#that one makes the insides of my rib cage feel like it’s on fucking fire

[lunarkittenn]

I’m hesitant to tell Hunter about what’s been going with my dad because I genuinely just a) don’t know if I can even say it out loud without ugly crying and b) am scared he’ll react the same way Chris did.

Chris was such a piece of shit about it. Actually he was a piece of shit about a lot of things but he was a huge piece of shit when it came to the topic of my dad. We had plans to hangout this one day, and I had had an awful day of an awful week. My car which had been endlessly having problems was picked up from the shop, just to have the muffler snap on the way home (literally no the way home from the shop). So much money and car stress, but that was nothing. My dog was also officially given three weeks at most to live, and diagnosed with kidney failure. Same day that I also found out my father had been waiting on test results to see if what he was experiencing was early ALS.

When I heard about that, it was honestly just debilitating. I was sobbing so hard, for hours and hours. And I just fucking remember Chris hadn’t texted me all day yet, and all I wanted was to at least have someone to talk to. I sat through homework, trying to focus, when I decided I would text him and ask him what he was up to, and he replied he was “hitting some balls with friends”.

He hadn’t texted me all day, we had plans, I was having the worst fucking day.. and he made other plans lol 😭 I called him, and I was super calm, and just explained that it hurt my feelings and I thought we had plans. He got so defensive, saying “what? Am I supposed to just say no when they ask me?” When that’s not even what I had said, I had said I’d appreciate if he just let me know what was going on. I tried to explain to him that I was having a hard day, and he just didn’t even give a fuck. At some point he said to me “hard to keep track of all your heroin junkie ex boyfriends” when I had mentioned just needing support and how that’s important to me, apparently my track record was against me was his train of thought..?

And then months later which I’ve talked about on here before we he came over knowing his roommate had Covid, KNOWING how I felt about the possibility of spreading it to my parents especially since my dad was having so many health complications already, Chris said to me “your dad seems fine to me”

Bro 😭😭😭 the horrible shit ppl do you rlly sticks. I’m having a bad morning, of a rlly tough year. My father is my favorite human in this world, and he’s having such a hard time talking man. He’s not fine. He’s fucking not and I’m fucking not and there’s nothing I can do. And I’m scared to bring it up to Hunter because I’m terrified of his reaction or maybe he just doesn’t want to hear it

[aurorawritestoescape]

18+ minors dni smut

*****

“Fuck, Joel!”

“Stay!”

“What do you mean ‘stay’?! I’m not a fucking dog! I wanna move on you.”

You’re straddling Joel’s hips as his cock is buried deep inside your burning core. You’re practically vibrating with arousal but for some unknown reason he decided to torture you, making you cockwarm his stiff length. His hands are keeping you still, his grip is unyielding and determined.

“Joel…” you change your strategy hastily, your pleading eyes almost on the verge of tears, though just a second ago they were burning with fiery rage. “I wanna make you feel good, please.”

Joel’s lips twitch, nostrils flare. The fucker reads you like an open book, you can’t fool this man.

“Listen, just give it a chance, ok? Sit still and feel me. Just for a minute.”

“But whyyyy…” you keep whining, scratching his hands with your nails.

“I wanna enjoy you like this. Let me enjoy you.”

His tone is sincere, voice soft.

You sigh and give up.

“Fine.”

“Close your eyes.”

You do so but before rolling them as hard as you can.

You immediately open one to sneak a look at him.

“Close them, please.”

You smile at the way he talks to you. He’s so gentle, so soft with you. Always with you. Only with you. You see the darkness behind your eyelids and feel all warm inside. Love. You feel love. Deep inside your core, in your gut, behind your rib cage, in your soul, heart, head. Everywhere.

Then he growls. The warmth turns into burning fire. His fingers are digging into your thighs, his breath is quickening. He’s inside you, throbbing, massaging your walls as he pulsates deep in your pussy. A moan escapes your lips.

You can hear him smirk.

“Feel it?”

You nod not realizing he can’t see you. His eyes are shut as well as yours.

“I always wanted to feel you like this. Just nesting my cock inside you. Savor you squeezing me like this. Your pussy… fuck, sweetheart, wish I could stay like this forever.”

“Can I lie down on you?” you ask quietly, letting him lead you now.

He hums and, not opening your eyes, you slowly lower your torso into his embrace.

His big arms envelop you, his chest rising and falling is rocking you like a giant wave.

You feel all of him now, so big and strong, but soft and loving. Yours.

You focus on his breath, then on his cock as it’s thumping like a second heartbeat inside you.

You breathe out a soft moan as your core tightens, more and more with every throb. Boom - boom - boom -

“Joel,” you moan as you come undone, spasming around his cock, your pussy fluttering over every inch of his thick length and he explodes together with you, spurting his warm seed deep into your core.

You both are panting heavily descending from your highs and he kisses the top of your head and whispers,

“Told ya.”

*****

Thank you for reading <3

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee

[princessbrunette]

shy!reader who study medicine and spider!jj always goes there when he's hurt for care 🥺

˚ ༘ 🕷️⋆🩷｡˚

answering the door at 4am, there’s only one person it could be. the blonde listens to you unlatching your door before you’re revealed in all your sleepy glory, rubbing at one eye in the cutest little pyjamas.

he’s pretty banged up this time — a busted lip and his suit is ripped at his rib cage, nothing he couldn’t fix but the gash beneath it was definitely something you were going to have to stitch up. your brows knit together, eyeing him over.

“you should see the other guy, cupcake.” he jokes, despite being in clear pain. you huff out your nose, tugging him inside.

“why are you using the front door? did anyone see you?” you stress, leading him by the hand to your quaint little living room. it wasn’t much, rather shabby if anything — but living in the city wasn’t cheap and it was the best you could do.

“ah, i used the fire escape. this asshole spared me some brain cells when he was kicking my shit in. you really think i’d just walk up in here?” he scoffs, dropping down comfortably on the couch as you frantically make space on the coffee table, spreading out your first aid kit.

“you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days, jayj.” you pout, beginning to dig for the antiseptic.

“oh but then who will patch me up everytime i get my ass beat?” he tilts his head and his messy blonde hair flops with it, grinning lopsidedly in the dim light of the room, the cut on his lip glistening with it. you hate how your stomach stirs with butterflies for your best friend. your face gets all hot, averting your eyes and you feel him grinning harder — he always did love how bashful you got.

things get quiet when you start to wipe up his rib injury, aside from his dramatic winces and curse words tumbling from his mouth.

“you’re going to wake my neighbours.” you giggle, after a particularly loud ‘fuck’ from him.

“hey, maybe they’ll think you’re gettin’ some.” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows. as you reach for another cotton pad, your mouth moves on autopilot.

“i wish.” you remark, straying from your usual shy ways. his brows instantly jump up with intrigue, and you avoid his eyes, pressing your lips together as you busy yourself. you’d always been shy, since he’d met you — that’s why he’d taken you under his wing. he was dorky where it counted sure, but also boyish and confident in a way a lot of guys your age lacked. it made sense that he was spiderman, the unexpected amounts of unbridled swagger mixed with the scrappy awkwardness you’d expect from your best friend. he was drawn to your shyness because of how different you were, and because he knew deep down there was a freak just waiting for him to break it free.

“you know, if you ever wanna set up a — uh, lil payment plan, if you will — i could show you a real good time, mama.” he lays it on thick, too thick — incase you reject him, and then he can play it off as a joke. the problem is his tone is so teasing, you don’t know if he’s joking. your eyes flicker up to him from your knelt position, all doe-like and sweet in the way that makes him wish his spider suit wasn’t so tight as to not reveal his excitement.

“huh?”

“nah nothing. unless…you really get desperate. can totally step in and help you out. y’know in the…sex department.” he shrugs, tonguing at his lip cut and internally cussing himself out for being such a weirdo.

you blink a couple times, shifting to sit on your feet.

“are you concussed?” you speak after the pause.

“am i conc— no, okay it was a — an offer. but i feel like i kinda made it weird so that’s my bad let’s just pretend that didn’t happen and we can—”

“i wouldn’t mind.” you suddenly but quietly break through his ramble. he blinks a couple of times, lips parted in surprise.

“you wouldn’t mind — like… pretending this didn’t happen? or… the other thing?”

“the other thing.” you’re reduced down to a whisper now, eyes locked. he sits up slowly, leaning forward on the seat with his elbows on his knees so that your faces were close. in the low light, your pupils are all blown out, searching his eyes.

“you mean that?” he smirks, almost like he doesn’t believe you. you swallow and nod, not trusting your voice. something about it being 4am made you braver, and you’d completely forgotten about tending to his injuries. “well alright then. how ‘bout when i’m not bleeding out on your couch? gotta be in top condition when i put the moves on you.”

just like that, you’re brought back to reality — this time with the whisper of a promise that the two of you could be something more. you could be more than a late night emergency patch up.

˚ ༘ 🕷️⋆🩷｡˚

[matthias-the-tulip]

my updated list of parts i hope they keep in the red, white & royal blue movie

(updated after i reread it in a day) (a lot of these are just funny lines that add absolutely nothing to the plot but they make me laugh)

• the MAGAZINE 😭

• “he has the personality of a cabbage.”

• “i want to hear you gush like he's your fucking prom date.”

• alex makes a long loud fart noise


• “i'm going to throw up on you” at the stables (doesn't look like they're at a stables in the trailer 😒)

• “i'd rather be waterboarded” also at the stables (again, doesn't look like they're at a stables)

• “i bet he has a secret lovechild,” nora says. “or he's gay. or he has a secret gay lovechild.”

“it's probably in case i see his equerry putting his batteries back in,” alex says.

• midnight ice cream on instagram

• “i didn't know you wore glasses.” (henry's wearing a suit not pyjamas and alex is not wearing glasses what's that all about!)

• awkward fist bump on “this morning” (does not look like it’s a chat show in the trailer but also would a royal even go on this morning)

• star wars stan henry 🥹

• “not impressed, just surprised.”

“at what?”

“that you actually have, you know, feelings.”

• henry is beginning to smile…

• “do you MIND?” in the cupboard at the hospital

• “you're not the prince of me” 😭

• “i'd rather not be the little spoon.”

• henry's feet in a mop bucket

• “locked in a cupboard with your elbow inside my rib cage.”

• “i cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

• “are you psychoanalysing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

• “is that the time you threatened to push me into the thames?”

• “no booty calls.”

• “it was like you were trying to set him on fire with your mind.”

• june's (nora now i guess 😟) plot to murder woody allen

• “don't let the papers print lies about me after i've garroted myself with my tie.”

• “you are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life.”

• “yes, famously the most sinister of all animal sounds, the gobble.”

• “cornbread knows my sins.”

• the whole turkey situation really

• “buy a summer home in majorca with the turkey”

• MR WOBBLES

• “jabba” cakes.

• henry watching bake off

• “you're jeff goldblum”

• “yo there's a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe”.

“I BEG YOU TO NOT”

• “it sounds like you did your best.” 🥹

• the new year’s party being referred to as “the legendary balls-out bananas white house trio new year's eve party” (white house duo now 😭)

• “please do not attempt to steal my shine. you will fail and i will be embarrassed for you.”

• “says prince fucking charming.”

• get low playing at the new year’s eve party

• alex’s reaction to get low playing at the new year’s eve party

• “christ, you are as thick as it gets.”

• alex falling while running with june (nora now i guess 😟) cause he was thinking about henry

• “he's gay and you're hot, so.”

• “still waters, deep dicking.”

• “prince henry is a biscuit,” nora says,
“let him sop you up.”

• they know each other's sleep schedule and alex gets in a bad mood when he doesn't talk to him 🥹

• “you're not going to kill him, are you?” she says.
“probably not,” alex tells her

• “shut up, shut all the way up, oh my
god”

• alex pushing henry up against a wall!

• “i mean, er, should we, i dunno, slow down?”henry says, cringing so hard at himself that one eye closes. “go for dinner first, or-“

• hooking one knee around the back of alex's thigh 😉

• ”i'm going to die,” henry says helplessly.

“i'm going to kill you,” alex tells him.

“yes, you are,” henry agrees.

• alex fixing his hair for him 😢😢😢

• henry singing god save the queen (king i guess) to make his 🍆 go away

• “i am going to do very bad things to you, and if you fucking ghost me again, i’m going to get you put on a fucking no-fly list. got it?”

• “you were jealous,” alex says. “you want me.”

• henry calling alex bossy 😂

• alex literally just insulting henry while he’s going to town on him

• “do you ever stop talking?” henry says. “such a mouth on you.”

• “hi,” he says, when he reaches henry’s eye level.

“hello,” henry says back.

“i’m gonna take your pants off now,” alex tells him.

“yes, good, carry on.”

• fucking eyelashes

• when he's done, he presses a sticky kiss in the crease of alex's leg where he'd slung it over his shoulder

• the mattress shifts, and henry moves up to the pillows, nuzzling his face into the hollow of alex's throat. alex makes a vague noise of approval, and his arms fumble around henry's waist, but he's helpless to do much else.

• the tip of henry’s nose catching on alex’s

• “for fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me goodnight.”

• monocles for babies 😂

• “i don’t like that look,” amy says. “you look…sweaty.”

• “what in the rich-white-people-sex-dungeon hell?”

• the whole polo kit situation. henry slowly putting his boot back on the floor

• “i’ve thrown men in the dungeons for less.”

“hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

• paris!!! leaving directions to the cheese

• “you're a mad, spiteful, unmitigated demon, and I'm going to kiss you until you forget how to talk.”

• birthday floggings et al and the buttercream!

• alex’s heart going weird at henry on the boat and having to put his head in his hands

• “i don't give a damn what joanne has to say, remus john lupin is gay as the day is long, and i won't hear a word against it.”

• “i will staple your dick to the inside of your leg”

• “i did get both of the gay kings.”

• “deflowering the darling of the republic.”

• “i'm not ... historically great at talking about things,” henry says.

“well, i wasn't historically great at blowjobs, but we all gotta learn and grow, sweetheart.”

“wasn't?"

