome in this area, she didn’t like brushing her teeth so he’d tell her an elaborate story of why she needs to brush her teeth. Unfortunately she didn’t believe him. Atlas did though and always pointed out that they need to brush their teeth every morning and evening like the sweet boy he is. Because of Neo's brother pestering her with the importance of brushing her teeth she’d do it. So it worked out for Sirius eventually… in a roundabout way.

After all the teeth had been brushed, including Sirius’, he set them back down on the floor and the twins rushed as fast as their little legs could carry them to their shared bedroom. Atlas would get his blankie and his deer plush that he got from auntie Lils when he was born. Neo would get a book and her very loved dog plushy also called padfoot or as she ‘padtoot’. They would wait for Sirius to join them and he would take a seat in the armchair they had in their little room, he would place the twins in his lap and they would get comfortable. Atlas would share his blankie and they would place their plushies in their laps getting ready for the bedtime story.

Sirius would read to them and also educate them on different topics, making the twins question what happened in the story and why. While also keeping it lighthearted and fun. He’d give the characters different voices, some were funny and some were silly. After they finished the story they would beg him to read another one and it would break his heart telling them no, but he knew they were exhausted and needed their sleep. “There will be another story tomorrow”

Puting Atlas to sleep was the easiest thing in the world. As soon as his head hit the pillow he would be asleep, holding onto his blankie and his plush. Sirius would pull the covers up and lovingly caress the boy’s cheek and place a kiss on his forehead wishing him goodnight.

Neo was more troublesome, she wanted Sirius to stay with her until she fell asleep. He’d tuck her in, kiss her forehead and also give ‘padtoot’ a goodnight kiss. Then he’d sit on the floor by her bed and caress her cheek til she fell asleep. Sometimes he’d fall asleep on the floor leaning onto the side of her bed.

Food habits

Atlas is a picky eater, veggies are his number one enemy and he’ll do anything to not eat them. Sirius understands this because he himself hated veggies when he was little although his punishments for not eating them was very uncalled for. It takes a lot of coaxing to get atlas to eat them and he is always the last one at the table. Sirius has tried everything but it's still a struggle.

“Just eat 3 more broccolis and a cauliflower, then you can go play” Sirius tried to convince the boy but he just shook his head and scrunched up his face in disgust. He couldn’t help but sigh at the cute but stubborn little boy. “Eat two and then we’ll go play afterwards, okay buddy?” Sirius tried to bargain. He saw a glimmer in the boy's eyes.

“You play too?” he asked hopefully and Sirius nodded. Atlas unwillingly picked up the fork and poked at the veggies. After a while he picked out the two smallest veggies and ate them one at a time. “Done!” he declared after forcing them down. Atlas slipped off the chair and rushed to join his siblings.

“Daddy will play with us” he cheered happily, veggies long forgotten. They spent most of the afternoon playing hide and seek. Atlas was the first to get tired and decided to hide under the covers in his parents bed. As he crawled under the covers Neo and Zagreus noticed his genius hiding spot and went to join him.

“Here I come!” Sirius called out as he began looking around the house. Not finding them in the usual hiding spots he began to feel worried even though they couldn’t possibly have left the house. When he passed the master bedroom he noticed 3 child sized lumps in his and his wife's bed. As he got closer he could hear some giggling. He carefully peeled up the covers to peek inside to see his pups. “I found you” he chuckled as he began scooping them up in his arms as they laughed and giggled happily.

When Y/N came home later that afternoon the house was quiet. The plates and cutlery, long forgotten on the kitchen table much to her annoyance. However, the sight she was greeted with in her bedroom of her husband and three little children sleeping together in a pile on the bed, tangled up in the covers and blankets. It was enough for her heart to swell with love.

Neo generally isn't a picky eater, she eats well and healthy meals. She does however love ice cream though. the strawberry, vanilla and chocolate mix also known as neapolitan ice cream. Neo is a tough girl to bargain with as she’s not as easily fooled as other children, but ice cream is her weakness and Sirius does occasionally use that to his advantage.

“Neo, sweetie. Please it’s time to sleep,” Sirius would almost beg as he was seated beside her bed on the floor, being as tired as he wished his daughter was.

“No.” Neo said stubbornly and crossed her arms over the covers. Sirius had tucked the children into bed almost half an hour ago and both boys were fast asleep and sailing off to dreamland. “I don’t want you to leave me daddy” she sniffled and her eyes were glossy with tears. Overwhelmed by emotions she suddenly sat up and threw her little arms around her fathers neck, holding him tight. His arm wrapped around her little body and he caressed the back of her little head with his free hand. He remembered feeling a similar feeling when he was very little. When his mother seemed to love him.

“Of course I won't leave you, puppy.” he said comfortingly as his heart ached in his chest. Neo pulled back to look at him, tears running down her chubby little cheeks. her hands still on his shoulders and her fingers played with his long dark hair.

“Promise me daddy” she demanded with another sniffle. Her words tore him apart within.

“I won’t leave you, ever.” he promised. He knew it was a lie, that one day he would have to leave her alone on this earth, even though it seemed far til then. He dried the tears from her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “Now go to sleep sweetie”

“Only if I get ice cream for breakfast” she argued back with a little giggle as he crawled back under the covers. Sirius tucked her into bed once again.

“Not for breakfast, but sometime tomorrow we can have ice cream, okay?” he said and poked her nose gently and giggled along with her. She lifted her little hand and held out her pinky.

“And strawberries” she said as Sirius wrapped his larger pinky around her little one. It wasn’t strawberry season, Neo knew that but she cleverly made him promise her to get her favourite fruit too. He couldn’t simply go back on a pinky swear.

“And strawberries,” Sirius sighed with a smile on his lips. His little girl was so clever, he knew he got it from her mother but the way she used it, that was all him.

Zagreus eats pretty much anything even if he doesn't like it. He accidentally took a bite of a bar of soap once. It was shaped as a cinnamon bun and the poor boy thought it was real.

