#there's cigarettes that are hardly smoked on the ground

[one-million-tears]

i need more cigarettes :'(

[lorelune]

(michael kaiser x reader // 18+ MDNI // cws: yandere kaiser, stalking, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic behaviors // wc: 2.2k)

"so you really did it?"

"did what?" you ask, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke into the frigid air. your fingers are numb.

"break up with him!"

"kaiser?" you snort, taking another drag before speaking. "i guess? i called things off earlier today, but we weren't actually dating. so it's not like it's really a breakup."

"... sure."

your friend on the line hardly sounds convinced. but it is... true. you and michael kaiser never dated. you never had a label, never discussed any type of commitment or potential future together. though you had spent more than one weekend (try a dozen plus) at his apartment, oscillating between cuddling, fucking, and being in each other's presence's in a way that was distinctly not platonic—

you and michael kaiser were never dating. you were not together. (Regardless of him flying you out to one match in Vienna, and the another in Rome—) you weren't dating.

you never were.

you never expected to either. michael kaiser was transparently damaged, and handling it in an unproductive, destructive manner. you saw this from a mile away, but entertained your chemistry regardless. maybe it was the influence of a few drinks and a few heated arguments that got you in bed with him to begin with, despite clocking his toxic tendencies early on.

you fought a lot, for not being a couple.

care made kaiser squirrely and angry. kindness made him snap. aggression, biting and clawing— angry sex that metastasized into something carnal and closer to a fight resonated with him far more than little affections. you only saw moments of vulnerability from him when you were both fucked out and exhausted. or, when he thought you weren't looking. you felt him pet through your hair while he thought you were asleep, more than once.

you broke up with kaiser because you couldn't handle things as they were anymore.

maybe you wanted to be loved. maybe you wanted to be held, openly and tenderly. maybe, you wanted a partner and not a man with an ego problem who fucked like a god and treated you like invasive creature nine times out of ten when you showed him affectionate.

(you just want to be loved.)

the luxuries and innate chemistry of your relationship simply wasn't worth it.

so, you broke things off. over text, because it seemed the least messy.

[you]: hey, what we have isn't working for me anymore. i don't want to see you any longer. i care about you a lot, but what we have is not sustainable. i wish you all the best, michael.

(you try not to be too affectionate with your message, lest you rile him up. you want to be gentle, but not too... emotional. it's better this way.)

you block him after sending the text. clean breaks— it's kinder in the long run, isn't it? even if it hurts more in the moment.

you sigh into the receiver, tossing your cigarette butt to the side, "i mean it, we weren't ever serious."

"if you say so."

you kick at the snow beneath your feet. there's an inch or two of it on the ground, coating the cobblestones of the path you walk on. the river that cuts through your city runs, despite the cold. there's no one around, and it's peaceful beneath the amber-tinged street lights.

"you don't sound convinced."

"because i'm not." your friend pauses. "... have you seen his instagram story from today?"

"nope," you pop the word from your lips. "i blocked him."

"already?"

"immediately."

"damn. that's cold of you."

"you don't know kaiser like i do," you shake your head. it's better this way, to be cleaner.

(you have always been able to foresee the way that man would tear you apart, if you misstepped too grievously.)

"well regardless," a notification comes up on your phone. your friends has sent a screenshot of kaiser's story. "look. he flew out to your city."

your stomach drops. sure enough, the screenshot has a location stamp over a photo of kaiser's deft hands, twirling a flute of champagne from what is clearly a first class seat.

"... maybe he has a match."

(he doesn't. you know this; there's no league that plays in your city.)

"or, he's coming to see you!"

"that would be insane," you laugh. that bastard... wouldn't, would he? he is... was halfway across the world.

"it would be romantic."

"it would be insane," you repeat.

you turn on your heel, back the way your came through the parkway. your apartment is... about a mile away, maybe. it's dark and cold, but you can probably get back there quickly. you're not sure where this particular sense of haste comes from—

but it's a frantic sort of feeling.

your friend pouts, "you have no sense of romance then, i guess."

(and your friend doesn't know michael kaiser.)

anxiety pitches around between your stomach and lungs. you swallow, and it feels too dry.

"i promise i do," you shake your head. "that's the problem."

"sure. tell me more about it later, 'kay? i gotta get ready to go out. let me know if your man shows up!"

your stomach rolls. "gotcha."