“hey,” alex huffs. “are you trying to say i'm still not good at them?”

“no, no, i wouldn't dream of it,” henry says, and alex can hear the small smile in his voice. “it was just the first one that was.. well. it was enthusiastic, at least.”

“i don't remember you complaining…”

“yes, well, i'd only been fantasizing about it for ages.”

• baby. (!!!)

• “i miss you,” alex says before he can stop himself. he instantly regrets it, but henry says, “i miss you too.”

• “i want to ... put my fingers in his mouth...” she moans, sounding horrified.

• just the whole karaoke bar situation. plz. toilet stall hookup!

• “bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry.”

• o captain, my captain

• “if only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when american boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

• the fruity truth: my favourite english author is jane austen.

• “when at wimbledon”

• “i want to see a cage match between your grandmother (grandfather i guess) and this fucking ghoul running against my mom”

• “and you are good. most things are awful most of the time, but you're good.”

• “he is truly a picture, wearing an expression of bewildered panic and absolutely nothing else.”

• “jesus tits”

• henry falling out of the wardrobe and just. sitting on the floor. (zahra finds him in the wardrobe instead :()

• “i thought you were getting into international relations or something.”

“i mean, technically-“

• “you're literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state, who is a man, at the biggest political event before the election, in a hotel full of reporters, in a city full of cameras, in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this, like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams, and you're asking me not to tell the president about it?”

• all of zahra's quips tbh - “every time i see you, it takes another year off my life.” - “ask me if i'm afraid of the crown.”

• SEXUAL EXPERIMENTATION WITH
FOREIGN MONARCHS: A GRAY AREA.

• EXPLORING YOUR SEXUALITY: HEALTHY, BUT DOES IT HAVE TO BE WITH THE PRINCE OF ENGLAND?

• FEDERAL FUNDING, TRAVEL EXPENSES, BOOTY CALLS, AND YOU

• history, huh? bet we could make some. (the emails plz like i need at least some of them read aloud over a montage or something)

• “some saucy tart once tried to impugn my virtue against an oil painting of him, and in the halls of memory, some things demand context.”

• I GUESS THAT MAKES YOU. THE MF. NORTH STAR.

• “i thought you might need to, like, have a catholic moment about this or something?” 😭

• “santa maria is watching!”

• skinny dipping!!!

• “philip is the heir and i'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty-five and i've got malaria, whither the spare?”

• alex's meltdown outside kensington. very important. - “how 'bout i just keep yelling and we see which of the papers show up first!” he turns back to the window and starts flailing his arms too. “henry! your royal fucking highness!”

• “jesus, could you stop being an obtuse fucking asshole for, like, twenty seconds?”

• “i fucking love you, okay?” alex half yells, finally, irreversibly.

• “what do you want?”

“i want you-”

“then fucking have me.”

“-but i don’t want this.”

• “a whole lifetime of fine. that’s not good enough for me.”

• henry nuzzling his nose behind alex's ear.

• alex laughs and grabs his head and aggressively kisses his cheek, smashing his face into the pillow.

• “next time we shall visit some of the george Ill pieces and see if they burst into flame.”

• DANCING TO YOUR SONG IN THE MUSEUM

• “i completely fucking love you” and the ring and the chain

• “once shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier”

• henry’s email about memories and grief and the first time he saw alex

• “jesus, be a gay beard”

• henry and alex in the car after the fake date

• “i will physically fight your grandmother (grandfather i guess) myself if i have to, okay? and, like, she's (he’s) old. i know i can take her (him).”

“i wouldn't be so cocky,” henry says with a small laugh. “she's (he’s)full of dark surprises.”

• “your spine's a ridge i'd die climbing”

• “check the fucking news, you horny little miscreant”

• “it’s about to be gay DEFCON five in this administration.”

• “then fuck it.”

• the big group hug

• oscar saying “give ‘em hell.”

• “you're my mean friend.”

• “jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing”

• I 😭 LOVE 😭 HIM 😭 ON 😭PURPOSE 😭 they can't leave that out if they do i'll kill someone

• “what are we even defending here, philip? what kind of legacy? what kind of family, that says, we'll take the murder, we'll take the raping and pillaging and the colonizing, we'll scrub it up nice and neat in a museum, but oh no, you're a bloody poof? that's beyond our sense of decorum! i've bloody well had it. i've sat about long enough letting you and gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and i'm finished. i don't care. you can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, philip. i'm done.”

• “for what it's worth,” he says to philip, “that is the bravest son of a bitch i’ve ever met.”

• “we banged it out last night” + high five

• “i've been gay as a maypole since the day i came out of mum, philip.”

• all the support for them 🥹

• bea pouring the tea on philip's lap

• “you know, i think all that cocaine i did must’ve really done a job on my reflexes!”

• henry pulls alex close and kisses him, whispers, "i love you i love you i love you."

• never 😭 tell 😭 me 😭 the 😭 odds 😭

• “my life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person”

• “you are the absolute worst idea i’ve ever had”

• “listen, you've had your first big sex scandal. no more sitting at the kids' table.”

• how to love each other in plain sight

• “holding henry’s hand atop his own knee” in the portrait

• “all this fundraising for sobriety is going to drive me to drink”

• “i'm the prince of...here” 😭

• “you spent a month of your gap year talking to yaks in mongolia, h.”

• “i know it's a lot, but you give people hope. so, get back out there and be alex.”

• the super six 😭 (fantastic five now i guess)

• the picture of them on the cover of the magazine

• henry fixing june's hair 🥹 (NORA NOW I GUESS 😟)

[cas-skz]

NEW TERRITORY

jimin x fem!reader

You wanted to spice up your sex life & your new boyfriend knew exactly how to do so.

Dom soft Jimin makes you squirt and squirm while having you tied up.

18+ please!! MDNI warnings: smut obvi, rope play, pinning, squirting, oral (m to f), possibly cockwarming, pet name (darling)

word count: 2k

I tired a different writing style with this one. I like it a lot, but would love some feedback on it! not read over by someone smarter than me. also please go find jimishi's note change in fire because yes. it's how I got here. Lots of love, xx Cas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BEEP BEEP

“You’re okay…” Jimin’s voice was soft as his hand gripped tightly at the rope tied around your wrists. An unfamiliar territory for you, but a very comfortable one for the older male.

His free hand wrapped around your neck as he pulled you closer to him, your bottom fitting perfectly in his lap. He was much bigger than your petite frame, strong arms that could maneuver you in anyway he pleased.

“Do you know your safety word?” His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“Ya…pi-pineapple” your words stutter as his hand moved from the ropes, trailing towards your clit where large fingers swirled slowly as soft moans escaped your lips.

It was a strange feeling, having no use of your arms, being in his control and allowing him to do as he pleases.

His body leans back slightly, his large member bucking against you as his digits increased speed, moans of pleasure fill the room.

In a swift movement, his body stands with you against him, one arm wrapped around your rib cage and the other still working on your clit as he brought you into the bedroom.

The ropes had been retied to the headboard, your arms now trapped above your head as Jimin worked on strapping your ankles down.

“Jimin—” you whine, feeling loss of all control as all four limbs are now locked in place. The male works his way towards you.

“You’re okay…” he reassures, moving your hair from your face to place a ever so gentle kiss on your lips. He let it linger for a moment, deeply kissing you as his hand trailed to the small of your back.

“I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. Understand?” He said between kisses, hips rolling slowly against you. His demeanor went dark when you gave him a small nod to go on.

Jimin’s fingers slowly pumped your hole, his tongue matching the pace against your clit. His speed started to increase.

Your hips started to buckle as you felt yourself closer to orgasm, your hands trying to find some sort of grip. He didn’t let up.

“That’s it darling” he mused, body hovering over you as his fingers moved at top speed, your walls tightening around them as you felt pressure build.

“—I’m fucking cumming Jimin.” You pant, legs wanting to wrap around the male as he brought you to peak, ropes preventing you from having any access to him. Your body shook and clenched where it could as you screamed his name in pleasure.

His fingers didn’t stop. The dark eyed male switched their positions, curving slightly inside of you as he now moved them rapidly vertically, a loud wet slopping sound to go along with your screams as your juices squirted onto his hand, a feeling of pleasure and release you had never felt before.

“Oh—oh my fuck” you cursed, the feeling of your orgasm controlling your movements.

Your body rocked slowly down from the high, his fingers sliding out and moving to your clit, rubbing in small circles.

“How was that darling?” He asked softly, his mouth finding your neck to place soft kisses, tiny bites every few seconds.

Your voice was shaky, it all felt so good. “So—fuck. So good.” you moan. He moves so your eyes met with his, Jimin placed another deep kiss on your lips. His fingers started to pick up speed on your already throbbing pussy.

Jimin quickly moved to untie one of your ankles, allowing him to have better access to you as his body lowered to your core, trailing kisses as his tongue started to work on your clit once more and his fingers pumping your tight entrance.

“Again.” He demanded, his free hand grabbing one of your breasts, a finger teasing at your nipple.

You weren’t sure it was possible, but you were at his will.

The ropes pulled tightly at your wrists as your body let out another wave of bliss, sending your juices shooting more powerful the second time around. Your moans rang throughout the house.

His body hovered over yours again, smirking as he eyed your convulsing body his wet fingers gently sliding into your mouth. You happily sucked your juices from them.

Your once vanilla sex life could never live up to how hot this experience was.

His lips worked with yours, passionate kisses being exchanged as his legs spread yours apart, his cock gently moving between your folds before pushing deeply inside you, bottoming out as you whined and squirmed under him.

“Darling” his breath was hot against your lips, but you couldn’t get a word out. His hips move slowly, your walls feeling every inch of his massive cock pull mostly out of you, the tip of his member simply teasing your entrance.

“I’m okay.” You panted, your body reacting as his hips started to thrust slowly, your one free leg now propped on his shoulder as his lips placed gently kisses upon it.

His body moved fluidly, looking like a work of art as he fucked you slowly, his eyes scanning you like a hawk.

Jimin suddenly freed your other leg, pinning them both down at your waist as his thrusts started to increase. Your walls contracting as pressure build inside you.

You felt his member slip out as an unexpected orgasm hit, making you squirt for the third time before continuing to pump your swollen pussy.

You wanted to yell the safety word so bad.

The ropes felt tight on your wrists as you gripped them with all your strength, an attempt to stop your body from jerking and losing hold of his cock. Jimin moved in closer, bottoming out on each thrust he made.

“You’re such a good girl darling.”

You couldn’t hold back from begging him to go faster, your feet digging into the bed as his body slapped against yours, pushing you to your peak once again.

His lips found their way to your neck again, loud groans escaping between his bites and tongue work as his thrusts marked top speed.

His hand roughly grabbed ripped the ropes from the headboard, pinning them above next to your head, interlocking fingers with yours.

“I’m gonna cum for you darling” he hissed, feeling your insides grip at his cock, hitting every spot perfectly.

Jimin’s cock twitched deeply inside you as he finished, his moans muffled against your lips. You felt every drop of him inside you, filling your pussy with a mixture of juices.

Your body shook under him as his hand now slowly stroked your face, head pressed against yours as your hips bucked into him uncontrollably. The aftershock felt like ecstasy.

His lips pressed deeply into yours once more as he swiftly moved you both, still connected with his cock shoved fully inside you. Now laying on his back as you straddling him, his cock already starting to grow hard inside you.

“You think you can make it darling?” Jimin questioned with a smirk, his hand slapping down firmly against your ass as your hips started to move slowly, pumping his cock once more.

Aiming for 5 rounds was going to be nearly impossible.

[chromatic-crow]

thanks for enabling me and my thoughts @brocksfaber

Connor snaps one of the straps on his thigh, making him yelp, “Fits good?” 

Brandon feels like he's on fire, whole body flushed, as Connor looks him over while he sits in his lap, Connor buried in him.

It would fit better if the straps crossing his lower stomach weren't cutting into his dick, but there's not much fabric to the suit. Connor had surprised him with a minimal bodysuit, only place covered lace was his stomach and hips, the rest of it was just straps connected by metal heart shaped rings.

“Yeah, but how did you even - ow!” he gets another snap, this time the one on his rib cage as he glares at Connor, watching as his face breaks into a grin.

“Don’t ask questions, I can tell you enjoy it.” he bites at where the inside of his lips connect, feeling his dick twitch in the confines of the lace. Connor hands make their way to his hips before moving further back to grab his ass, fingers digging into the exposed area as he squeezes, “are you really trying to be quiet? Do you think I’ll reward you or something? Think I’m going to let you move without permission?”

“N - no, fuck, Connor please?” The grin on Connor’s face only gets more devious, he was obviously enjoying this more than Brandon was.

“Oh so you do know my name? I always wonder since you seem to only call me dew.” his hips jerk forward as Connor squeezes his ass again, fingers digging in deeper.

“Of course I know your nam - mh shit.” something about Connor being mean to him always gets him, scratching at something deep in him that he’s not exactly sure he’s ready to explore. But the thrill of it, the shock he gets from it excites him in a way he wasn’t sure was good or not at first.

“Mhm then say it again,” he opens his mouth to say it, instead moaning as Connor thrusts up into him before stilling again, “pretty sure that isn’t my name.”

“Nhh Coh - nor fuck!” Connor snaps one of the vertical straps on his thigh, and he’s about ready to give up, to just pin Connor’s arms down and ride him like he was hoping Connor would do to him.

“Close but still not quite there.”

Brandon looks at the ceiling, grimacing at it as his resolve falls, finally giving into Connor’s game with a huff, “Please Connor.”

“Good boy.”

[zukosasukelovebot]

I have brain rot

I made a story inspired by @fantasticmrfoxxie post and here it is.

If you want to read it on ao3 here's the link

....

You see. Sokka had experience in sex. That Zuko knew as much. He had partners before him. Sokka had needs, Zuko knew that. 

It didn't stop the burning rage he felt for each of the people he's slept with. He should have been Sokka's first. He knew it was irrational to get mad at them, he didn't even know Sokka existed before then. But one look at the Water Tribe warrior and he was reminded why he had partners in the first place.