“Dad?” he said as he pulled on his fathers sleeve. The potters were over for dinner and Sirius was out on the porch chatting with James over a cold beer.

“What is it boy?” he said and crouched down to the little boy's level. The boy looked puzzled and showed his father the cinnamon bun soap with a child sized bit in it.

“This bun tastes weird, dad.” James couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Ah, oh it’s not a cinnamon bun, boy” sirius tried to explain but the boy looked at the bun soap and up at his father again convinced that his father was indeed mad. Sirius couldn’t hold back a chuckle “It’s soap.. In the shape of a bun”

“Oh…” Zagreus said finally trying to make sense of his odd food experience. Sirius ruffled the boy's hair. “Here” the boy said and gave Sirius the bun and then wandered off back into the house.

On Sundays it's always pancake or waffle Sunday at the Black’s house and the pups demand having their favorite fruit as a side. Atlas does a lot better with fruits and Sirius takes whatever wins he can get with the boy honestly. Blueberries are Atlas’ favourite fruit or well berry. However he doesn’t like fake fruit flavours in fact he hates them almost as much as he hates his sworn enemy... veggies.

Neo of course enjoys the sweet strawberries and often gets her way which means ice cream instead of whipped cream.

Zagreus loves pomegranates which doesn’t really go well with either pancakes or waffles but he is determined to have it anyway.

#sirius black fluff #sirius black #dad!sirius #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #the marauders #james potter #remus lupin #regulus black #lily evans #lily potter #sirius fluff #sirius imagine #sirius blurb #sirius black blurb #sirius black headcanon

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cinnamonest · 3 years ago

Text

Mom!Reader x Childe

HELLO yes I am back on the momson agenda that I plan to use to infect you all with momson brainrot, thank you. Today’s edition: snarky ginger son

//tw: mother-son incest, mentions of childhood crushing/perversion, Childe cucks his own dad, yes I am also bringing back "Childe cucks men he doesn't like" agenda thank you

===========================

Childe was a clingy kid, in the beginning, back before his abyss experience, when he was softer and more needy. You had lots of kids, but he was the one that always helped you with things, always was sweet to you, said Mommy was his favorite person in the whole wide world and that he didn't need anything but you to be happy. You don't play favorites, of course... but he was always just a bit special to you, you had a bond with him that you didn't with the others. He thinks so, too. You've consumed all his thoughts, ever since... well, forever.

As he got older, of course, he changed and got more playful, more cocky. One of the stereotypical son things he would absolutely do is be the kid that goes out of his way to terrify his poor mom over his own safety, you know, the kind to climb onto some high dangerous spot and call out like "hey mom look at me!" just to watch her turn her head to look at him and have a heart attack, fake an injury and pretend they're bleeding just to watch her squeal and freak out, only to break the act by laughing. And more serious things like fakes getting into legal trouble/arrested, pretends he got into a fight, and so on, the boy just loves giving you heart palpitations for no reason. He thinks your reactions are cute, honestly. He likes seeing you fuss and fret over his safety and well-being.

Which is why you think it's a joke when he does some odd things. You find your clothes in his room and assume he just stole them as a prank. Or when he's just being creepy and touchy and you think he's just trying to fuck with you (well, he is, in a different sense of the word, but anyway). When he's always seeming to pry into things most children don't - wanting to know every detail of your day, know where you were every second, know who you spoke to.

See, he's very self aware, and from a young age. It's not a sudden realization of attraction like with the Kaeya/Diluc sons, no, he's known exactly how he feels as long as he can remember, and he grows up very aware of it, and even more aware that he can never, ever, ever act on or voice the feeling, that doing so would not have a good outcome. What would happen? He sometimes wonders about it. He likes to play out a fantasy in his head, whenever he's jerking off into your clothes, where you actually are ok with it, where you reciprocate it, but... after he comes down from the high, he knows full well that that would never happen. No, in reality he knows you'd be disgusted, horrified. It irritates him. But he feels no guilt, he's far too narcissistic to think he's ever in the wrong. Society, humanity, you, everyone -- they're the ones who are in the wrong on this matter. He can't conceive anything less. Sure, maybe it's a little weird, but it's not that bad, society makes way too big of a deal out of these things, when really, what people do is no one's business but their own, he thinks.

So yes, he does some odd things, but every kid does some odd things, you'd know, he has several siblings after all. It's not until your son disappears for several days -- the worst few days of your life, days you spent so anguished and panicked you were sick, didn't eat, didn't sleep -- it's not until after that that things really, truly change. He comes back a very different person. It breaks your heart to see your once soft, quiet, sweet son now so prone to violence, so argumentative, how he seems to enjoy conflict, and, most personally upsetting, a massive increase in disrespect towards you. It's like he doesn't listen to anything you say anymore -- sure, he does what you ask, but there's this subtle smile, a condescending tone -- sure, Mother -- in a way that you can't help but feel like is almost mocking you, looking down on you.

And it really is -- through his abyss experience, he came to realize something very, very important you see. It's that you're weak. And in this life, this world, the weak exist to serve the strong, to be used by them. To be owned by them.

He came to the epiphany, the realization, that really is so obvious, that he just never thought about before -- that respecting one's mother is a social construct, not bound by logic like most dynamics of power. Leaders are respected and feared, because they are strong, they're powerful. They have a reason they're respected. You? You're respected because of gratefulness for what you've done, because it's what's normal, socially ingrained in the culture, but in reality your authority over him is built on the shakiest of foundations, it's a fragile thing and only there because he allows it. If he decided to not allow it, well, you couldn't do anything to stop him. It's his choice to allow you to pretend you have real, valid authority.