"bye bye!"

the line goes dead. your drop your arm to the side, your phone like a deadweight in your hand. you take a few steadying breaths, looking out at the rush of the river. the roar of it is just far enough away to not be overstimulating. the rest of the night is blanketed in snow and stillness.

you nearly trip as you begin to walk again, panic unfurling in your chest with each step.

(there's no way michael came all the way to your city, on a fucking last minute flight no less, for you. there's no literally no fucking way.)

why would he anyway? to try and salvage your not relationship? that hardly logical. there has to be another reason— his team has had him in a few PR campaigns lately, maybe... maybe that's it.

(you know that you are lying to yourself.)

you slip, just for a step or two, on some ice that's beneath the layer of fluffy snow. barely, you keep yourself upright, your arms flying up to find your balance once more. you take a steadying breath, pressing a hand to your chest.

"you should be more careful."

the blood in your veins freezes, numb and chilled like the air around you. your head jerks up.

kaiser sits on a bench, about ten paces in from of you. his arms are spread out over the back of it. he regards you with a tilt of his head, almost playful.

he looks you up and down, voice full of poison, "you could have hurt yourself."

"why the fuck are you here?" your voice barely manages to stay steady.

"why wouldn't i be?" kaiser shakes his head, a laugh bubbling in his chest. the cadence of it makes you feel nothing but unease. "i've got a match in London. i'm just picking you up."

"what are you talking about?" you swallow, audibly. you know that he hears it.

"don't be obtuse." he stands up. your stomach fills with leaden dread.

"you don't be obtuse," you snap back. "we're done. this—" you point between the two of you, "— is over."

"that's a mutual decision." he steps toward you.

you step back. "no, it's not."

kaiser is faster than you, he's up against your front in a moment. it makes you stumble back, nearly falling on the same patch of ice as before.

deftly, he gets an arm around your waist. the force of it is immediately too much, too tight, too hard. you're pulled against him, chest-to-chest. you brace your hands on his shoulders, some attempt at distance, but he doesn't budge. he stares down at you, the cold heat of his own presence engulfing you effortlessly.

"i-it's not," you whisper, voice wobbling. "you need to leave."

"you're an idiot."

"please let go."

"now, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" kaiser smiles, something acidic that you can almost taste.

he bends the two of you, so your back arches. you scramble against him for some purchase.

"there's nothing to 'let go'," his sneers. you hit your fist against his shoulder. "you're coming with me to London, and you'll stop throwing this tantrum now, or along the way."

"it's a not fucking tantrum!" you snap at him. your voice matches the roar of the river. you meet his gaze, angry slipping into your tone as it so often does with him. "we are done. i don't want anything to do with you, michael— especially now. i can't believe you hopped on a fucking plane to, what, harass me on my own turf?"

his palms circles your jaw in a swift, uncomfortably fast movement. the pressure of him is unyielding. you can't look anywhere other than him.

the way he looks at you scares you, now more than ever. the frigid blue of his eyes is haunting and as hollow as it is full of vitriol. anger. all directed at you.

"i 'hopped on a plane' to take you home," kaiser dips you further. if he wasn't holding you, you'd crash to the ground. "i should've done so earlier, but i didn't expect that you'd lose your shit so quickly."

you weren't—, "i’m not—"

his grip on your jaw grows tighter. from a distance, this may look romantic to an onlooker.

from your position, you are in the jaws of a beast that you thought you had escaped.

"you're mine—" he pats your cheek, hard, as he tells you. the angle is bad, given it's with the same hand that's holding your jaw. your brain rattles inside of your skull. "don't think you can run away just because you got a bit scared."

"that's not why i broke up with you—"

"but, it is."

you want to cry, run away, jump in that goddamn fucking river. "no—"

"i get it," kaiser noses into your cheek. he's just as cold as you are. his voice is too soft; it unnerves you. "it's scary, loving someone. i'm scared too"

"i—" you don't love him, you can't love him—

he pulls back just enough to dip your body as far as it can go, and look into your eyes, his own pupils blown.