Sokka wasn't muscley by any means. But he wasn't frail and weak either. He had enough to grip onto and feel. He had enough to let your fingernails drag along it and feel him flex underneath. 

Zuko groaned at the thought. 

"You like that?"  Sokka asked.

He opened his eyes in a daze. He had forgotten the warrior was on top of him right now, seducing him. His BOYFRIEND.  How did he manage to dissociate in the middle of something like this?

Zuko reached for his face with his hands and covered his eyes, groaning, sounding a little pained.

"Okay. That didn't sound good," Sokka said, leaning down and sitting in his lap. Which wasn't a good idea considering Zuko was half hard.

"What's wrong?" Sokka asked, reaching to grab at Zuko's arm and moving his hands from his eyes. 

Zuko's eyes were like a pool of fire, softly swaying in the breeze. "I'm scared," he said honestly. 

Sokka frowned. "Of sex? I'll go at whatever pace you need me to," Sokka promised.

Zuko shook his head. He wasn't scared of sex. In fact he was excited for Sokka to be his first. 

"I'm scared that I won't measure up to your past partners. That..  that I won't be good enough for you," Zuko whispered. 

Sokka's face morphed into an incredibly soft expression as he reached for Zuko's non scarred cheek and stroked the skin there. Zuko all but leaned into it. 

"Zuko..  I'm not with you because of your experience in sex. I'm with you because I love you and want to make you feel good. You trust me right?"

Zuko nodded without hesitation. He trusted no one else more than Sokka. 

"Then trust me when I say you'll exceed all of my expectations, " he said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Zuko turned his face so the kiss landed on his lips.

Sokka's eyes widened a little but then they closed, leaning into the kiss with a hum. 

Zuko felt a fire burn inside of him. He listened to it and flipped Sokka on the bed and straddled him instead. 

He yelped inside Zuko's mouth before letting go with a pant. 

"What?"

"I… I want to make you feel good," Zuko said, clearly  going off a whim."You're always doing things for other people. Let me… let me do this for you?"

Sokka felt his heart triple in speed and his face get red.

"So that's a yes then," Zuko said smugly, ducking his head to kiss at Sokka's collarbone. 

Sokka let out a hitched breath, his hands going up to rest on Sokka's bareback. 

It was the first time he had seen Zuko's scar fully. It went down to about his rib cage. He wanted to kiss it. 

"Ha!" He breathed when Zuko bit down , leaving a mark. 

"Mine," he hummed in approval. 

Sokka couldn't say anything and Zuko kept going  lower and lower, his eyes trained on Sokka's face. 

 "Where did this confidence come from?" Sokka teased. 

"You," Zuko said simply.  "Your reply is what I needed to hear."

…

Sokka's face was pressed into the pillow as Zuko thrusted into his ass. A pale hand was spread against one cheek and nails were dug into his skin. 

"Ah, fuckkk," he groaned, when Zuko brushed up against a bundle of nerves.

"There it is," he purred, pounding away at it now.

Sokka's mind went blank and all he could think of was Zuko. Zuko was fucking him and he was at his mercy but he was loving all of it. Sokka didn't bend for anyone, but he'd do it for Zuko if it meant he could hear him calling him a good boy.

"Cum,"  Zuko breathed

"What?" He asked. His voice sounded far away. 

"Gonna cum."

"W-wait. Pull out,"  Sokka begged, pushing at Zuko's hips.

It took a couple moments for Zuko to pull out.

Sokka brought himself up and turned around. He pulled off the condom he was using and wrapped his hand around his dick, jerking him off. 

Zuko threw his head back, his mouth slacked open as heavy pants escaped it. 

He looked every bit of a painting. 

"I love you,"  Sokka whispered to him. 

With that Zuko came. Sokka didn't stop jerking him off until he was sure he was fully milked before letting go, his hand covered in cum.

Zuko twitched, his body hypersensitive and aware of what just happened. 

Sokka reached his clean hand up in the air, as if he was saying stop. 

Zuko looked down at him, confused. "What?"

"Give me your hand," Sokka said, his smile wide.

Zuko was confused but did it anyway, doing the same motion. 

Sokka hi fixed him. "Good job buddy."

Zuko's whole body went cold. He glared at Sokka. "Just for that I'm not getting you off."

"What?!" Sokka whined. "You obviously needed high fives!"

Zuko shook his head in exasperation. Sokka was an idiot. Even in a situation like this one. But he was so so in love with that idiot he didn't even mind it.

"Idiot,"  Zuko said with no real bite.

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Let me get you a towel so I can clean you off. Maybe I'll be generous and finish off the job."

Sokka huffed. "You're just a hater of the high fives."

"In a situation like this, yes," Zuko said before slipping off the bed.

Sokka couldn't help but admire his boyfriend from the back. 

"I love you,"  Sokka said, his voice incredibly fond.

Zuko froze. The way he said that made him turn around.

"I love you too," he said back.

"A high five for the I love yous?" Sokka asked happily.

"Absolutely  not,"  Zuko deadpanned, walking away so he could get the supposes to clean Sokka up.

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝓉 ⎹ 𝓗.𝓙.

fandom dc comics / galaxy’s edge au masterlist / @dollsdc-library

featuring stepdad!hal jordan x minx!reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning stepdad fantasy, infidelity ( him ), daddy kink, very very brief somnophilia, creampie

summary coming home after too long away, hal has one thing on his mind. his wife’s daughter.

word count 2.5k / mini musing

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

the entire trip home, Hal’s hands were shaking. he missed Earth. he missed his home, his warm bed, he missed plopping down on the couch to have a beer, instead of saving the universe. most of all, he missed you.

he knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. he was feverish, his mind racing with visages of you. they were memories, the same ones that kept him up at night, alone, and fucking his own fist in the dark, wishing he was nestled deep inside you. time away from home had gotten significantly harder to bear since you came along.

and now, here he was, headed home with his body on fire. he needed you.

it had to be well after midnight when he finally stood in the drive, sliding the ring from his finger into his pocket. the house was completely dark, and he kept it that way even when he crept inside. his wife had work early in the morning, and any respectable husband would tiptoe up the stairs, and slide into bed as quiet as a mouse so as not to wake her. that thought twisted a grimace on to Hal’s countenance as he took the steps two at a time.

when had he ever been a respectable husband?

reaching the landing, with only the dull glow of the moon to guide him, he’s met with two options: his bedroom and yours.

it was hardly a choice at all.

in an instant, he’s standing in front of your door with his hand on the knob. his heart pounds against his rib cage and he finds it even harder to breathe when he lets himself inside. firstly, he’s hit with a wave of your perfume, and the lingering faintness of your body wash. you always smelled so damn sweet, like a candy shop, and it drove him crazy. then, he sees you on the bed. curled up on your side, you’re nested under a layer of sheets, but he knows that you’re not wearing much, just your panties; your torso swaddled in a skimpy, cropped tank. he remembered the emerald garment — you’d been upset when Green Lantern pajama set you wanted only came in child sizes, but you’d still bought one that was a size too small. you often wore the top around the house, your breasts all but spilling over the neckline, making it incredibly difficult for Hal to keep his eyes off of you. Hal’s eyes flickered over the multiple newspaper clippings, posters, and Polaroid pictures of his own countenance. at first, he thought it was a bit strange, sleeping with a GL fangirl that had no idea her stepdaddy was behind the mask, but now he was even mildly amused.

maybe one day he’d tell you.

as he pressed closer to your bed, he considered the probability of you even begging to suck him off while he wears the suit. it was surprisingly likely, and he couldn’t help but smirk, thinking about how powerful he’d feel, fully suited up, with a handful of your hair, listening to you choke on him.

Hal shuddered as he stripped and climbed into the bed; no more fantasies. he was here. you were here. and he was going to go crazy if he couldn’t have you right now. he’d waited long enough, wanted long enough. sliding in behind you, one strong arm snakes around your waist and pulls you back into his warmth. Hal dips his head, leaving a trail of kisses over your neck leading up to your ear. you hum in your sleep, pressing back against him, your butt grinding against his already hardening cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, incredulous into your ear, one hand grasping your hip to keep you flush against him so he can press his bare erection against your panties, “I missed just how good you feel in my arms.” you were starting to come around, mumbling incoherent in a soft, sleepy little voice, but his free hand was already sliding up to rest against your throat, angling your head back so he can nip at your lobe. the opposite one careens over your hip and delves under the layer of cover, for his fingers to spear against your panties.

“H—al—“ you groan, eyes still closed, but one of your hands flee behind you to grasp the back of his head, your hips oscillating to grind against his palm. “You’re… home… finally…”

“Finally’s right.” he mutters, finding your steady swelling clit even through the thin, dampening fabric. “Hope you’ve been a good girl since I’ve been gone.”

you purr, tilting your head back even further to look up at him, your eyelids finally fluttering open, and your teeth sink into your lip to stifle a sultry moan. “Feel how wet my little pussy is, daddy?” you coo, “I’ve been good.” he’d set damn near impossible rules for when he left for work — no touching yourself. there had been plenty of times when you were aching for it, rubbing your thighs together, trying to get yourself off without breaking his stupid rule, but the stimulation wasn’t enough. so you spent the last three months wanton and in a damn-near constant state of slick, dreaming about just how good his thick cock feels on your belly. it was torture, and you fixed your mouth to tell him so.

Hal grunts, lips grazing your forehead as your crown rests against his heaving chest, his fingers pressing hard on your clothed button. you sigh in pleasure, back arching, but his forearm digs into your belly, pressing you back against his abdomen, “You know why daddy has his no touching rule, minx?” you shake your head, whining soft, keeping heavily lidded eyes on his taut countenance, “Because I want you to to be so damn needy by the time I come home that you soak my fingertips,” he seals his mouth over your forehead in a lazy kiss, rubbing in vicious circles, “wanna feel your tight pussy stretch for me, and only me, I wanna feel you cum as soon as I slide it in because you’ve missed being so full of cock that you just can’t hold it in.” you moan out loud, from his words alone, and his hand on your neck shoots up to clamp over your mouth, “Shh,” he pulls you closer to him, eyeline darting towards the bedroom door; it was ajar. aside from your heavy breath on his palm, and the muffled whimpering, the house was still quiet. “You can feel how much I missed you, can’t you?” he asks, rubbing his hard cock against your butt to emphasize his point, and you nod, “Yeah? And you missed me just as much?” another nod, and he sucks in a breath, holding it as if to prepare himself, “Prove it to me.”

your body acts before your brain can catch up, both of your hands sliding down between your legs, one enveloping his thick, throbbing manhood, fondling the sensitive tip until every muscle in his body has tightened. you purr against his palm, eyelashes fluttering, as your digits work to lather his length in his own precum that is just starting to pearl on the head, stroking him from tip, down to base, and back up again. your other hand nudges his away from your core, svelte fingers curling around the crotch of your panties to pull them to one side. “Too impatient to get those off?” he teases, but his teeth are grinding, “You want that cock so bad that you just can’t wait, is that it?” your back arches, and you nod yet again, grasping him by his girthy base and guiding him to your eager cunt. the split and stretch has you both moaning— you, mewling into his hand, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck to groan. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, slurred, “that’s the warm, fucking pussy I’ve been craving…”

thankful for his hand clamped over your open mouth, you realize just how right he was— the feeling his cock sliding into you after so long has your mind going blank, your eyes crossing as you try to keep them open and on the man behind you. in the dark, you can see the shape of him, chiseled and strong, and you can feel your body already releasing an ounce of ecstasy. it wasn’t near the power of the orgasm you were used to, but it most certainly set your sensitivity level up to one hundred. you push back against him, taking more of his cock into you, moaning happily, and Hal pants in your ear, “Show me just how happy you are to have your daddy and his big, fucking dick home,” he rasps, “fuck yourself for me.”

you wanted to protest; you were too spoiled by his raw power when he pounded deep, and you wanted to feel him plow you into the mattress, but you were too starved for him to put up a fight. with a pitifully muffled moan, you rock back against him, listening to the squelching as you use him like a cheap sex toy. you were so fucking wet; when he plunges back inside there’s almost no resistance at all, allowing you to slam yourself back and take him hilt deep.

“Good fucking girl,” Hal moans in your ear, kissing it, his free hand running up to take hold of the neckline of your top, jerking it downwards to free your bouncing breasts. he paws at one, then gives it a firm slap, before massaging the sting into your flesh. you yelp, kissing his palm. “stay nice and quiet for daddy, just listen to how sloppy wet your pussy is, swallowing all of me like the greedy, little fuckhole she is.”

you whimper, brows knitting together. there’s a churning in your belly already, intensifying each time your ass jiggles, smushing against his pelvis to take him deep. you’re close to cumming, again, and this time it’ll be big. hopefully, Hal would keep his hand over your mouth, otherwise you worried you might wake your mother, screaming for her husband’s cock. your walls shudder with excitement, the impending climax crossing your eyes as you look up at him.

he’s equally as tense, jaw strung tight, features harsh, and you can feel droplets of his sweat tickle your forehead. “My little Minx gonna cum already? It feel that good, baby?” he croons, forcing a strained smirk, and you nod, “Mm, I know, I can feel you already starting to tighten up on me— fuck, I’m close, you want to cum with daddy?”

“Mm! Mhm!” you cry, deciding that nodding was not a fervent enough answer. you arch back into him, hips quivering.

“Yeah?” he teases, his own body rocking into you this time, pounding the syllable home. “Hold on to something, minx.”

you knew exactly what that meant.

scrambling, you only reach for him, the hand that keeps your noises muffled, and your nails dig into his forearm. just in time, too, because Hal grips your breast in one hand, and your mouth in the other, and immediately jackhammers into your body with so much force that your feet kick, haplessly, between his legs. you squeal, a pathetic and whiny sound that dies in his hand as he batters your sex, using your body to fuck his way into bliss, and you drop off along the way, coming undone with shivering, whimpering spasms of pure pleasure.