And he starts to think about that quite a bit, especially at times that you're mad at him, those times after you've nagged him or expressed anger and he slinks off to his room to jerk off into whatever he's stolen from you this time, entranced by your anger, because he can't help but think of how audacious it really is for you to be angry -- for you to assert power over him, a being that you have no right asserting power over. It becomes resentment, he can't let go of his realization of how ridiculous it is that society at large insists that he sees you as an authority, as above him, when in reality you're so weak, smaller, breakable, domitable. The absurdity of it all manifests and he finds himself irritated whenever you give a command, whenever you get mad. He begins to feel insulted by your assertions of authority, even though you're not too demanding at all, and are usually very sweet about it -- nonetheless, in his arrogance, he just starts to become irritated by anything less than a submission. Why are you commanding him around? Actually... Why even ask nicely, when it's still on the assumption he'll do what you say? You should beg for what you want. And what right do you have to get mad? You're like a tiny little dog biting the heels of a dog far bigger, far stronger than itself, he thinks.

In other words, you're asking for it.

His fantasies change. You’re no longer accepting, you don’t return his feelings, no, he begins to enjoy the fact that he knows you don’t. It becomes long, detailed fantasies of exactly how nice it would be to take out the frustration. To put you in your place. To show you why you have no right to act as an authority. He likes to think of how you’d struggle, he cums to the thought of how you’d cry. You're still a mom, of course, in the sense that he likes you to be. He wants to keep the things he likes and get rid of the things he doesn't. Mom should always be sweet and kind, the mom that makes him food and greets him when he comes home and treats his wounds and fusses over him when he gets hurt, that gives him hugs and frets over his needs, that says sweet things and is affectionate. He likes those things. The mom that tells him what to do and holds authority... not so much. He'll take the parts he likes and throw the other parts away, thank you very much. Some people would say that that duality of a mother is innate, that you can't separate them. He'd disagree. Anything is possible with enough brute force.

And you've noticed the disrespect, of course, and that's why, when your husband finally suggests sending him off to set him straight, you reluctantly agree it's the best thing for him.

Ah... that. The one big, glaring issue. You see, at this point in time... His father is very much well and alive and in the way. The man is the bane of his existence. He has the worst literal Oedipus complex, where it’s not just the attraction to you, but a resulting hatred for his father. It makes him fucking seethe watching you go about your day getting so handsy and comfortable, and it's been that way since he was a kid, it's bothered him as long as he can remember. As such, even as a kid he's cleverly scheming to get dad out of the way. He comes to you in the middle of the night pretending he couldn't sleep when he really could, he just wants to sleep in between you two so that way he can be closer to Mommy. Whenever you two have a moment alone, he comes barging in with this or that to interrupt you. As he gets older and smarter, he even begins to set traps to get his father injured so that hopefully he's... out of commission in bed (and hey, maybe if he's lucky it'll kill him!). It's actually kind of hard NOT to notice he has these weird moments of bitterness and pouting or even angry outbursts sometimes, but you just never manage to connect them to the fact that they always occur whenever you've shown some sort of affection to your husband, or him to you.

And he doesn't throw a fit or make a scene or anything, when you send him to the Fatui. He accepts the decision. Because he knows that if he acts now, it'll just end badly. No, he bides his time. He's usually not a very patient man, but if he really, truly wants something, he can be the most patient, scheming person alive. He waits. Waits a good long time, years even. You see, he can't risk anything going wrong with his plan, and if he were to straight up violently murder his father (not that he has any problem doing so, from a personal standpoint), he might be found out, and that would significantly disrupt his plans of making a momwife out of you. Can't take the risk. Sure, the thought of you being happy back at home and fucking his dad makes him so mad he could kill, but he just takes that out on whatever he's fighting at the moment and tries not to think about it. In reality, that’s part of the reason he’s such an excellent warrior -- for a long time now, he’s been mentally projecting the image of his father onto his opponents. It fuels his violence. He figures that, eventually, an opportunity will come, something will happen that will provide an opening, and then he'll make a move. That's the whole reason he started writing home so much in the first place, why he started asking specific details on his father's health. You think it's because he cares for his father and wants to have correspondence with his sister, but in reality nothing could be further from the truth.

Once he finds out his father has been feeling a bit unwell... well, there's the opening he needs. Next time he comes home, he knows what he has to do. Dear old Dad has been very, very sick, so now? No one will be too surprised when he dies. But not immediately, no. He has to get his revenge first. See, his father has made him suffer all these years, every day he's had to live with knowing his father gets to fuck you... it's only fair he return the favor.

He makes sure all the siblings are preoccupied or gone for the night, it's just you, him, and his father. It's rather sweet. You enjoy one last normal night together, as a family, before he tells you he has a surprise for you two... in your own bedroom. There's something a bit odd about his tone, his face, grinning so strongly, almost giddy with excitement, but you shrug it off and go nonetheless. You barely make it a few steps into the room before you get picked up and thrown -- you land on the bed, thankfully, but it still knocks the wind out of you, so that by the time you scramble up and become oriented, you're just in time to see him physically forcing his very confused and increasingly panicked father -- who tried to confront him after seeing him manhandle you, but was easily overpowered -- down, cuffing him to a chair, to the wall -- he clearly planned this, if he brought cuffs with him. You ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, and he simply responds that, well, if he tied him down completely, it wouldn't be as fun to watch him struggle, of course.

And you panic, uncertain of the meaning of it all, but you know you don't like whatever is happening here, and you bolt for the door -- not that you make it, of course, easily grabbed by the collar of your shirt and yanked back. It's not until that shirt is pulled up over your head and thrown to the floor that it sort of clicks. The years of odd behaviors, touchiness, the sudden change and aggression towards you. But now? You can only realize how helpless you are. You can't do anything, he's got one wrist in each hand with a grip of muscle from years of training. It's not as if you don't fight, rather, that your struggling is meaningless, doesn't even have an impact, you're too easily overpowered, it's so easy to put you on your hands and knees, to grab a fistful of your hair and keep your head slammed into the mattress for a few moments while you're mounted.