"let's be scared together," he says, just above a whisper, before slotting his lips against yours.

you slam your fist on his shoulders, his chest, the back of his head— you don't fucking care. whatever you can reach. kaiser doesn't relent. instead, he licks into your mouth. kisses you filthy in a public park just because he can.

maybe his words seem romantic, if you were to recount them to someone else. maybe. maybe someone could read his plane ride to you as a grand, romantically-driven gesture.

but, as he holds your head squarely in place, and fucks your mouth with his tongue, stealing your words and breath in tandem— you know, so lucidly, that none of kaiser intent here is 'romantic'. not in a way that's normal, that's sane.

no, this is the only way a deeper connection can exist for him, you think. the hand on your jaw slips down to your throat, holding you there. it's a collar and kaiser's holding the leash.

you whimper; you feel so foolish. you feel so fucking stupid for thinking you could disentangle yourself from him so easily.

"do you get it now?" kaiser says against you lips.

all you can do is nod, it's all the action he allows you.

all of the fights and tension that made connection between you before so intoxicating— it evolved into this. it was always destined to. you've been ensnared since day one, but didn't have the foresight to see you.

kaiser did, though.

as he pulls away, you're light-headed. he rights you and steadies you at the waist. he pats your head and even coos at you.

"are you done now?" he begins to walk you with a hand at your lower back— back in the direction you came. probably toward the nice hotel in the center of town where he undoubtedly has a suite. where he'll fuck you stupid into the king mattress. "if you cry, i'll just make it worse."

'worse'.

you shake your head, hard and fast, and suck down any tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

he seems pleased. "good."

there's nothing you can do but walk by his side. this has always been his design, even if you couldn't see it. regardless of any attempts to sever things and run off, even cleanly, this is where you'll end up.

hip-to-hip, with his hand on your lower back. with the promise of pain and pleasure doled out to you in equal measure.

as you step through the doors of the, as expected, upscale hotel, a wave of warm, fragranced air hits you. and with it, some part of you sags, defeated so simply. crushed. you sniffle and rub at your eyes.

(you don't see kaiser smiling at your side. you don't see the way he slips the concierge a wad of bills with the understanding that he'll be given a room far away from others, and that you won't be disturbed.

he has work to do. you— were going to fucking leave him? he— he needs to make sure that you understand that that is not your choice to make.

and, as he sees you, stifling tears and shaking like a leaf, your little act shattered so seamlessly, he thinks you really are starting to get it.)

you are his.

[notlongtolove]

it's dry january

“alcohol makes people say things they shouldn’t.” you hear the faintest tremor in his tone as he swallows hard. “and do things they shouldn’t.” spencer thinks looking at you too long might just undo him altogether.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau out for drinks! very very brief mention of case violence in the first line. flirty bau reader renders spencer a bumbling idiot!

word count: 1.1k

note: some days i stare at 5 open tabs of WIPS and some days i stare at my notes app during an hour long train ride and come up with this. no linked poem bc twas a random idea, happy january everyone! fic is titled after this poem though!

a line: You always leave him scrambling, speechless, completely stupid—He adores you for it.

Nothing prepares you for the aftermath of the kind of week where you find five headless bodies drained of blood. Therapy perhaps? But everyone knows the job doesn’t pay you enough for that. They hardly give you enough time off to begin with. 

For now though, O’Keefe’s, on Rossi’s tab, gets the job done. Well, that and a cigarette of course. Always a cigarette.

You exhale a puff of smoke, the stick balanced carelessly between your fingers. The shuffle of shoes on asphalt behind you doesn’t startle you, and neither does the voice.

“You really shouldn’t be out here alone like this when you’re inebriated.”

You don’t need to look up to know who it belongs to. 

“Needed a smoke,” you say simply, flicking the cigarette. The ash tumbles to the ground. “And Morgan’s on his whole ‘new year, new me’ shit.”

“I give him two weeks,” Spencer grins, stepping toward you. “Emily’s got a pool going.” 

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name. Your eyes catch his briefly as you spin to face him. “Are you seriously betting against our dear coworker’s journey towards self-improvement?”

Spencer tilts his head and shrugs innocently. “I’m just making an educated guess based on statistical probability.”

“And cashing in on it.”

“Well, yes,” he admits. “That’s definitely an added bonus.”

You shake your head, your laugh soft and smoky, as you take another drag. The toe of your heel nudges his shoe when you take a step to close the gap between you. “You’re cute, Reid,” you say, almost intimately. “Y’know that?”