“I’m going to cum in your pussy, little minx…” it’s hardly a warning, but you didn’t care. if anything, you might be offended if he chose not to fill your tummy after months of being away. Hal sounds just like a beast when he cums, snorting and groaning, and you’d never tire of hearing it. his hot breath pricking goosebumps on your neck that was already littered with his saliva and lovebites, his hands cruel on your skin, leaving the shape of them imprinted. “Fuck, take me, perfect girl, take me.”

your thighs are quivering when you start to feel the familiar growing warmth in your core, and Hal takes his precious time pulling out, teasing your clenching cunt, drawing his cock out a torturous speed until the swollen head pops free.

he’s breathing even more ragged as he wrenches the sheets back, sitting up on he knees. finally released from his grip, you gasp for more air, rolling over on to your back, your hands falling back by your flushed countenance on the pillow. you’d made a mess of the sheets, the patch of wet visible under your bum, but he stares at it with a lusty grin, prying your quivering thighs open. “Show me,” he barks, husky and desperate.

you whine, spreading your legs even though they’re starting to cramp up, and one hand runs down over your breasts, down to your belly, and eventually to your sex. using two fingers, you spread your sticky lips apart, flashing him your used hole as it twitches. Hal presses his palm on your lower belly, and his cum leaks out of you in a gooey mess. “Look at the mess you made, Minx,” he groans, two fingers scooping what he can as it coats your core, “are you daddy’s messy, little whore?”

“Yes.” you moan, arching your back.

Hal quirks a brow, pushing those fingers into you, forcing the cocktail of arousal back into your body, “Tell me.”

you bite your lip, thighs trying to snap closed, but he’s pushing all of his weight on to one, keeping it pinned to the mattress, “I’m daddy’s messy, little whore!” you croak, nodding happily.

Hal seems pleased enough, pushing your hand away so he can pull your ruined panties back in place. he pats your pussy through them, as if proud of the carnage he’s lain. “And you’re going to lay right here, oozing daddy’s cum, and think about how good it feels being his whore until you fall asleep, aren’t you?”

a breathless smile tickles your lips, “Yes, daddy, and I’ll dream about you fucking me senseless, like I always do.” your voice has leveled out to a small degree, allowing for the singsong chirp to return.

your stepdad smiles, too, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Attagirl.” he murmurs, before he’s climbing out of your bed and pulling his pants back on. it was shame to cover up his naked form, you’d always thought that, and now as you watched him, you nibble on your lip. his muscles bulging and contracting as he bends over to retrieve his shirt.

“Don’t go in there and fuck her.” you hiss, eyes narrowed.

Hal pauses, turns, and quirks a brow. “Is my little minx jealous?”

[acourtofmenandthirst]

How Eris Likes His Tea

Hello - This is my first post on this blog dedicated to ACOTAR men who deserve better! Please feel free to send any requests, ideas, or feedback! I had some inspo for this Eris fic and wanted to share :)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.6K

Eris was pure art.

His gift of fire. You were completely mesmerized by the red licks of flames that snaked their way around his long fingers. His touch was always so warm, never burning; only hot when those fingers ran down your chest and buried themselves deep inside you.

His body. You traced the faint scars that ran along his pale skin. They were everywhere. Fading after years of healing, some just lines, flush with his cascading muscle; others ran longer, deeper, puckered skin contouring against his flesh and bone.

His face. His fucking beautiful face. It took every semblance of your being to not spend your day riding that fucking face. You knew if that confession ever left your lips, Eris would do everything in his power to make that wish come true.

There was something so ethereal about him and you couldn’t place a finger on it. He could have been a marble bust carved from the Mother herself. His high cheekbones and hollow cheeks, his wild bright hair and smooth pale skin. His fiery gaze juxtaposed his soft brows. The curve of his strong nose led into those perfect soft lips. His long neck, usually hidden beneath layers of collars or thick sweaters, now only laid bare and on full display for you, and fell swiftly into his muscled shoulders. That long lean torso, worn and strong, scars riddled his chest and abdomen, carried by those strong legs - a body crafted through centuries of hardship.

It was that body that now supported your weight, fully laid atop him, legs intertwined and arms curled around one another. A cool autumn breeze rolled in through the open balcony door, the sheer white curtains flowed ever so slightly with the wind. The early morning light danced along his skin, pink sunshine enhanced the blush adorning his cheeks; your fingers traced the pattern of the leaves’ shadows that crescendoed across his chin.

His eyelashes fluttered for only a moment, his eyebrows twitched together. Before he opened his eyes, his body pulled a stretch out of him, his legs straightened beneath you, arms snaked around you even tighter, squeezing you to his chest as your felt his rib cage expand against your stomach. You snaked your hands up through his hair, those red curls slipping between your fingers. Your hands fell to his rosy cheeks, right thumb brushed against the faint scar under his eye.

How you longed to count the freckles across his skin, connect the constellations over his nose.

He turned his head ever so slightly and pressed a kiss into the palm of your hand. “Good morning,” you whispered, propping your head on his chest, his arms now slack against your back.

He returned your sentiment with a sleepy smile, strewn across his lips without a care in the world.

It took him years to remember how to smile. Years to warm up to a female. To another Fae. To anybody.

His hands palmed at the cool skin on your back, then ran over your arms. Heat radiated off of him, as he cascaded you in a layer of warmth, your goosebumps disappeared under his touch. You twisted and dragged the sheet over the both you, cocooning yourself in his warmth. He chuckled, lifted a hand from your nest only to throw a flame into the hearth across the room. The fire roared to life, the cracking of the kindling now blocking out the sound of the rustling leaves outside.

Eris gripped your hips and rolled you over, furthering your tangled limbs now intertwined with the sheets. His lips found yours in greeting, still tasting of the wine from the night before, skin stained with the smell of bonfire.

He is Autumn.

“My heart,” he murmured, kissing you again before his lips dragged across your cheek, pressing kisses along your jaw and down your neck. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a babe,” you hummed, a smile pulled at your lips before he drew a moan out of you, licking a particularly sensitive part of your neck. Your hands drew across his back, nails grazed ever so slightly across his skin, feeling the scratches you’d made the night before - nearly healed.

He pulled his head away from your neck, those russet eyes met yours, glowing with the reflection of the sunrise. “Sounds about right,” he stated matter-of-factly, hovering mere inches above you. “Considering how long you rode me last night. Wore yourself out, my love.” You felt the blush flush across your cheeks, your chest. He kissed the tip of your nose.

“I can never get enough of you.” You barely whispered it loud enough for him to hear, a subtle embarrassment at your honest confession. “I would ride you all night if I could.” Your hand twisted out of the blanket to fix itself in his loose hair, flattening down a wild, stray curl.

“We could come to a compromise I’m sure.” He leaned forward, his lips brushed yours as he spoke. “Tonight, when you tire of riding me-“ he cut himself off with a chase kiss. “I will fuck you up against the wall.”

You hummed in response, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer on top of you. He ground himself into your hips, fitting perfectly nestled between your bare legs. You released a breathy moan, cut short by a sharp knock on the door.

Eris paused, if only briefly, before he dropped his weight fully into you, although lifted his head in question. Shall I send them away?

You shook your head, releasing your legs from his waist so he could fall beside you. You arranged the blankets over the two of you nicely, Eris watched with amusement as you pulled everything atop the bed neatly, practically making the bed while the two of you still lay underneath it. He rolled his eyes at you in jest, earning himself a flick to his shoulder. He didn’t care what his servants saw - he made sure that only his most trusted staff were allowed in and around his bedchamber. They had been working for the Vanserra family since he was a babe. They’d seen Beron hand out centuries worth of beatings - surely a naked woman in Eris’s bed would be a good change of pace for them.

And no matter how much Eris reassured you that your presence in his palace would remain a secret, no matter how trusted the servant, you were still cautious - perhaps embarrassed - for any other Fae to see you in such an unladylike state.

Eris laid there, watching you smooth out the sheets, grinning as your hand brushed over a particular hard spot between his legs, and waited for you to give the go-ahead. You nestled back into the mattress, and curled yourself into Eris’s side - his arm slinking around your waist - before you gave him a nod.

“Enter,” he called out; his soft morning tone was gone, now replaced with the power of a future High Lord.

He remained propped up on his pillow, the servant quickly offering him a courtesy before holding the tray in front of her. “Morning tea, sir.”

His eyes flitted to you, noting how your eyes stayed fixed on him. “On the balcony, this morning?” He asked you, running a hand through your hair, splayed across the pillow beneath you. You offered him a nod in response, which he took and nodded once toward the servant.

To which she swiftly crossed the room and slipped through that open balcony door, placing the tray silently on the marble table. With no other words, she turned on her heel and made her way to exit. She offered Eris a courtesy to depart, and he gave her a quiet thank you.

It was a firm rule in the Vanserra household that the staff be seen but not heard. Beron had almost made it a point for them not to be seen, either. While that remained impossible, he did make it clear that any one to linger or speak out of turn will be removed from the estate. Thus leaving only a very few trusted staff to remain. You’d seen how Beron had so harshly effected Eris that you sometimes wondered if the former had dealt with the staff with a firm hand, in addition to those strict words. You’d hardly be able to think many would remain if he had, but pushed the thought far from your mind. You’d been kind to the staff, on the instance you infrequently crossed paths with them, but it was far easier to make conversation when you weren’t laying bare in Eris’s bed.

He pulled you from your thoughts with a pinch to the bum, earning a squeal from your lips. He winked at you, shifting out of bed and dragging the duvet along with him. You watched intently as his long legs carried him to the balcony, and he threw the heavy blanket across the stone bench. He looked over his shoulder at you once before plopping down, spreading out and making himself comfortable. The wind tousled his hair, and he let his head fall backward, allowing the sunlight to fall onto his face.

You dragged yourself from the warm bed - only half warm now that he stole that blanket - and pulled the crinkled white sheet around your shoulders. You had felt the goosebumps rise along your shoulders and arms once again as you strode toward the open door. The fresh autumn air cleared your morning fog, the smell of the apple orchards tickled your nose.

You sat down next to Eris, he grabbed the teapot and poured two cups, adding a splash of milk and spoonful of sugar to yours.

He offered you the cup, earning himself a small thank you from you as he reclined back into the bench. This had become your morning routine: morning tea - sometimes on the balcony, other times in the sitting room, often enough in his study, and rarely in his bed (Eris enjoyed tea in bed if only to see how red your face got as the servant approached the bed to give him the tray; he’d poke fun at you for hours afterward).

You liked to spend the morning on the balcony the best, though. The steaming mug huddled close to your body offered you relief from the chilly air. Eris’s body pressed into yours was your paradise, curled into him under the pink sky. The Autumn Court was beyond beautiful. From his terrace you could see only the tops of the trees - oranges, reds, and yellows strewn across the valley in a sea of leaves.

Eris set his porcelain cup down on the table, your eyes drawn to the sound. His tea donned a dark shade, near black in color. You wiggled farther into the corner you’ve carved yourself between where his arm met his chest, nose dragging along his neck. His eyes flitted to yours, your warm breath tickling his exposed skin. Exposed. Eris had never been so exposed - emotionally: with you he was vulnerable, his guard was dropped, his brows did not crease in such an angry manner, his mask dissolved by your touch - physically: Eris hadn’t let any Fae soul this close to him in years, decades, perhaps even centuries. No one had been this close to the delicate skin over his throat, close enough to see where his father had once attacked, now leaving nothing but a few faint lines jutting out where his neck met his collar bones. “You know,” you whispered, lips brushing ever so slightly against the few freckles strewn across that pale skin. “Nobody would think you any less of a High Lord if you drank your tea with milk or sugar.”

“I’m not a High Lord,” he retorted.

“Not yet,” you whispered.

His chest moved as he huffed out a breath; the closest you will get to a laugh in the mere morning hours. “Are you trying to seduce me, you wicked thing?”

You threw him a wink in response, unable to help the spread of the grin on your face. You nestled your own cup between your palms, soaking in the warmth, the warmth that seemed to now spread through your chest and core. The smirk that played at his lips was taunting, his red eyes almost wishing for you to seduce him.

His arm curled farther around you, encapsulating your warmth in the white sheet around your bodies, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His fiery stare still held yours, the corners of his mouth downturning ever so slightly as you raised your cup to him. “Perhaps I enjoy my tea this way.” It was almost a question - was he that easy to read?

He wasn’t, in fact. You were deciding between two hypothesis sitting before you. Was Eris truly that much of as much bastard, maintaining his future High Lord façade so much that even a bit of sweetness in his morning tea would show weakness - that he was unable to bear the grim, bitter taste? And even in this moment of intimacy he could not drop this act? Or was it this now vulnerable side of him? The male who had grown up without any opportunity to taste such sweet relief? Borne of hatred and torture, with no relief - not of the constant fear of a knife in his back from even his own brothers, not of Beron’s hands marring his throat, not one single night spent without the thought of his mother’s abuse, not even milk in his tea.

You pressed a featherlight kiss to his warm skin. “Perhaps you’ll like it.” You then pulled away ever so slightly and brought your cup to your lips, taking a small sip.

Oh, how Eris longed to love everything you liked. To him, you were perfection incarnate. Everything you saw, you looked at everything so lovingly - sometimes he couldn’t tell if you were observing or scrutinizing - anything from the falling leaves to the art hanging on his walls; everything you did, you seemed to leave better than it was before: the flowers stood straighter with just your gentle caress, the books on the library shelves no longer screamed for their spines to be creased, his wild red hair somehow brighter after you’d been pulling on it all night. And since you were perfection, this tea must be, too.

He scooped up your cup and took a sip, savoring the light tea that warmed his mouth. You hummed in question as you felt his throat bob, peering up at him, waiting for the verdict. “Tea is tea,” he simply responded, a small smile played at his lips. You couldn’t help the pull of your own lips, mirroring his expression. You did, however, offer him an eye roll and adorned it with a light smack to his chest.

His smile only grew, after placing the cup beside his, his free hand now slinging your legs across his lap, fully tangling you in the sheet as he dropped a kiss to your forehead.