You don't really... experience what happens next. It doesn't feel real. It feels distant, like you're merely watching the events from outside your body, looking at a picture detached from yourself, you hear your own noises as if it were someone else making them. You're just vaguely aware of the sensation of penetration, the slight burn, until suddenly the intensity of pleasure brings you back to earth, if only for a moment, before again settling into a dissociative state as your brain takes in nothing but sensation. He fucks you from behind on your hands and knees, making sure you're facing his poor father all the while, hand in your hair and pulling you back onto him over and over again -- it stretches you out unlike anything you've ever felt in your life. Maybe that's why you hear yourself making those sounds, sounds you wish you'd stop making, desperate little cries and squeals of pain and pleasure. You can't bring yourself to think much, your mind is still lost, it's the only way you can cope with reality, really, a natural reaction, the only way to process what's happening. You try to keep your eyes shut. It could have been a few minutes, maybe a few hours, you don't remember, only the occasional orgasm that brings you out of it, until it finally comes crashing down when you suddenly feel an absence, a gaping hollowness from where your body had been carved into when he pulls out, and you watch him twist his father's neck in one swift motion. The cracking sound is one that plays over and over in your mind for years to come. You really remember nothing after that. Maybe you passed out, maybe you stayed awake a while longer. You never did find out what happened to the body, at this point you've assumed he threw it out to wild animals.

When you wake up, you could almost forget it all. It almost seems as though nothing happened, a horrible dream, the room is bright and your bed is empty, but your husband often wakes up early, so it's not unusual. You can hear your kids, all of them, from another room. Maybe it really was a dream? It's not until you sit up and feel the burning ache that you become certain it wasn't. Stumble out of the room, disheveled and pained, where the rest of your family is -- minus one.

And your son looks and speaks to you like everything is normal. Smiling like always. Says he's glad you woke up, you sure slept in a long time. Don't worry, you look cute, even all disheveled like that. But he quickly sends the other kids away and pulls you back to the room you came from, saying something in that smiley, fake-happy voice about how he'll help you fix yourself up. And by fix, he means fuck. It's only natural, he hasn't gotten to really have an intimate moment yet, you know? This time you don't have an audience when he throws you down on the bed again, climbs on top of you.

And you reflexively lash out, of course, that's expected, you start to hyperventilate, blubbering incoherently as shock and panic settles in, but he just holds you still, tells you to relax. You don't relax, though. No, you choose to be bad, you thrash around and jerk your arms back and call him a murderer. You say mean things about how he's sick in the head and tell him not to touch you, to get away from you. Ah, you're still in that defiant mood. It's not nice, you know, quite hypocritical, since you've always told him he needs to be nice, but now you refuse to do that yourself. His father never had the balls to put you in your place, he guesses. Thankfully he does.

It's all happening too fast, too quickly for you to process - you're still reeling, still processing that your husband is dead and your son killed him, that your son fucked you, and is about to fuck you again - and you don't know why. That's all you can ask. It comes out in just a soft little sob. Why?

It's the one thing that makes him pause. Why? Because you're his mom and he loves you, of course. Why else?

That's all the explanation you get. It's all the explanation you'll ever get, no matter how many times you ask. Because he loves you. That's all.

That's how it becomes routine. He tells you after that first time alone together that he knows you're smart enough to not try anything, right? Your husband mysteriously disappears... You can blame it on him all you want, but the first person authorities suspect at any murder is the spouse. Really, they'd probably think you're crazy, or that you did it. They'd never believe you. You know that, don't you? Besides, he did it for you, you know. Because it was what you needed. And what he was owed. Dad was in the way, he got in between you two, he had to go. That's just how it is. You realize early on that's he's right, that you are truly, genuinely trapped. No one would believe you, and even if they did... Despite it all, you couldn't. You still love him, he's your son, you can't bring yourself to hate him. How could you ruin his life? Sure, he ruined yours, and yet... You suppose it's what they call motherly instinct. You can't harm him like that.

And he trusts you to be smart even when he has to leave. He pleads and works with superiors to get sent away less often, but even when he's gone, he sends you little reminders of him. You feel sick every time you go to get the mail.

And you're there with open arms - and open legs, even if he has to force it - every time he does come home. He looks forward to your little reunions. He always did, whenever you'd make food and make a celebration out of his returns, but it's better now, now that he gets to look forward to all the lovemaking, as he calls it. He gets food AND pussy now, nice.

He fucks you with a ferocity you could only expect from him, a roughness that matches the way he fights. It's desperate and eager, filled with the urgency and rushed nature of a young man of his age, far more forceful and fast paced than you're used to. He recovers quickly, it's more than you can take, getting bent over and railed over and over throughout a single day, you often lose count.

And the thing about his anger is that not only is he rough letting out the accumulated frustration, but he enjoys the roughness, he can get mean and mocking about it all. He's just so irritated that his brain basically says fuck it (literally) and takes a sort of sadistic pleasure out of Mommy's utter disgust and shock about the whole thing. How does it feel knowing your son is fucking you? You must feel so dirty getting off to having his cock inside you, don't you? You probably feel so much shame and humiliation every time you spasm and cum and clamp down on him, every time you feel warm cum fill your insides.

And don't blame him for any of it. It's your fault. You were the one who tempted him all these years, you're the one who was bossy and demanding when you should have been sweet and submissive to him, you were begging for him to fix the problem, really. To make you the best mom you can be. His father could never do that. His father could never fuck you like he does, and unfortunately, you know he's right.

And his favorite threat is to mention that, hey, you're still young enough to be fertile Mom, what happens if your son knocks you up, hmm? What would you do then? He likes pulling that one, because he can feel your muscles reflexively clench as you jolt with horror (it feels great, really), the way you try to squirm away, the whimpers, it's all too good. The way you beg for him not to cum inside, even though by this point you should know he will anyway. He swears one day, he'll knock you up, just you wait.