Spencer’s cheeks flush a faint pink. You always do this to him. His usual arsenal of facts and percentages is rendered utterly useless against your charms. You always leave him scrambling, speechless, completely stupid.

He adores you for it. 

“You—uh—you really shouldn’t smoke while drinking. The nicotine accelerates alcohol absorption. Inhibits you faster,” he manages. 

“That's kinda the point, handsome.” You retort, leaning in just enough to make his breath hitch. “S’what makes this fun isn’t it?” 

“Alcohol makes people say things they shouldn’t.” You hear the faintest tremor in his tone as he swallows hard. “And do things they shouldn’t.” Spencer thinks looking at you too long might just undo him altogether. 

He’s granted momentary relief when you turn away to stub out your cigarette on the edge of a nearby trash can. It’s shortlived though, because your hand comes to land on his chest the moment you turn back. When your fingers move to toy absentmindedly with the buttons on his vest, Spencer blanks entirely. 

“Like tell you I think you’re really cute?” you ask, your lashes fluttering in feigned innocence as you gaze up at him.

“Exactly,” he breathes out, a shaky laugh escaping him. “Like that.” His hand moves over yours and for a moment you think it may be to pull it away—He doesn’t. 

“And, uh, it’s a well-known fact that alcohol lowers inhibitions, making people more likely to do things they normally wouldn’t—like talking more or saying things they don’t really mean.”

There’s a glint in your eyes that makes his heart thud painfully against his ribs. Spencer hopes to god you can’t feel it beneath your hand. 

“And who says I don’t mean it?” you counter. Spencer doesn’t answer. He doesn’t think he’s even capable of it, his mouth opening just slightly before closing again.

“I mean, you don’t mind my honesty, do you?” you tease playfully. Then your smirk deepens, just shy of wicked. “Unless… you do?” You start to pull your hand away, but his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, stopping you. “Wha—no—I didn’t say—I mean, I—I don’t mind,” he stammers. 

“See?” Your grin spreads, soft and triumphant. “Cute.” 

At that, you lace your fingers with his, tugging him gently toward the bar. Spencer laughs nervously, already wondering how much of this you’ll remember in the morning. “You uh—You’re pretty cute when you’re drunk,” he says softly. 

Your eyes light up, saccharine delight crossing your face. “Aw! So you think I’m pretty and cute?” you echo, voice dripping with adoration. Spencer can only nod, blush deepening as he lets you lead the way with his hand in yours. 

Back inside, it’s clear the group has moved on from their individual drinks when the waitress sets a pitcher on the table. It fizzes, something green and citrusy that Spencer is grateful to abstain from. 

“About time,” Morgan calls, as you slide into the seat next to him. “What’d you do to get my boy genius all flustered like that, pretty girl?”

Spencer’s ears burn faintly as he takes the seat directly across from you, his hands folding awkwardly on the table. 

You ignore Morgan’s tease entirely, turning your attention to Garcia instead who’s already handing you a full glass.

“Me too!” JJ pipes up, her voice light. Spencer freezes mid-sip of his water, his eyes darting to JJ’s very noticeable baby bump.

“JJ, you can’t—you really shouldn’t—” he splutters, gesturing weakly toward the pitcher. Alarm is written across every inch of his face.

“Relax, Spence.” JJ waves him off amusedly as she reaches to grab a glass from Garcia. “It’s non-alcoholic.”

Spencer blinks, his brain trying to recalibrate. “Non-alcoholic?”

Across the table, Garcia beams like a proud parent. “We’re doing Dry January! No alcohol for the whole month. I proposed the idea to everyone.”

“Proposed isn’t the phrase I’d use,” Emily interjects dryly, leaning back in her chair. 

“Coerced,” Morgan says with a pointed look.

“Borderline threatened,” you add with an exaggerated sigh, swirling the contents of your glass lazily.

JJ, of course, opts for silence, contentedly stirring her drink with a smile. Misery loves company. 

Spencer’s eyes you, his brow furrowing. “All of you?” You lean back in your chair, biting back a grin as you take a deliberate sip from your glass. 

“Well, nearly everyone,” Garcia grumbles, nodding toward the end of the table. Rossi doesn’t miss a beat, raising his glass of scotch. “When hell freezes over,” he declares, taking a swig.