You were content to spend every morning like this. You were grateful you had been allowed so many peaceful mornings exactly like this one. The fate of the man sitting beside you will not come easy, nor has his past been painless. These moments were those you would savor for the rest of your eternal life; through the hardships of wars and the inevitable fight that will lead your mate to his rightful throne; it was these memories that reigned you in, these memories that reminded you that the light at the end of the tunnel will begin with Eris and his tea.

[salemsbane]

THE KISS STOKES THE FIRE IN HER, a steady blaze spreading into the furthermost outskirts of her until she is nearly overcome with it despite her outward composure. agatha's desire has always been a wild, fervent thing, greedy before but now intent on devouring every ounce of want rio pours into her. and god, does she want her. it's a high unlike ever before, filling her head with blissful static as a groan parts from her lips and tumbles into rio's mouth. the gentle scrape of fangs sends delightful tremors down her spine, breath hitching under the stutter of such palpatation of need that she subconsciously presses closer until they're chest - to - chest, skin burning at every point of contact. she almost forgets their deal and demands rio to just sink her teeth into her already.

the parting offers a moment of clarity, lungs heaving, pulling herself away from chasing another kiss and tracing her tongue across her lower lip instead. when her eyes finally open, the sight before her almost makes her heart somersault within its cage. something in the way rio is so open with her, willing to give herself entirely to agatha's hands in this case, taming those base instincts of survival solely for her sake ― it touches on an affliction inside the siphon she's afraid to name, this familiarity that had seeded years ago only to be left in a drout, and only now begins to bloom.

it's the lilt in rio's voice that finally does her in. that she lingers in supplication to her, her desire so raw it fractures through the layers built and donned over centuries of life. agatha feels it like a current of electricity through her veins, coiling tight with anticipation. she raises her hands and, first, frames the vampire's agelessly gorgeous face with long fingers, soft pads pressing over top lip to unveil the pointed canines underneath and tracing those, too ― an unspoken, gentle assurance of acceptance. a test of her control. torturously slow, she pulls rio in for another kiss that deepens with a tilt of her head, dragging her tongue over the same sharp ends of fangs. “ so eager, ” she purrs, corners of mouth slicing a sly grin against the slant of their lips as her hands drop to the underside of rio's thighs, gripping tight before she hitches her onto the top of her desk. so much for those essays she promised to review, pushed carelessly onto the floor.

a half - incredulous laugh breaks the kiss this time, barely catching the trembling of a moan that aches in her throat as her forehead rests against rio's and she peers through the haze into her corresponding gaze. it's a frightening thing to admit, that this might be one of her favorite sights in the world. it pulls a breath like a huff from her lips, fingers still dimpling the skin of the other's legs, frustratingly out of reach. rio was on the right track: this isn't nearly enough.

agatha reels in some attempt to even her breathing even as her heart keeps at an impatient, cacophonous beat in her ears and gradually pulls her hands up rio's sides, digits ghosting over every dip of her ribs along the way until they reach her collarbone. they continue an invisible trail across her shoulders, and begin down her arms, curling over the crook of her elbow and caressing the bones of her wrist before finally settling on the hands over her own waist, linking through the gaps of rio's fingers. her voice reverberates low, a taut line of her own control ― even as her eyes glimmer with subtle amusement, an acknowledgement of how ludicrous this is and just how much rio vidal is capable of bending her will.

“ this is the one, and only time i am going to allow you to fuck me in my office. ” a crook of her brow is already there to counterpoint any arguement the vampire may raise, even as she slowly drags rio's hands up, up, up her sides to the clasp of her bra. “ -- so i hope you make it worth it. ”

AGATHA'S BREATH TINGLES. her heighted senses making the sensation of anticipation even worse. her muscles are taut and tight, shoulders tense as agatha finally digs her teeth in. no other humans have been this close to her, have ever made her this vulnerable, with her neck exposed and no care to how hard the other bites. a moan rips from her, breath catching in her throat as the hands on agatha's hips try to pull her in closer. it feels like electricity throughout her body. she's never been one to deny the pull between pain and pleasure. her shoulders start to relax, just as agatha pulls away and looks her in the eyes.

the other's rosy cheeks grip at her heart and twist it tight. she is so human, so soft, and so gorgeous. she has seen many things in her lifetime, but in this moment, it's easy for her to think that she's never seen anything more beautiful. she swallows all of that, words dancing on the tip of her tongue then disappearing, as agatha leans forward and whispers against her lips. her head might be spinning. it feels almost obsessive, the way in which she thinks about this woman, longs to be on the other side of her midas touch once again. she had once thought nothing could be more enticing than the taste of blood. but then agatha had taken her shirt off.

with agatha's shirt gone, she's overcome with the desire to reach forward, to touch -- but then agatha is bracketing her in, and she doesn't move, except to pout at her. there's a power that agatha holds by having her in this position, and she knows it. something about giving up that kind of control with agatha speaks to her. "i am on my best behaviour," she whines. she's fully aware of her own squirming, and she tries to stop it, but her body is already arguing with her as agatha comes closer and teases her with a kiss that never happens.

she tries to hold tight to her willpower, but her threads of control start snapping quickly. it's been almost two decades since they'd last done this, but now that agatha is within reach again, she can't find it in herself to not want her all the time. the teasing is not helping that desire slow down. rio does nothing to hide her desperation as she pushes herself forward, closing the distance between them. she kisses her hard, longing to feel the warm human breath of hers mixing in with the cool air from her lungs. she's fully aware she's fucked with how quickly she falls into this pattern these days, but that's a problem for future rio to figure out.

she's too locked on this moment to really think about it. her fangs are already out, brushing against agatha's lips as they kiss, but not drawing blood. from here on out it's a conscious effort to not break agatha's skin open with her fangs and suck her blood as they had so many times before. that's a line she won't cross until agatha consents, and if she never does, rio will respect that. she finally allows them room to breathe, leaning her head back slightly. so maybe she isn't in her best behaviour, but she feels wildly out of control, her fangs flashing as she looks at her through the haze of desire that's overtaken her.

the building could catch on fire right now and she wouldn't even notice.

her hands do not move, their grip as tight as ever against agatha's hips. she blinks slow, the lines around her face softer than usual, none of the sharp bite of her usual gaze. "i'll behave," she promises, and the now is implied. "just -- please," she continues, her very existence is warm with desire, and if agatha doesn't touch her or something, she thinks she just might die on the spot. she feels like a desperate thing, every part of her calling out to the human in front of her. her breath is a tremble, a centuries-old accent slipping in between her words. "--touch me already." it's another whine, and she doesn't even care where or how she's touched, as long as agatha's hands are off the desk and back on her body.

[tteokdoroki]

Aali!! How about letting Bakugou AP-shot your pussy— 👀

## new match ! -> ap-shot ‘dis pussy.

— re: katsuki bakugou.

— a/n: OK OK jo i HAD to write a thirst so i could properly gather my thoughts im going insane

— cw: smut, mdni 18+, fingering, ap-shot to the pussy, public sex, fem!reader.

— wc: idk i wrote this in my drafts but it’s LONG and needed a read more.

training with bakugou never ends well, it always ends with both of you fucked out and dripping with sweat, a whole torn in your hero costume resulting in slick pouring from between your thighs— a lewd mix of cum and your own juices adding shine to your skin.

so when bakugou asks you to help him train and improve his signature moves, control the size of his explosions it doesn’t take long for your mind to fall into the gutter. you whimper every time his arms flex and he takes a shot, bite back a moan when he asks you to help him adjust his arms or gauntlet— feeling the hard muscle beneath your smooth fingers drives you insane— not to mention how delicious katsuki smells, how he looks, blonde tufts of hair matted to his forehead— sweet drops of sweat rolling down his face.

and of course he catches on, he can tell by the way your thighs squeeze at every explosion while you watch from the sidelines— it’s so obvious, especially when you bite your lip like that. so that’s how you end up with your back pressed against the wall of gymnasium— katsuki’s gloved, thick fingers easily pressing into your drooling slit, vermillion eyes on fire with lust and yours crossed with pleasure.

“can never leave the fuckin’ house without you actin’ like a horny little bitch,” katsuki snarls, one arm over your head, palm planted into the wall and caging you in while the other works rough circles into your puffy clit— diving’s sliding and up and down the length of your slit, gathering your sweet essence and pushing it into your spasming hole. cool air brushes your sensitive and swollen folds, katsuki having torn right through your hero costume as soon as he realised what you wanted, what you needed.

you can’t help but nod, grinding down on the seat of his palm when bakugou switches the angle of his hand— sliding two fingers into you this time and curling them. “katsuki, please,” you gasp between needy tears, biting your lower lip until bleeds a cherry shade as dark as bakugou’s blissed out eyes. “need you to make me cum, can y’please make me cum?”

katsuki’s eyes roll, but his amusement is given away in the toothy smirk he gives you. “so needy that’cha askin’ me shitty questions like that?” he growls, leaning down to lick up the blood on your lips before squishing your cheeks together and making you look up at him through your tear clumped lashes. “can’t believe my fingers, watchin’ me train gets you this fuckin’ stupid,” he laughs heartily, even the sound had you on the edge of release, lewd squelches from your gooey spongey cunt echoing between your bodies.

and then, a small concentrated burst of heat sparks from the two fingers bakugou has inside you, shooting right from your ribbed walls and all the way up your body. you jolt, violently, feeling hot all over as the small explosion travels through your body— sparking pleasure through all corners of your being. maybe you’re seeing stars, maybe you’re seeing heaven, maybe you’re seeing god or maybe it’s just katsuki bakugou in all of his glory. the sadistic smile he sends your way combined with the euphoric energy dissipating in your veins— you squirt.

you squirt hard.

and bakugou doesn’t stop, pumping his fingers inside of your soaked walls, brushing his thumb over your sore clit in tight circles until you’re screeching in the gymnasium— your blind sighting orgasm prolonged and your poor abused little pussy gushing, juices flowing faster that niagara falls. the blonde shoves his other gloved hand over your mouth, working your sloppy sex until you come down and the knots stop untangling in your lower belly while you cum. you cum so much that it soaks his arm, his bicep covered in a thick layer of your slick— juicy sounds filling the air as your release hits the floor with a crude slap.

“d-did you just—?” you pant weakly, staring up at bakugou with teary doe eyes.

“ap-shot your pussy?” he laughs, raspy and raked with desire as he pulls his fingers from your messy, obliterated cunt— sparking your sensitive sex with another, smaller blast. “and ‘m gonna do it again and a-fuckin’-gain so you keep squirting for me, just like that...”

[marvelandimagine]

Precipice

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x baker!OC (Annie Murphy)

Summary: With the weight of unspoken truth dragging him down and after gaining some encouragement from an unlikely source, Alfie finally tells Annie he’s in love with her.

Loosely inspired by: "What's worse, telling you my feelings or to die without revealing that you crawled inside my head and set a fire there instead? Letting all my insecurity devour me with certainty." - Halsey, Ya'aburnee

Word count: 5,000

A/N: My first in a series of misc. pieces about these QTs! Basically a 3-chapter one shot but I haven't written on here in literally years so it's how we rollin'.

--

Alfie Solomons was not a man who held his tongue, and each syllable he spoke was accented with deliberate cause. He liked that his rivals expected more out of him from just violence, that any battle with him would inevitably be a battle of wits. He relished the way his words shifted the very air in the room, wielding just as much, if not, more, power than his threat of his bullets and fists.

Bearing this in mind, it surprised him greatly, then, when he found he couldn't manage to choke out three specific, simple words to Annie. Any time he came close to it, fear clawed at his guts, and he held back, cursing at himself in frustration every time.

“A spineless fuckin’ cunt you are, mate. How many men have you cut, killed, murdered, tortured, fuckin' butchered, yeah? And yet, here you are, afraid that the shriveled remains of your blackened heart will break if you tell this woman the truth. Because how the fuck could she ever love someone like you, back, hm?”

The war inside him raged on for months and months, and now, with Callum gone, he found he was yelling at himself more and more to tell Annie every day—but still didn’t do it. But the longer he kept his mouth shut, the worse he felt, an increasingly unbearable weight pressing against his rib cage.

So, Alfie Solomons did what any lovesick Jewish boy at the end of his rope would do: he decided to talk to his mother.

Alfie sighed and settled himself in the cozy armchair in the corner of his study, lighting his pipe. He inhaled and turned his attention to the side table, looking out at a small black and white portrait nestled right beside his Tanakh.

"Привет, мама. Desperately need some help, I do.”

Alfie fiddled with his pipe as he leaned his head back on the chair, blue eyes still intently fixed on the picture of his deceased mom. “I bet you and your angel friends have been havin’ a right fuckin’ laugh, watchin’ me agonize over this Irish Gypsy woman. Man plans and God laughs, innit?”

In the flickering light of his pipe, he swears the portrait of his mother smiles at him. The corner of his mouth turned and he sat for a moment, lost in his thoughts and the smoke. When he spoke again, he was quieter, more subdued -- but his sincerity was just as pronounced.

“But I know it’s real and that’s what matters, yeah. And I know that’s what you’d be telling me, to listen to this thing in my chest here."

Alfie paused, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

“That bein’ said, I am still properly conflicted on if tellin’ her is the right thing. If I do and she doesn’t feel the same, which is most likely, on account of me bein' me, yeah it'll all go to shit. I won't ever see her or that beautiful fuckin' face anymore, hear that laugh. Get to make her laugh."

His voice went even quieter, speaking more to himself in earnest. "But there're times I see her and she just gives me this look, and I can't fuckin' read it but I can feel it, something there between me and her. And I keep comin' back for it. If there's even a chance ..."

His brow furrowed, ring-clad fingers roaming through his beard.

"Look, I know I am destined to glide right to the front of the queue for the fiery pit of the damned, but I’m sure you’ve got some powerful holy mates up there. Ones who would let ya send some kind of sign down to your kid, tellin’ me what I should do about Annie."

He gestured vaguely, and the sound of his bracelets clinking together echoed around the vast room.

"Things of love and goodness and all that are more your domain than mine, yeah, so I am asking you to take the reins here."