As for your other kids... they don't know much. He comforted you after the mysterious disappearance of your husband, everyone knows that, everyone tells you how lucky you are to have a loyal son that supported you throughout such a dark time. The siblings know you two seem closer. The older ones realize that he goes into your room at night. They hear weird noises sometimes. But they don't think much of it, why would they? It's not like the reality is thought that would ever occur as a possibility to most normal people. No, they won't help you, and you can't bring yourself to drag them into this -- besides, you don't know exactly how unhinged he is, and in the back of your mind, you're afraid he could hurt them in some way.

You're still more of a mother, of course, than a wife, he likes you being a mom. He likes it when you're sweet and nurturing and helpful... now he just has the means to make sure you behave that way whenever he wants. You get to be a good mom... all of the time. You have to be. Or else. The "or else" is something you don't like to think about. Early on, when you didn't know the extent of how far he'd go, you tested the boundaries, which was a mistake, you defied him, you were bitter, and you pulled the or else what? You immediately regretted the outburst when you saw his smile drop, you apologized and whimpered you were sorry when he dragged you over to the bed, but he didn't seem to care. And of all the things he could punish you with, it was so like him to choose the most humiliating, putting you over his knee, spanking you over and over until you sobbed and squirmed and your poor ass was sore and reddened for days. The pain was one thing, the humiliation far worse, and that very humiliation made even more unbearable by the knowledge of who was doing it. You learned not to defy him that day, although sometimes you forget your place and have to be reminded in the same way.

So in the end, you resign yourself to it. There's no getting out, there's no solution other than to lay back and take it. You learn to submit, you learn to accept his love. And hey, that's good. That was the whole intention, after all.

#in.tg #tw: incest #atml #momson agenda #.momcon

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

Text

Absentee

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Y/N fell in love with Jason Todd, she didn’t realize the normalcy she lost would become such a problem in their relationship. And she didn’t know how much pain it would cause to hide her boyfriend’s secrets.

Word Count: 4,600 – One Shot

A/N: This is probably a really personal story. And you all might hate it or not relate to it. But oh well...

Y/N had her music playing in her headphones just quietly enough so she could hear them announce when her plane was boarding.

Between corporate holidays and what was left of her vacation days for the year, she was able to go home for a week and a half.

Only, she was hoping that this year she wouldn’t be going home alone.

But when Jason got sucked into a case two weeks before their flight back to her hometown, she knew there was no way he’d be accompanying her.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just–“ Jason had tried to tell her when she realized they weren’t going to be spending the holidays together.

“You don’t have to apologize. There are more important things right now than meeting my crazy family,” Y/N laughed lightly. “But they’ll be bummed.”

Jason still looked so down guiltily. He knew that Y/N had been downplaying how excited she was for her family to meet him.

Yeah, Y/N was upset, but her family was even more upset. Being in a different part of the country and them never putting in the effort to visit her, they had yet to meet Jason. Even when the two of them had been dating for 10 months.

Y/N had met all of Jason’s brothers, along with Bruce and Alfred. It had all been against his will, his family strategically running into them or invading his apartment when they knew Y/N would be there. Jason acted annoyed by it, but Y/N knew he was happy for her to meet them and without him having to act like he cared.

But Jason had only ever waved on FaceTime to her family or sometimes answered calls from them when Y/N left her phone next to him and went to another room.

It wasn’t like Y/N needed her family’s approval. She knew what she wanted and what was best for her. Their opinions didn’t hold as much weight with her as they thought.

But Y/N also had never introduced her family to a boyfriend before. Things either fizzled out before then or the relationship was so casual that the thought of even mentioning a boy-toy’s name in passing to her family made her want to jump out a window.

———

“So Jason couldn’t get out of work last minute?” Y/N’s older sister, Kate, asked as they drove to her house after picking her up from arrivals.

And so it began.

“No,” Y/N answered. “His boss is sort of an asshole. He’s a workaholic and can’t fathom why anyone else would ever be anything different.”

The truth was that Jason didn’t really have a job. When it came to income, Jason was resourceful. He was still a hitman for hire. But once the killing part of that job stopped – which was long before Y/N ever met him – it didn’t rake in as much money. Most of his money was either stolen from criminals or he would work odd jobs here and there.

However, the lie Jason and Y/N had agreed on was that he was a mechanic. And Jason did know absolutely everything there was to know about cars and motorcycles. He’d even promised Y/N that if she ever decided she wanted him to drop the vigilante life, he would do just that and start his own mechanic shop. But Y/N knew better than to ever ask that of him.

“Cars don’t stop breaking – even around the holidays,” Y/N joked darkly.

“Mhmm,” her sister answered.

Y/N already knew what her family thought of her boyfriend’s “job”: it wasn’t good enough for them.

The only reason they let it slide was because they knew Bruce Wayne was his adoptive father. Therefore they interpreted Jason’s ‘lack of ambition’ as his personal rebellion against his privilege and upbringing.

“Mom said he sent flowers and a bottle of wine to the house today and apologized for not being able to make it,” Kate added.

Y/N quickly looked at her in surprise.

“So I’m guessing from your reaction that it wasn’t your idea,” Kate teased.

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “He didn’t even tell me he did that.”

That was a Bruce Wayne move for sure. It didn’t matter that Jason had a rocky relationship with him, the Wayne charm and manners were deceivingly contagious.

————

Later that night, when everyone was in bed and Y/N decided to finally unpack. And she was surprised to find two of Jason’s t-shirts hidden in her bag. They were her favorites of his, always stealing them. Mostly she wore them to lounge around the apartment or to wear to bed. But her favoritism was in no way hidden.

Jason must’ve snuck them in her bag while she wasn’t looking.

Y/N smiled as she grabbed one of the shirts and raised it to her nose. It still smelled like him.

It was enough to make her feel guilty for not having called him yet. She’d texted him that she landed, but other than that, she’d been pretty silent.

She grabbed her cell and dialed.