He sat in silence for a few moments, a slight smile on his face as he nodded toward the picture.

"I think you and her would've got on well, yeah. Right. Спасибо, мама.”

Alfie extinguished the pipe, groaning slightly as he stretched up and walked down the hall to his bedroom. It's quiet except for Cyril's snores in the corner. He laid down with his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about how he’d feel if Annie was next to him.

--

After a night of uneasy sleep, Alfie was in no mood for anyone's shit at work. Ollie immediately sensed it and gave him a wide berth, placing a solid five feet of distance between them as he gently dropped some papers on Alfie's desk--something to do with the latest of Tommy's schemes.

Alfie grunted and went to wave him away, but stopped when Ollie stammered out:

"And there's a woman here to see you, Mr. Solomons. It's not Annie."

Alfie dragged his hands down his face, resisting the urge to smack the younger man.

"I fuckin' knew that, didn’t I, ya silly boy, since you would've otherwise just told me An was here.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to fuckin’ apologize, mate, just try to use even a fraction of the brain ya got for a change.”

Ollie stood frozen until Alfie finally lost patience and smacked his hands on the desk, causing Ollie to jump.

“Well, go on then, send the mysterious lady in!”

Ollie nodded and scurried out the door as Alfie sighed, muttering under his breath as he took a sip of the Earl Grey on his desk.

“Fuckin too much to ask for a shred of intelligence these days, innit.”

He heard the sounds of heels clicking down the hall and his attention shifted, curiosity stirring inside him. And then he saw Annie’s older sister come through the door, and his curiosity was quickly replaced with dread.

“Fuckin’ hell, what does this ghastly woman want?”

Mutual dislike read plainly on both their faces, but Alfie adopted a cheerful tone anyways, raising his tea cup in a mock salute.

"Mags! You must be lost, sweetheart, payin' us savages on this side of town a visit, eh?”

Mags shook her head, her cherry-red lips in a thin line as she surveyed the cluttered room with distaste.

“I’m not lost, Alfie.”

Alfie leaned back in his chair, bouncing slightly as he kicked his feet up on the desk.

“Hm. Well good, that’s good. Then I don’t feel bad tellin’ ya that I am, despite your many comments around the subject, a businessman, Mags. And a fuckin' busy one at that. With very important things to do.”

To drive home his point, he grabbed the stack of papers off his desk and dropped them back down. He grinned as Mags clenched her jaw, clearly doing her best to hold back some smart remark.

“So tell us why you’re here or kindly get out of me office, yeah?”

Mags turned her gaze on him and when she spoke, she took the normally unflappable King of Camden Town by surprise:

"I need to talk to you about Annie.”

Alfie dropped his feet off the desk as his stomach dropped. His cocky demeanor was gone, immediately replaced with anxiety.

“What’s wrong, is she alright?”

Something in Mags’ cold glare lessened, and she sat down as Alfie stared back, unnerved.

“She’s fine,” she replied calmly. She fished around her purse and pulled out a cigarette container and match, offering the case toward Alfie, who shook his head. If Annie was alright, then what in the whole wide world of fuck was Mags here to talk about?

“Suit yourself.” Mags lit up, taking a grateful drag between her manicured nails. She sighed, pointing the cigarette toward him.

“I’m here because someone apparently needs to talk some sense into you. So,” she paused, exhaling a deliberate stream of smoke toward his face and grinning as his fist closed on reflex.

“Play nice, mate. She’s holdin’ the cards right now.”

Alfie grabbed his tea, doing his best to appear disinterested, even though he was dying to know what she wanted to say about Annie.

“I would like to know when you are planning to tell my sister that you’re in love with her.”

Alfie choked, his careful composure gone in an instant.

"Fuckin. Hell. The sign. MUM SENT A FUCKIN' SIGN."

He continued to cough as he reached for his handkerchief, very aware of Mags’ eyes trained on him. He took a deep breath, rearranging his features into one of (mostly) polite confusion.

“You what?”

Mags rolled her eyes.

“My sister. Annie.” She held up her hand. “About yay high, lovely green eyes, runs a little cafe across town.” She stared at Alfie and repeated, “When are you going to tell her you are in love with her?”

Alfie leaned back and interlaced his ringed fingers, his brain whirring. Had he really been that obvious?

“You are always hangin’ round Annie like a lost dog, mate, someone was bound to notice.”

Still, Mags loathed him. Had made that perfectly clear on any occasion they’d run into each other at Annie’s cafe. And while he could normally decipher anyone’s motives, he couldn’t piece together why the hell she’d be asking. So, he took his best guess.

“You tryin' to prevent that from happenin,' Mags?"

“On the contrary, Alfie.”

For the second time that day, Alfie was dumbfounded. It must've read clearly on his face, too, because Mags laughed.

"Surprised? That makes two of us.” She took another puff of her cigarette before ashing it in the tray on his desk.

“Look, I may not like you, Alfie, but I love my sister." She leaned forward slightly, and Alfie was further shocked to see the ghost of a smile on her normally serious countenance.

"I've seen the way you look at Annie, how you just melt around her. Like she's your own little piece of heaven.” She paused, seemingly waiting for an objection, and continuing when Alfie didn’t raise one, reeling internally from this unforeseen turn of events.

“I know you’d do anything to take care of her and make her happy. And she didn’t deserve to bury her husband, what she deserves is to be with a man who loves her just as much as Cal did. And as much at it physically pains me to say this, Alfie, I know that's you.”

Her smile grew more pronounced as Alfie just sat there, rendered speechless for one of the few times in his life.

“My guess is that you didn't want to tell her while she was married, and I have to give it to you, that was surprisingly honorable.”

Mag’s tone turns more businesslike, more like the Mags he’s come to expect.

“But Cal's been gone for nearly 4 months now, and all the Irish mothers have started sending in their young, handsome sons now that she took her ring off. If you want to be with her, it's now or never.”

She shook her finger toward him. “And don’t even try denying it, her entire kitchen has a betting pool going on about when you’ll finally ask her out.”

Well, she had him. Alfie drummed his fingers on the desk, weighing over his options. And he decided his best one was honesty.

“You don't hear me contradicting you, do ya?” Alfie ran his hands through his hair. “But Mags, it is fuckin’ fanciful that she'd want to be with a bastard like me, innit. You and I both know that An is so far out of my realm, she should be,” he waved his hands toward the door, “in fuckin’ Wales, right.”

“True."

Alfie threw his hands up.

"So what the fuck are you doin' here tellin' me to go after her?"

Mags shook her head, looking at him with something akin to pity.

"You really are daft. Do you think I'd be here in this shithole if she didn't feel the same way about you that you feel about her?”

“Fuckkkkkkkkkin hell.”

If Alfie’s pulse wasn’t racing before, it sure was now. He wouldn’t put it past Mags to lie about this, but the way she spoke before … Alfie was good at reading people, and he knew she was sincere. But he needed more.

"Well, every man, he craves certainty, Mags, yeah,” he said slowly, hoping she’d give him enough to stop the doubts that had assailed him for months.

"Well, I am certain that my sister is in love with you.” Her tone softened again. “Tell her how you feel, and she's yours.”

It would have to do. Alfie nodded, a grin breaking out across his face.

"You are actually not tryin to completely fuck me on this? Genuinely.”

Mags sighed.

“No, Alfie, I am not trying to fuck you on this. I’m looking out for my sister and her happiness.” She shrugged. “Even if it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Huh. Well then, I will end this little chat of ours to pick up the pieces of brain that just blew out the back of me skull.” Alfie mimed his head exploding as Mags rolled her eyes.

"Always a pleasure.” She stood up, snapping her bag shut and shifting it onto her shoulder. “Now, you go on over there today so I can stop seeing you two dancing around your emotions like bloody teenagers. And don’t breathe a WORD of this interaction to her. She doesn’t need to know I had to intervene to get you to grow some balls.”

She turned to leave and was almost out the door when Alfie called her.

“Mags.”

She turned around and he raised his cup to her again, this time with sincerity.

“Thank you.”

She smiled back.

“Good luck, Alfie.”

He waited until he heard the echo of her heels fade before he stood up, pacing. He clapped the heels of his hands together, his bracelets jingling.

“Now or fuckin’ never, innit?”

He took a long exhale, chuckling to himself as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Always were direct, weren’t ya, mum?”

He grabbed his coat and hat from the corner and tipped it on before roaring out the door:

“OLLIE!”

He heard a door slam open and hurried footsteps along the corridor, Ollie peeking his head into the office like he was expecting a grenade to be tossed back at him.

“What do you need?”

“Relax, son,” Alfie clapped him on the shoulder, smiling at Ollie’s look of bemusement. “We’re just goin’ to Annie’s.”

And with that, he took another deep breath and the pair of them exited his office.

--

Alfie knew Annie would be closing up soon, which he was counting on to get some uninterrupted time to talk to her. It could be difficult to get her full concentration sometimes — she was always moving, always chatting, always daydreaming about something. And while he normally loved watching her whirl around, today, he couldn’t risk her missing a word he said.

Fortunately, the place was empty when he came in, except for Lily cleaning off tables.

She looked up as the doorbell jingled and smiled, continuing to wipe the tables down.

“She’s in the back.”

“Thanks, Lil.”

Heart pounding in his chest, he walked the familiar path back to the kitchen, letting his fingers hover for a moment on the swinging wooden door before he walked through.

And there she was. Her back was to him but he could picture the look of concentration on her face, biting the corner of her lip just slightly as she piped neat lines of frosting on a tray of pastries in front of her. As usual, her sleeves were rolled up, her dark hair twisted in a French braid over one shoulder. She hummed to herself, absorbed in her work, pausing only briefly as she turned at the sound of Alfie’s footsteps.

And there it was, that smile and that glow in her eyes that had Alfie hopelessly, relentlessly smitten.

“Hey, you.” She turned back to the tray, placing the last finishing touches. She set the piping bag down and wiped her hands on the front of her apron, motioning for Alfie to follow her.

And he would. Anywhere at all, to the ends of the earth to hell and back.

“This is perfect timing, I was gonna call tomorrow and tell you I needed my favorite authenticity judge to come down here.”

His heart swelled at the word favorite. She said he was her favorite. Fuck, he really was a goner.

“That so?" Alfie grinned, watching her cut off a piece of what looked like a freshly baked blintze, the inside teeming with bright berries “You playin’ round with more Jewish recipes?”

“Mhm.”

“Honestly, love, you might as well convert. I can just imagine the look of horror on the bubbes’ faces of being outbaked by a former Gentile.”

Annie laughed and Alfie melted, exactly as Mags described.

“How 'bout I don't ruin their lives, hm?” She placed the dessert on a plate and as she reached past Alfie for a fork, she brushed against him, the light contact setting his nerve endings on fire.

“Now shush and taste.” He nodded and took a bite, eyes closing as his taste buds took in the tart berries, the sweet cream, the familiar doughy but not too doughy roll.

“It’s good, yeah?,” Annie asked happily.

“Really fuckin’ good.” He pointed his fork at her. “A culinary magician you are, Annie Murphy.”

She beamed and took a mock bow.

“Thank you, thank you. So, what’s up?”

Alfie paused and took another bite of the blintze before he replied, doing his best to appear casual, even though he swore Annie could probably hear how loud his heart was beating.

“Just wanted to see if you had a minute to chat.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Just me and you.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Is everything ok?”

Alfie could’ve died at the concern in her voice, her desire to make sure he, this mad lone shepherd who had led 35 lambs to slaughter, was safe.

“Yeah, ‘m fine, love.”

Annie nodded, her look of concern turning to one of slight confusion. She hoisted herself onto the counter, legs swinging slightly.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare back out now, mate.”

Alfie took a deep breath and started to speak, his tone much gentler than usual.

“Right. You probably don’t remember much ‘bout the day we met, ‘sides my storming’ in here wantin to kno-

“Know,” Annie cut him off and cleared her throat dramatically before giving a spot-on impression of him, “why the fuck a Jewish woman was working at an Irish fuckin bakery on this side of Camden?!” She grinned. “And then when you realized it was an Irish-Gypsy woman, how an Irish-Gypsy woman learned to make such proper 'fuckin' challah.' Hard to forget that, yeah?”

He chuckled, his nervous hands roaming to the chain on his vest as his tone softened.

“Right. But you know what stayed in my head the most? How you didn’t even flinch, ya just stood there and gave me that, that, smile right there, yeah. Too beautiful for words. Said if someone could braid hair, they could braid bread. You made this grumpy ol’ bastard laugh, and you kept doin’ it. So I came back. Kept comin’ back.”

He stopped and drank her in for a moment, this woman that stole his heart when he didn’t think it could be done. The way the stray, dark wisps of hair that escaped from her braid framed her face. How her apron hung tight against her hips. The exposed skin near her collarbones where her soft shirt tugged to the side. The lone streak of flour on her cheek. And of course, those stunning, jade-green eyes that were currently locked onto his, making him forget how to breathe.

“Fuck, she is a dream.”

Alfie’s tore his gaze away from Annie’s and started to pace, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“And then I said to myself, “Alfie, what is this peculiar sensation you are now experiencing?” Like there was some type of drumming goin’ on,” he tapped his temple and chest, “right here and here. And I just thought, ‘Well, we all know you’re touched in the head, so it’s probably just another symptom of our inescapable and utter madness.’ Left it at that.”

“But then I discovered something most interesting over the next few months: that this thing, this feeling, right here, yeah, only happened whenever I saw you. A type of madness reserved solely for the inimitable Annie Murphy. So what could possibly be a diagnosis for something like that, eh?”

“Alfie.” Her voice was quiet, but he pressed on over the interjection. Now that his thoughts were finally tumbling out in earnest, he couldn’t stop them.

“I’m almost finished, love. Right, yeah, so once I realized that it only happened ‘round you, Miss Annie, I knew I was fuckin’ done for.” He laughed, his hand going to the back of his neck. Said, “Alfie, mate, you realize this feelin’ you are carryin’ for this exquisite creature, who is very happily married, mind you, is not going anywhere, it is now an eternal fixture permeating your entire being.