“Hey, you.”

He always answered her calls as if they made his day, even if she’d called him multiple times that day already. His reaction to her calls never failed to make Y/N smile.

“I didn’t really expect you to pick up,” Y/N admitted.

“Always got time for you,” he answered lightly.

But then she heard background noise: wind blowing, distant sirens, people shouting at each other nearby.

Jason was on patrol. Or maybe he was doing some recon.

But Y/N knew not to ask.

“I see some of your clothes made the trip,” Y/N commented through a smile. Jason could hear the smile in her voice. “Those t-shirts have a mind of their own…”

“And my mom thought the flowers and card were sweet,” she added.

“I might not have met her yet, but I know that’s not gonna be enough to win her over,” Jason answered darkly.

Y/N didn’t say anything, because they both knew he was right.

“Flight was fine?” Jason asked, changing the subject.

“Mhmm.”

“I miss you.”

Y/N shook her head and laughed. “No, you don’t. I’ve been gone for like 12 hours.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She rolled her eyes. “Always the romantic.”

More sirens could be heard. They sounded closer this time. “Are you being careful?” All playfulness had disappeared from her voice.

“Of course.”

Y/N sighed. “Jason, I’m serious. Please, be safe.”

“I know. I know. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know that’s not gonna happen, J.”

He ignored her comment. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

————————

To say Y/N’s time at home was rough…was an understatement.

If Y/N wasn’t being asked a million questions about Jason, she was being interrogated for why he wasn’t there. And if Jason wasn’t the subject of the conversation, people acted like she was single – some even talking about setting her up.

Y/N realized she preferred the former.

Every year, her family threw a giant party.

And for the past five years, Y/N had always been the only one that was single. All of her siblings, all of her cousins, all of their family friends, all of their neighbors…every single one of them had a significant other during those years.

Everyone...except her. Now, this year, all of them had kids or were expecting.

It was exhausting.

Sometimes Y/N felt like they were all robots programmed to do the exact same things at the exact same time – no original thought to be had.

Y/N would be lying if she didn’t spend most of the party wishing Jason was at her side. He would make fun of awkward situations with her. And he would stick up for her when her family teased her a little too much.

The other thing Y/N wasn’t prepared for was unintentionally studying her family’s boyfriends or husbands. She felt like she was watching everyone’s relationships through a different lens now that she herself had her own. And to put it as kindly as possible…she was not impressed.

Y/N noticed how none of the men offered to help in the kitchen, instead deciding to sit on the couch and watch football and scream at the television. Or how when her cousin handed her son to her husband, and he acted like he didn’t even know how to hold the one year old. And later, when his diaper needed to be changed, he handed him back to his wife as if he had no idea how to do it himself.

Yet her family was stuck on Jason not being able to visit or that he was a mechanic.

What did someone’s job matter if they treated her like she was their world and he the best thing to ever happen to her?

If Jason were here, he would be in the kitchen cooking. And if they had a kid, it would be a 50/50 job – not a burden only Y/N had to bare. He would try to get to know everyone because he would want to know the people who raised the woman he loved. He’d make sure to check in on Y/N every once in awhile, making sure she didn’t need anything.

Thinking about it all made Y/N miss Jason even more.

Needing to get some air, she decided to go outside and let the winter chill refresh her. It had been getting too hot in the house.

Y/N pulled her phone out of her back pocket and tapped Jason’s name.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” she sighed.

Just hearing his voice made her feel a bit better and tension left her body.

“What’s wrong?” Jason quickly asked.

“Nothing. Just…wanted to check in.”

For a second, she was going to explain that she had the sudden realization that all the men connected to her family were trash. And witnessing it was making her miss him more. But she didn’t really want to waste her breath and she figured she’d just come off dramatic more than sincere.

“Are you at your apartment?” She asked quickly.

“Yeah, I’m gonna leave for patrol in a bit…”

Then Y/N’s mind suddenly thought, ‘Fuck it.’

“Jason?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“If you were here…” She began softly.

“Mhmm,” he encouraged.

“What would you be doing?”

Jason was a bit confused by the question for a second. But he slowly got what she was asking.

“Well,” he took in a shallow breath. “I would’ve stolen Alfred’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe and whipped up those bad boys to bring over. And I’d pretend to care about football with your dad.”

That made Y/N laugh.

“I’d help your mom in the kitchen, even when she pretended not to want it.”

“Really laying it on thick, huh?”

But Y/N knew he was right. Jason was the cook between the two of them – and a good one, too. He also was a helper. He couldn’t sit back and watch someone do something while he did nothing. No matter how big or small.

“Shhh,” Jason reprimanded and then continued. “But most importantly, I’d try to get as many embarrassing stories about you as I possibly could.”

“Well, thank goodness you’re not here then,” she teased with a roll of her eyes.

Jason was quiet a second before he asked, “Wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Just miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“All my family’s boyfriends and husbands are losers. And I guess I’m just now realizing it.”

“Ahh,” Jason noted.

Now he really knew why she’d asked her question.

“It’s snowing here,” he told her as he looked out the window. “It’s almost making Gotham look pretty.”

“Are you going to the manor for Christmas?”

“Probably not,” Jason answered.

“Jason,” she grumbled. “What are you going to do instead? Sit in your apartment alone?”

“I’m gonna patrol. Crime doesn’t take holidays, Y/N.”

“Cheesy,” she pointed out. “Please be with your family, Jason. I don’t want you to be alone. OK?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Y/N knew that was as good as it was going to get.

Then she felt something on her cheek and she looked up. “Hey, it just started snowing here, too…” She told him with her head tilted back.

“I love you,” he sighed.

“I love you, too. Be careful tonight, Jason.”

Y/N gave herself a few more moments outside before returning to the party.

When she walked back inside, she immediately heard her name. But no one was calling to her.

She was being talked about.

She recognized her mom and sister’s voices, and then a couple of her aunts. They were talking around the corner, completely unaware that Y/N was in hearing distance.

So Y/N couldn’t help but linger.

“She says he works a lot. Every time I facetime her, he’s never there,” her sister Kate told the women. “I wouldn’t even really know what he looked like if it weren’t for her photos that she’s sent me. He doesn’t have any social media.”

“I just can’t believe he couldn’t get work off. Around the holidays?” Her mom added in utter disbelief. “Sounds like it won’t be surprising when she finds out he’s been unfaithful,” one her aunts commented.

The group hummed in agreement, but also disappointment.

“He doesn’t even live in Metropolis. He lives in Gotham,” her mother supplied, only further backing the idea that Jason wasn’t committed. “God knows why. But I hate that Y/N is constantly going there. No good news comes from that city.”

Y/N clenched her teeth in anger.

If only they knew the truth about Jason.

He was a hero and risked his life every night for an entire city – a city that had done nothing but hurt him. And he was 20 times the man than any of the men in their family.

She just wanted to scream at them for being so judgmental about a person they’d never even met.

But she couldn’t.

So Y/N stormed up to her childhood bedroom and decided she had enough of the party.

She shouldn’t have come home for the holidays. She would’ve rather waited for Jason to get back from his Red Hood work than listen to her family misjudge the first man she ever truly loved and wanted to share with them.

————————

Y/N was so tired when she got off the plane.

She felt like a zombie as she walked to baggage claim to grab her duffle.

What she wasn’t expecting was to find her boyfriend waiting for her in arrivals.

Y/N had told him she would just get a car.

But Jason seemed to have other ideas.

Y/N’s entire face brightened at the sight of him.

She practically ran to him and jumped into his arms.

Jason chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her words muffled by his body.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Jason said through a smile before he kissed her head.

Y/N didn’t respond, just held him tightly.

“Come on. Let’s get your bag and head home,” he finally told her.

—

“So, how was it?” Jason asked once they got into his car. Y/N shrugged, “It was fine.”

Her lack of details and curt response was enough warning for Jason to realize things were not totally fine between them.

He didn’t bother asking for more details during the car ride home. Instead, he answered all her questions about what he had been up to, how the case was going, if his family was alright.

Once they got back to Y/N’s apartment in Metropolis, the grace period seemed to be over.

Y/N had grown quiet as she moved around her apartment, unpacking and putting all her things away.

Jason walked into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed as she folded clean clothes. “This might be a shot in the dark. But I can’t help but feel that you’re not happy with me,” he finally pointed out.

She didn’t answer or look at him, just kept folding.

“Did something happen while you were at home?” Jason pushed.

She still didn’t answer. So Jason reached for her hands, holding them gently.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I just didn’t expect how hard it was going to be…” she finally whispered with a bowed head.

“What would be?”

“Just going home without you,” she explained.

“Did something happening?”

“I mean, kinda? Not really. They just…” she hesitated. Did she really want to confess all of this to him? She knew it would only hurt him. "They think you’re a bad boyfriend.”

Jason just nodded slowly.

He should’ve seen this coming. Of course her family didn’t think he was good enough. How could they think anything different?

“I’m just…fucking frustrated,” Y/n groaned. “I knew what I was getting into when you told me about your other life and who you really were. I was willing to keep your secret and protect it. I just never thought about how hard it would be keeping it from my family.”

She shook her head. “They think you’re not committed or something. And that…that you’re probably cheating on me.”

The idea of him ever doing that her made Jason sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Jason mumbled.

“What?” Y/N gasped. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But I have,” he argued. “I put you in this position.”

“No, I did. I did when I fell in love with you,�� she clarified.

“But I don’t want you lying to the people you love.”

“I’m not telling you this because I’m mad at you or blame you, Jason. I’m trying to tell you why I’m frustrated.”

She rubbed her face. “I just want them to know what an amazing person you are...and how brave and selfless. How you take care of me and love me and…and protect me.” Her eyes began to water. “They’re never gonna know the real you…even when they do meet you. And I fucking hate it.”

“So what if you told them?” Jason offered.

Her eyes widened at that. “Jason…”

“I’m serious. What if you told them?”

She thought about it. But she already knew the answer.

“It wouldn’t do any good. If I told them, then they’d be worried about me. Worried that your other life was putting me in danger. Worried that I would get pulled into it.”

Jason knew she was right.

Her family probably preferred an absentee boyfriend over a vigilante.

“But I see how the shitty men that have joined my family are. And you’re nothing like them. You’re so much better. And they’ll never even know.”

“Come here,” Jason muttered before he pulled her to him.

He let her body sink into his as he held her.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I always wondered what it would be like to finally been in a relationship – to just have someone on my team no matter what. I went to all those family gatherings thinking I’d never have it. And once I did, once I found you…” Her thoughts died out. “I just never expected it to be this way.”

“Do you regret it?” Jason asked as he pulled away to look in her eyes.

Her brow furrowed. “Regret what?”

“Being with me. Falling in love with me.”

Her heart broke at the question. “Oh, Jason. Of course not. Never.”

“What if I stopped?” He asked.

“No. I would never ask that of you,” she quickly shot down.

“I’d do it for you,” he tried to argue.

“I know you would. But I’m not asking. Because I know what it would do to you. Every time you’d see something in the news, you’d hate yourself. Because you would convince yourself that you could’ve stopped it. And maybe you would be right.” She took in a deep breath. “Red Hood isn’t just something you do. He’s a part of you. And even though I worry about you constantly, I’m never gonna tell you to stop.”

Jason took his time in reading her face.

“OK?” She pushed.

He nodded.

Then he embraced her once again.

“I’m sorry you have to keep my secrets,” he breathed into her hair.

————————————

Y/N walked into Jason’s apartment.

It was a Friday night and they agreed to have her come to his place this weekend.

Jason was always weary of her coming to Gotham, preferring her to stay in the safety of Metropolis.