This was it. He paused, feeling his heart reverberating through his bones, and when he dared to look up, Annie was staring right back with a look that told him to keep going.

He stopped pacing and looked at her head on.

“What I am tryin’ to fuckin’ say is that whatever remains of this thing in my chest, yeah, it belongs to you. Because I have been in love with you for a very long time, An. Now, you do whatever you fancy with that bit of knowledge, right, but I just needed to finally say it. Out loud. To you.”

One second, two seconds, three seconds, pass and feel like an eternity of silence that Alfie physically can’t take, so he rambled on.

“The alternative of continuing to keep me mouth shut would mean I would have to shoot my balls off because I wouldn’t deserve to keep them. Especially if I ended up seein’ you with one of those fuckin’ handsome little Irish lads who’ve sprung up here like daisies since you took your ring off. So, yeah.” He rocked back and forth on his heels, desperate for some way to shake out how exposed, how vulnerable he felt. “That is that.”

Dread, brutal and blinding, was now coursing through him. Fuck, did she try to cut him off before to stop him from looking like a complete idiot? Her silence spoke volumes to him, this was clearly a colossal fucking misjudgment on his end. What the fuck had he expected, what did he deserve?

“Yeah, time to go, you daft fuckin’ cunt.”

“Right, I will take your silence as you bein’ too sweet to tell me to fuck off, so, I’ll get out of your hair then.”

Annie immediately jolted out of her reverie.

“No, no, no! Don’t go.” She slid herself off the counter, and Alfie was convinced he was going to have a heart attack from this continuing vacillation between fear and hope.

She smiled. “Sorry, I was just … processing. And I still have a hard time knowin’ when you’re done monologuing.”

Then, she was there by him in an instant, close enough for her to wind her hands in his. His eyes met hers with an unspoken plea, practically begging for validation, and he didn’t even care. Because he needed to hear her say it, would burn the world to ashes if it meant he could hear it.

And he did.

“Alfie, I love you too.” His fear finally fell away and he had to remember that he wasn’t dead and this was real — nothing would ever feel this good, this pure, in the afterlife he was destined for.

She was so, so close to him, and he just breathed her in like a drug, warm bread and sugar and something like wildflowers, unmistakably Annie. His Annie.

She loved him.

She smiled, a playful note at the edge of her murmur, echoing his own words back to him:

“Do whatever you’d like with that bit of knowledge.”

Pulse alight for all the best reasons, Alfie dropped her hands so he could cradle her face.

“Right, then.”

They crashed into each other, the months of tension palatable in every frantic and tender touch. His lips against hers and the feel of her grin from the soft moan he made when her hands knotted in his hair, tongue sliding past his teeth. He grabbed her hips and it was his turn to smirk at the pretty little gasp she made against him before kissing him even harder. Fuck, this was it, he was in a categorically underserved heaven on Earth.

Until Lily walked through the door.

“Annie, that nut Mrs. McGinnity is out front wantin’ to change her son’s cake again, do you want me to- oh shit, I am SO sorry!”

Annie reluctantly pulled away at the interruption and as Alfie rested his forehead on hers, he was pleased to see her breathing was as labored as his.

“It’s fine, Lil, I’ll be out in a few, yeah?”

“Course!” The door of the kitchen smacked shut, and the two of them dissolved into laughter at getting caught making out like a couple of kids.

“Fuckin’ hell, love.” Alfie traced Annie’s jaw with his thumb and she caught his hand, her eyes trained on his as she brushed her lips over his tattoo, sending goosebumps across his flesh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ to do that.”

“Well, it’s a relief on my end too.” She pressed her lips back to his again, more gently this time. “I’ve been going fuckin’ mad over here, keepin’ this from you.”

Alfie nodded, still floating in the surreal, dizzy state that seemed suspiciously like happiness.

“Yeah, I know what that’s like, don’t I.”

But then, he noticed Annie’s gaze shift and his heart sank, because those startlingly green eyes were now brimming with tears.

“Hey, hey, An, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really nothing,” she laughed and simultaneously made a noise of frustration, placing the heels of her hand against her eyes and bringing them down again. “I just. I know I’ve been all over the place since Cal died. And uh, it felt like things would never get better, but they have been. And you had a lot to do with that.”

The corner of her mouth lifted at the same time a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, which Alfie stroked away.

“I’m just really happy you wandered into my life, yellin’ your head off about bread.”

“Fuck, Annie, c’mere.”

He pulled her into his arms and she immediately burrowed into his chest, and they stayed like that for a few moments, tangled in each other’s warmth. He pressed his lips to her hair and felt her sigh in contentment, drawing a smile out of him.

“Well I’m glad you’re happy because you’re stuck with me now, ain’t ya?”

“I’m not complainin,” she replied, her voice muffled slightly against his shirt. He pulled back and gently lifted her onto the counter, relieved to see her smiling again.

“There she is.” His tone resumed its normal confidence and he grabbed Annie’s hands in his. “Right, now that we have settled this whole exchange of mutual feelings, yeah. I am takin’ you on a proper fuckin’ date. Wherever you want.”

“Oooh.” Annie drummed her fingers against her lips, thinking. “Let’s do Wilton’s. But fair warning, I’m planning to nick their toffee pudding recipe. Do you know how many people come in here askin’ if I make it like them?” Her eyes widened and she shook her head with a giggle, simply the most adorable thing Alfie had ever set his eyes on. “I’ve just been sayin “yeah,” but I haven’t the foggiest. It’s gonna ruin my street cred.”

“Nah, can’t have that, can we.” He swung her hands lightly. “You want to investigate tonight, then?”

“I can’t. I’m babysittin’ Mags’ kids.” Alfie grimaced and Annie smacked his shoulder lightly. “Come off it, you saw them on one bad day. But I’m free tomorrow.”

"Right, I’ll come get ya ‘round 7.”

“Sounds good,” Annie replied. She wrapped her hands around his neck as she pulled him in for another kiss, only stopping when the sound of rising female voices drifted in from the front of the cafe.

Annie sighed. “I gotta go take care of that.”

Alfie pulled out his watch, matching Annie’s reluctance.

“Yeah, I gotta head off and meet Tommy.” It was the last thing he wanted to do, to step away from the thrill of her touch, her adoration, this temporary respite from the jagged edges of his life. He hadn’t even left, and yet he couldn’t wait to get back to her again.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, savoring the way her eyes lit up in response.

“See you tomorrow, then, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Like any addict desperate for one last fix, he kissed her hungrily, letting her hands trace over his beard and the scarred flesh before he forced himself back, hands clasped against her shoulders.

“Fuck, I cannot get enough of you.” He moved toward the door. “Right, I’m leaving, actually leaving.”

He had one hand on the wooden fixture when Annie called out:

“Alfie.”

And he whipped around so fast he nearly fell over, catching himself on the edge of the wall as Annie tried and failed to hide a massive grin behind her hand.

“Yeah, pet?”

“I love you.”

And he knew in a thousand years or a thousand lifetimes, he would never get tired of hearing her say that, or saying it to her.

“Love you too, An.”

He walked through the doorway and practically skipped his way through the rest of the cafe, still humming as he breezed past an agitated Lily and the even more agitated Mrs. McGinnity.

He strode out into the sunlit street, smirking slightly as he saw Ollie immediately stand up straighter from where he was half-slumped against the car. And before Ollie could even open his mouth, Alfie walked straight up to him and kissed him on the head without a word.

He got into the driver’s seat and rested his head against the steering wheel, a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration coursing through his veins as snippets of his conversation with Annie bounced around his head.

He had done it. He had finally told her.

“I love you too, Alfie.”

He heard the passenger door open gingerly and Ollie slid in, and he could practically feel the apprehension radiating off him.

“Are you feeling ok, Mr. Solomons?”

Alfie sat straight up and Ollie started as he clapped him on the shoulder, putting the car in drive.

“Course I am, dear boy. Just a beautiful fuckin’ day, innit? Just lovely, simply lovely.”

Alfie grinned, one hand on the wheel and the other clutching the star pendant that dangled from his neck. Knowing Ollie wouldn’t hear him over the roar of the engine coming to life, he took a second to whisper two much-needed words of gratitude.

“Thanks, mum.”

[rcksmith]

Desire — Kaz Brekker

(Photo not mine)

Requests: “Hello there! I've been around this blog for a bit now and you are an amazing writer! I was wondering if you would be ok with doing something with 21 28 & 29 from the smut prompts and kaz brekker? If you are uncomfortable please just ignore this!”

“Kaz brekker Smut prompts 28 66?? Love you💖!!”

“I can request Kaz smut prompts 29?❤️”

Smut prompts:

21. “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

66. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of shot, mention of desire, desire, mention of smut, explicit smut, NSFW.

Word count: 3k

A/N: All smut requests for Kaz must follow these rules.

I hope you like💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — —

There was something about you. Something impossible to decipher, with a glow hovering around you like a electrical energy. Wrapping your whole body in a cloak of magnetism. There was something about the way you spoke, walked, laugh. Something about what it was like to be you, in your beauty and mysteries like a sphinx.

Something that made Kaz Brekker completely furious.

You couldn't be more distorted from the image, in Kaz's mind, than what was to be a peaceful woman. Calm, controled, with steel emotions and wit in eyes. Someone who, like him, knew how to dance the waltz of negotiation, manipulation, who could blend in with the shadows and know the best time to listen more than speak.

You were not like Inej, you were not like Jesper. Hell, you were like nobody Kaz has known in all of his 28 years.

Nothing reminiscent of calm and control would be used to describe what it meant to be you.

Your soul are stormy, loud, obstinate, too stubborn and too talkative. You needed to speak loudly, laugh, move, expose your opinions to the seven winds and to whoever listened the most. You needed to question, inquire, doubt and test the limits of any situation. A direct order for you would be an affront to your free and independent spirit. A command that would curtail your freedom or tame your strong genius was almost like an invitation for you to do exactly the opposite of what they had ordered you to do.

So, for a man of trained reasoning, subtly balanced world, and who was used to his every command being followed vehemently and promptly in blind obedience, such a personality like you was like introducing a disturbing factor capable of shaking all his judgments. Sand in a watch, or stone in a shoe, would be no more a nuisance than a strong nature like your.

The extraordinary stubbornness and mania to counter his orders - when, in your words, they were unreasonable - had made you different from all the women Brekker had ever met. Kaz liked challenges and responsibilities, a good puzzle, but you were on a level far beyond that.

You were a danger to his peace of mind. And you knew that. All his aversion to your indomitable spirit only served as fuel for your own mission in to piss him off. Few men were like Kaz Brekker, you knew that, with a strength of character too powerful to be ignored. He was not just comfortable in his position of authority as he was obviously unable to act in any other way than as a leader. His stoic figure and always so contained in a wall of indifference made you want to ruffle his hair to see if you could remove any emotion. And being a girl who hasn't always liked leaders, Kaz Brekker was a huge temptation. Few moments had been better than those that you managed to piss him off beyond what he could handle.

However, all the reasons why the two of you were so exasperating for each other, did not explain why the air crackled in ambiguity when your eyes met. The hemisphere was adorned in a thought-provoking, poignant veil, like a warm honey flowing down its throat, and there was something else in the way blood flowed like flames of fire through veins of you two.

Jesper said that the sexual tension between you was so tangible that it could be cut by one of Inej's knives, but you refused to think of Kaz that way. At least until that moment.

Not pure images of what the infamous Brekker could do to you between four walls swept you like the strong Arabian wind. Making you be surprisingly breathless. Kaz was not a man whose private life was exposed, nor was he involved with many women, but you have heard two or three of them when they were drunk saying that Kaz Brekker in the room could be incendiary.

Everyone knew that his touch reserve didn't limit him to anything, but that his job was at the top of the priority list and that sexual encounters were almost never on that list.

"It was not my fault!” Jesper defended himself one night, slightly drunk, sitting at the club's round table next to the other crows “I didn't know he was married to another man! That damn pretty face seduced me!”

"Did he seduce you?" You asked, skeptical and playful.

"I swear to God! And it had been a long time since I had sex with anyone, and I went… ”

“But you did sex last week." Inej laughed, chocked.

"Exactly!" Jesper said, as if he were obvious.

You laughed with your beer glass in your hand, taking another sip.

“Is a week a long time to not sleep with anyone?" Matthias retorted, trying not to laugh.

“Are you going to tell me that is not?” Jesper and Nina spoke at the same time.

“If a man has time for sex more than once a week, he clearly doesn't have much to do. And I'm sure I gave Jesper a lot of tasks that would keep him busy.” Kaz narrowed his eyes at his friend, and Jesper hid his guilt behind the rim of his beer glass, looking to the side.

"So you are saying that you are a very busy man?" You teased, trying not to laugh at the scathing look Kaz sent you.

"I disagree. The values ​​of hard work and discipline cannot match the hot body of a woman in bed.” Matthias said, exchanging a brief conspiratorial look with Nina, who winked at him.

"There are more important things." Said Kaz.

"Like what?" You rested your chin on the back of the hand whose elbow was on the table, the playful look of a rebellious student.

"Progress." Kaz held your gaze.

He wasn't going to take your bait. But you didn't give up easy.

"Tell me, if God gave you a deal: all the hunger in the world would be extinguished in exchange for you never being able to have sex again, what would you choose?" your eyes had a teasing feline glow.

At that moment, Kaz felt a shiver up the back of his neck, like a warm breath of autumn. Something crawled, like a snake, across his rib cage and down to his groin, pumping blood like fire through his veins.

He held your gaze, but the feline glow in your eyes promised to contain the most ardent sins. Suddenly, Kaz's mind was flooded by the wave of obscene images of you, on his bed; moaning, squirming, shouting his name and being very obedient with every order he gave you.

He would make you such a good girl...

"I don't believe in God." He replied succinctly, the predator's eyes still in your eyes audacious feline's.

A big, satisfied smile spread across your face, and you said: "As I thought. Bad luck for hungry people.”

Realizing that he had fallen right into your cunning trap, Kaz got rid of your diabolical magnetism and cursed.

“I didn't say…” he stopped, impatient “It doesn't matter. I have more important things to do than waste time here.”

But the smile you hid behind the glass was noticeable to Kaz.

After that night, the crackling, gasping flame that circled the two of you intensified to alarming levels. Kaz could feel you holding your breath when he was too close, and you could see him squeezing his cane harder when you sweetened your voice for him.

However, regardless of Kaz's wanted to fold you at a table and put an end to your brat girl pose, enjoying the groans he was sure you would let out, the two of you still fought like dog and cat.

Just as it was now.

“What do you mean, I'm not going?!” You looked at Kaz, amazed, when he told you that you would not participate in the robbery that week “I know that security system like the back of my hand!”

It was true, what you had of stubbornness, you had of technological intelligence. There was no computer that you would not hack, a program that you would not hack, and a system that you would not unlock. Your genius with technology made up for all your lack of obedience.

But Kaz ignored. “I've already told you. It's a more dangerous mission than you're used to and we don't have time for the plans you come up with right away.” He needled you.

“Are you referring to Switzerland?” You were never anything short of direct and inquiring. It was logical that you would question every orden. “But I already told you that when the alarm went off your plan didn't work anymore! I was more useful inside to deactivate the alarm than waiting outside.”

And stubborn. Holy God, how stubborn you were!

"And it cost you to get shot."

"But it was just a shot!"

Kaz looked at you, puzzled. “Just?! And wasn't it enough ?! You put the whole team at risk!”

“But if I hadn't deactivated the alarm, we would all be arrested! And only I knew how to do that!”

"My fucking God, isn't there a speck of common sense in you?!"

But you answered boldly: "Not when you impose clueless plans on me."

Mortified would be an understatement to describe how he was now. What an unbearable creature! Kaz felt the anger spread from his neck to his face, igniting his breath and squinting his eyes in annoyance.

Why was it so difficult for you to follow a simple goddamn rule?!

“Besides, your initial plan was flawed and there was no reason for me to be out when it was necessary inside and...” And you kept talking!

If you had noticed Kaz's completely enraged state in front of you, you would have been scared, shut up and ran. But, truth be told, Kaz suspected that even if you knew how to read the murderous humor in his eyes, you wouldn't have left that office. Much less be afraid. You could argue with the demon. And you would probably beat him out of tiredness.

However, regardless of the desire to shake you up, to see if that put any good sense in you, in that second, watching you gesture with your hands, defending your point of view as if it were the england queen's crown, something swept Kaz's body from the top of his head with dark hair to the tips of his illustrated boots.

The sound of the world was drowned out by the flow of blood itself in his veins. His heart hammered hard in his chest and, in that instant, a sharp sting in his groin and the pit of his stomach set him on fire.

His gaze went down to your mouth, which kept moving. And when it came up to your eyes, your stubborn and defiant gaze sent Kaz's rationality into space. He dropped the cane abruptly, which toppled to the floor with a hollow crack, and advanced towards you in firm and determined steps.

Gluing his gloved hands to your face, Kaz silenced all your protests with a strong kiss. Hot, fiery, domineering. The kind of kiss that held years of camouflaged desire, years of irritability, years of an unnerving desire to make you shut up with all the perverse forms that existed.

You weren't afraid of him. But you should. You should if you knew everything he wanted to do with you.

However, as if you have been burning in the same desire for years, you responded to that kiss with the same urgency. The same hunger. Kaz slipped his hands into your hair, closing his fingers there and deepening the kiss with ferocity. He felt beside himself, like a hungry wild animal that had been denied food for years and that only now had its teeth set on its prey. You moaned against his lips, bringing your hands to his lean, strong biceps, squeezing your fingers there.

You both needed air, but neither seemed to give a damn about that. Misted of desire that burned like a fire in their bodies, Kaz pushed the two of you backwards, slamming your back against the wall and swinging a frame beside. You gasped, and the gesture made it possible for Kaz to invade your mouth with his tongue, hunting every piece of hot meat. You two fought the same battle in that kiss: invade, dominate, conquer.

They both wanted to take the waltz, but Kaz would never let you conduct the show.

He pulled your wrists up, pinning them with one hand against the wall, leaving you immobile while sinking his mouth further into yours. Kaz felt you try to get rid of his tight grip, but he was stronger than you. And much more when he have a objective.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He murmured against your mouth, the tip of his tongue playing with your bottom lip. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”

Was impossible for you to control the loud moan that escaped. Your body trembling with desire, your legs wobbly, your wet core vibrating with his words. Kaz Brekker was a fallen angel. With a beauty and charm you've never been immune to.

How can you think you'd win the dominance game with him?

And, like the fallen angel he was, his smug and arrogant smile painted the corner of his lips when he saw what his lines did to you.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Kaz mocked “If I knew it was only necessary to do this for you to shut up...” he brought his lips closer, his voice hitting yours “I would have fucked you like the naughty brat you have been a long time.”

If his caustic and maddening kisses hadn't been enough to break you in half, that statement would have done all the work.

In that second, you hoisted your white flag, biting your lip in a needy moan and closing your eyes for a second by the overwhelming vibration of your core. God, you needed more. Whatever he gave you. Anything he wanted to give you. You just needed more.

"Are you going to be good?" He played with the dough you were in his hands, his devilish mouth going down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and debris wherever he went.

You agreed, desperately. “Yes, Sir."

That title seemed to do things with Kaz. Because in the next second, his mouth was back on your. More urgent, more needy, more dominating. You shifted your hips for more friction with his, and Kaz rewarded your obedience by pulling one of your thighs forward, making your skirt go up, aligning your thigh on his hips and giving access for his member to fit perfectly against your pulsating core.

You moaned louder this time. Fingers clenching, heart pumping frantically. Kaz pulled his lips away from you for a second, taking his hand off your thigh and bringing it to your mouth.

“Pull.” He ordered, referring to the glove.

You murmured a low, excited moan, bringing your mouth to the glove and clenching your teeth on the cloth at the top of his middle finger. Satisfied, Kaz pulled his hand back, watching the alabaster skin peel away from the leather fabric. As soon as he was free, he removed the glove from your mouth, replacing it with his own and stealing all your breath in that fiery kiss.

His free hand wandered over your thigh, touching you for the first time with a touch that promised to show you all the most delicious and secret sins in the world. His tongue wrapped around your again, and the moan you let out was even greater when his long fingers brushed against your wet, throbbing core.

"S-sir!" You sobbed, your hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more.

"Look at you." His fire voice beat against your lips, the tightness against your wrists getting stronger, more possessive "I’ ve only started using my fingers and you ’re already shaking"

Your body cried out in unbridled desire, sobs mingling with loud moans and heavy sighs as Kaz tormented you with his fingers. He touched you, slid, opened and sank, increasing the volume of your pleas.

“P-please" You begged, the body in need, the urge too urgent.

Kaz looked you in the eye, a dark, malicious gleam burning in his Egyptian blue irises. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" He teased you.

But you no longer cared about his teasing. With your lips swollen and red, your heart racing and the core pulsing in despair on his experienced fingers, you were already surrendered.

"Please. I n-need." You mumbled submissively, rummaging your hips in his hand.

"I bet if I wanted to fuck you against my desk, here and now, you would be very happy to do it, wouldn't you?"

He was foisting all of his dominance on you, bending you to your knees for him. And you knew that. You knew he was taking years of anger out on you. But you couldn't care less. You wanted him. Ardently. Desperately. And if it was a good girl Kaz wanted, damn it, you would be a good girl for him.

You readily agreed, your eyes shining in supplication.

“Good.” Kaz pulled you brutally off the wall, turning you over to the table and pushing your chest against the icy wood, pulling your hips at him. “Because that's exactly what is going to happen.”

Suddenly, desire and hunger roared like a wild beast. Kaz watched you, bent over his desk, obedient, surrendered, offering every inch of your body to him.

His breath was burning in his throat and it was no longer possible to order his thoughts, contain his euphoria. He would fuck you so hard that it would make that memory the only thought when you remembered him. When you dare to rebut his orders.

Kaz pulled you skirt up and your panties down, letting out a groan that sounded more like a growl as he saw your wet core. Pulsing and desperate for him. For anything he wanted to give you. It sparked a fervent desire that Brekker had never felt in his life, devastating any possibility of thinking about anything other than fucking you.

Playing with your fingers in your slick, wet folds, you whimpered again, the core pulsing whenever he teased you inside, pressing his fingertips there but never entering.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" His voice came over the top of your shoulder, hoarse, animalistic, full of profane desires.

"Please." You were quick to beg “I do what you want! But just...please, please… ”

You already felt your eyes watering from over-stimulation, your heart burning so hard it was beating, your core aching from emptiness.

You sealed the end of the game between you. Kaz had won. In a triumphant checkmate.

And you didn't have to beg again. Barely seeing when he unbuttoned his pants, you just reasoned his hard, hot, pulsating member by opening your from the inside. Claiming everything that was yours as his in a strong, desperate, hungry lunge.

"S-sir!" You screamed, your nails scraping the wood from the table, the core pulsing overwhelmingly around his rigid member.

In a more badly lunge, Kaz sank completely into you, moaning loudly as he hit rock bottom. The gloved hand slid over your shoulder, propelled you to him while the bare hand tightened on your waist, hitting you at a steady, raw, animalistic rhythm.

The sounds were pornographic, dirty and loud, echoing off the walls. The air was hot like molten lava, pungent and muffled, driving you two lost breath. Their bodies clashed as if the world was going to end tomorrow, in aggressive, rough thrusts. These were thrusts that made half of his things on the table fall to the floor, mixing in a mess that would serve as a reminder later about the sinful activities you two did.

You screamed when Kaz took on more force, his fingers squeezing you so hard that they would leave you with marks on your shoulder and waist the next day.

"Fucking hell!" Kaz snarled between his teeth, feeling your flesh throb around him, squeezing he with such desperation that he knew you were close.

You sobbed, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes as you pushed your ass towards him, trying to bring him as deep as possible, as deep inside you as possible. But every time his pelvis smashed into your ass, a loud moan and the feeling of being completely full drowned you.

You begged, pleaded, for something you didn't know. But Kaz seemed to know. Taking both hands to your hips, your pace became even more unperturbed, pushing you to the limit until you cum in a scream in his name, your lungs on fire. Kaz came close behind, sinking as deep as possible and pouring all the hot liquid into you. Almost like a brand.

The air was filled with sex, lust and desire, filled only by the sound of their ragged breaths that struggled to stabilize.

You were still panting when Kaz's voice came after you: "Whatever I want, don't I?"

A deal with the devil.

[the-illiterate-pirate]

Hello, for kinktober could I request lingerie with bruno? Thanks in advance and have a wonderful day !

Hey bestie <3 glad to see you here. Compared to my last few oneshots I really like this one, it's a little short but I hope you enjoy it too. Also I have no idea how to write a lingerie kink WHY DID I THINK KINKTOBER WAS A GOOD IDEA

At the end of your bed, you sat with a hand massaging away the stress in your neck.  The other hand held the towel you were using to dry your hair, about to be thrown away into a corner of the room, forgotten until tomorrow. Another day of breaking your back to keep the rest of the team away from each other's throats (mostly Leone). At least it was night now at your little haven with Bruno. It's almost been five months since you've began dating, and only tonight did the idea of sharing a bed together come up. It was exciting, finally, some alone time.

The bathroom door opened, Bruno entered the bedroom wearing a full pajama set with his own towel around his neck. The first four buttons of his top were left open to let the world see his beautiful sun kissed skin, and some black lace.

"Really Bruno? Still wearing that lingerie?" You said it lightly, you didn't really care if he wore it or not but it was humorous.

Bruno subconsciously looked down at his chest. He laughed a little, "Maybe. I can't help it, it's like a second skin." He took his towel from around his neck and throwing it aside to sit next to you in the bed. "It doesn't look bad, does it?"

"Oh, not at all. You can pull off anything." You assured him while cuddling into his side. Bruno held you close, keeping a suspicious eye on you once you started to inch your way up to his blouse. You played with his showing skin, slowly unbuttoning to see more. "Pray tell, does this come in a two piece?"

"And what if I said it does?" Slowly as you spoke, without you really realizing it, Bruno was hovering more and more over you, pushing you closer into the bed until he was directly on top of you, caging you between his arms while yours played with his chest. Sparks of fire were starting to life in your chest, your ribs constricted around your fast beating heart with every intake of breath in a painfully pleasurable way.

"Well? Would you mind modeling it for me?"

"You're a big girl, why don't you take my clothes off yourself?"

Nothing else needed to be said. As Bruno's lips connected with the skin of your throat, your numbing fingers fumbled with the rest of his buttons, finally getting to the last one surprisingly quick. Bruno shouldered the shirt off for you, letting you see his lace swirling around his pecs and feeling them decorating around the cute little dimples in his back. Finally the pants come off soon after, going the same was as his top did. What you didn't get to see before was now set free, in all its glory, more ribbons and hearts caging his thick length in cloth with matching garter belts running down on each toned thigh.

"Fuck tesoro, you look beautiful." You sigh still running your fingers along the mesh of the lingerie, looking at him like you were looking up at a dream. Bruno stood up, striking a pose so you could drool over him more.

"You're so perfect."

His heart melted at the innocent whisper. You were both completely infatuated with each other, it was true. But it was far too unfair that he wasn't seeing just as much of you as you got out of him.

He pushed your sleep shirt up to your neck, showing off your bare chest, giving him the opportunity to lick and suck at your nipples. The noises fighting against the back of your fist was a treat to hear. He worked his way down slowly, kissing and licking more of your skin, playing with the delicate skin above your hips while he pushed your bottoms out of the way to pleasure you more.

"That makes two of us, mi caro." He passionately kissed your lips, coming right back up to your mouth before you knew it. His length entered you, and Bruno was gentle with your body. Softly rocking inside of you while you collapsed around him, scared of ever letting go again as you peppered his face in more love. The night was still young, you both had each other, what more could you ask for.

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.