He knew they couldn’t do the distance forever, and eventually they’d move into together. But he wasn’t ready to leave Gotham yet. And he didn’t want Y/N to lowering herself to such a city.

“J!” Y/N called when she walked in.

He had given her keys to his apartment quite early in their relationship, and told her she was welcome at his place any time. However, he wasn’t a fan of her getting there after dark. Gotham was Gotham, and he didn’t like her wandering around the city by herself just in order to give him a surprise visit.

An envelope on Jason’s kitchen counter caught her attention.

She nosily looked at it and saw that they were plane tickets to her hometown with both of their names on each of them.

She heard Jason walk up behind her. “What’s this?”

“A surprise,” he shrugged.

“What do you mean?” She laughed.

“We’re gonna visit your family,” he explained casually. “I called your mom and sister to find a weekend that worked.”

Y/N was shocked to silence.

“I know I fucked up when I couldn’t go with you during the holidays. I know this isn’t gonna solve everything. But I figured…it’s start.” Before he could say more, Y/N threw her arms around him.

————

Jason Todd knew how to throw on the charm. And no matter how thick he laid it on, it always felt sincere.

Y/N smiled as she watched her boyfriend interacting with her family.

He knew so much about each of them already, that he knew exactly what to talk about with every one of them.

For their long-weekend visit, they had decided to stay with her sister.

Jason knew she would be the hardest to win over and was the most protective over Y/N. He made it his personal mission to befriend her and show her how much he loved her little sister.

Y/N never said so, but Jason knew how important it was to her that Kate approved of him.

However, Jason hadn’t been able to have a conversation alone with her all weekend.

Until their last morning there.

Y/N was still sleeping when Jason had made his way to the kitchen.

He figured he could make Kate and her husband breakfast after housing them for a long weekend. And he made sure to start a pot of coffee while he was at it.

Halfway through making his specialty waffles, Kate walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted, clearly surprised to find Jason cooking in her kitchen.

“Morning,” Jason greeted.

“This is a surprise,” she said as she looked around the kitchen.

“There’s coffee if you want some.”

“T-Thanks…” she managed to mutter. “Do you need some help?”

“Nope. I got it. You just relax.”

Kate seemed to be unsure of how to behave when she was alone with her little sister’s boyfriend, and eventually sat on the kitchen stool with her coffee.

“Do you cook a lot?” She finally broke the silence with her question.

“I enjoy it,” he answered with a shrug. “I figured it’s the least I can do for you guys putting us up.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Jason.”

He continued cooking.

Kate figured this was her opportunity to get to know Jason – and not just through Y/N’s eyes. So, she started asking him question after question, and he seemed happy to answer them. Kate was surprised to find out about Jason’s traumatic childhood, making him realize that Y/N must’ve only shared his relation to Bruce Wayne and nothing more about his life before becoming an adopted Wayne.

Jason wasn’t surprised Y/N kept that part of his life to herself. She was protective of him that way. She always felt like his past was his story to tell, not hers.

“I know missing the holidays didn’t leave the best impression,” Jason told her after they’d been talking for awhile.

“You really mean a lot to Y/N. And your opinion matters more to her than you might think,” he added as he crossed his arms.

Kate seemed a little taken aback by how unafraid he was of confrontation.

He seemed more mature for his age – maybe for hers, even.

“I know I’m not going to win any of you over from just a single trip,” Jason continued. “But I’m going to work my ass off to make sure I get there.”

Kate smiled at that.

“I love her,” he told her quietly, but with determination. “She’s…Well, she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Then he smirked. “And I’m not dumb enough to do anything to fuck things up with her.”

He took in a shallow breath. “I just…I just needed you to know that.”

Kate’s heart swelled from hearing her little sister’s boyfriend confessing his love for Y/N.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she whispered, trying to stop herself from crying. “I worry about her. And I hate that she’s so far away sometimes. I miss her.”

“She misses you, too,” Jason assured her.

“Thank you for taking care of her. I’m suddenly realizing you’re the only reason she’s eating anything that’s not out of a takeout container.”

Jason laughed. “I plead the fifth.”

Before any more could be said, Y/N walked into the kitchen as if she was sleep walking.

“Well, look who it is…” Jason teased.

Y/N walked to him silently, clearly wanting cuddles.

Jason chuckled at her, but gave her what she wanted. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. He had kept the PDA at an absolute minimum while he had been around Y/N’s family. But he couldn’t help it when Y/N was her sleepy and adorable self.

“You sleep OK?” He tried to whisper to her.

But Kate still heard it and pretended to look down at her phone.

Y/N nodded into his neck, making him chuckle at her more.

This was new for Kate, seeing her sister being loved and loving someone. Her instinct was to say it made her uncomfortable. But it was just something she wasn’t used to.

Soon Kate’s husband woke up and they all ate breakfast together.

And a few hours later, Y/N and Jason were packed and their was a Lyft was waiting outside to take them to the airport.

Jason hugged Kate and her husband and thanked them for hosting them. Then he grabbed Y/N’s bags and gave her a moment alone with her sister as he took their stuff to the car.

“I think I owe the two of you an apology…” Kate told her little sister.

“You do?”

“I think I judged him a bit too much before really giving him a chance.”

Y/N winced, but nodded. “Yeah, you did, actually.”

“He really loves you.”

Y/N smiled. “He does.”

“I just want you to be happy, you know that right?”

“I know. But sometimes you think that what makes you happy is what would make me happy. Our lives are different. And we want different things. Just because my relationship looks different than yours doesn’t mean it’s worse in some way.”

Kate nodded sadly, knowing her sister was right. “I get that now.”

-----------

A/N: I was inspired to write this when I thought about how my own family would react to me having a boyfriend like Jason Todd: a man who was secretly a vigilante and had a past too hard for anyone to ever imagine. Hopefully, other people can relate to this and it wasn’t too personal. 😬

Let me know what you thought!!!

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