Spencer’s gaze flicks immediately to you now, brazen. “So, you’re not actually—”

“Drunk?” You cut him off, your grin now fully formed as you lean forward. “Oh, definitely not. I’m sober as a judge, gorgeous.”

Spencer’s certain he’s not going to survive this night​​—Not when the way you say gorgeous sends his heart stuttering in his chest. 

Later, when you mutter something about being too sober, Spencer can’t help but think, more than ever, that this is going to be a very long night—But he lets you tug him toward the bar by his tie anyway, smiling like a mumbling, bumbling idiot all the while.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

���★ song recs if you feel like it: dizzy on the countdown by turnover im in love with you by the 1975

[starsofang]

thinking about johnny being completely smitten with an extremely reserved reader <3

johnny was head over heels from the very beginning. he couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened, but maybe it was when you first joined the force. at the initial greeting, he’d struck you with one of his bright smiles, only for a blank canvas to stare in return.

you hadn’t said a word, not a peep, and while others would be turned off by such reclusiveness, he was in awe.

an enigma, you were, and johnny was someone who loved a good puzzle.

you were cold and distant, but not in the way that was cruel and unnerving. you didn’t throw out snarky comments, you didn’t show a single bit of rudeness when somebody’s ticked you off. you weren’t hard headed, nor did you pitch a fight. you were a calm sea with peaceful waves lapping at the shore. a light rain on a dry day, one where in ancient times would’ve been a blessing from the gods. as cold as snow, but the kind that layered the ground in a fresh sheet of white right after a blizzard, painting the earth with powdered beauty.

if anything, you weren’t cold at all. you were just so incredibly awkward that johnny couldn’t help but be smitten by it.

you were that type of awkward where social cues were nearly impossible for you to comprehend. jokes didn’t land quite right whenever somebody made them, and you’d give a blank look to whomever fell victim, added on with a dumb “what?” because you didn’t understand it.

johnny’s been an unfortunate victim on many occasions. he’s always the type to nudge you on the shoulder with a crooked grin as he spilled out whatever joke ghost had told him over comms, only to be met with your complete and utter confusion.

that never stopped him, though. if anything, it made him much more determined to search up more jokes on the screen of a burner phone, reading through every single one and noting them in the back of his mind.

you were also as stone-faced as could be. some theorized you were a robot, others thought you were a demon in disguse. an experiment, placed into 141 as a trial run.

really, expressing yourself just wasn’t your thing.

you felt emotions, sure. plenty of them. you could find the humor in the occasional bar night with the force, amused at the linger of carefree conversation that carried between the men. you just didn’t show it.

it wasn’t something you realized until johnny had made the point of asking you if you ever smiled. thinking back on it, you recalled never directly doing so. you’d do it in your head, but when it came down to it, no, no you didn’t.

johnny was determined when keeping a goal in mind, and found himself ruthlessly running towards that goal of seeing you smile. he was enamored in the thought of seeing the slant of your lips when they curved upwards, in seeing your eyes crinkle and glimmer with delight, and he’d go through every single joke website in order to make it happen.

it took him an approximate year of you being in the force to get it to work.

it was lame, really. hardly one of his best jokes, he’d drunkenly slurred out, “what rank are all cats in the army? corpurrral,” with a tongue roll effect to go with it.

you had burst into laughter, filling the bar air with ringing church bells that he swore made the drunken state of his mind believe he was truly on his way to heaven. the gates had opened, inviting him in. he was levitating, slowly floating his way to the clouds.

your smile was like a breath of air — refreshing. it filled his lungs with such purity that all the cigarettes he’d smoked over the years of being in the force seemingly melted the thick layer of tar away, leaving him clean and refurbished.

it was like a drug, and johnny found himself seeking more out to get another taste, even if it took him another year to do so.

this is lowkey self insert bc this is my personality offline and i think other people who are so painfully awkward with socializing are cute and deserve love. wrote this with no sleep and a dream, silly ramble before i go to bed

i also just really love johnny, goodnight

[moonstruckme]

hi, love! i have a silly request for james or sirius. there are a lot of wonderful fics out there where reader or the love interest confess their feelings when they’re loopy from drinking or being sick and whatnot, but i think it would be quite funny for reader to just, completely sober, get fed up one day by how lovely he is. She confesses but she’s so angry that it doesn’t even register as a confession at first.

Thanks for requesting lovely!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Sirius is braver than you are. You’ve always known it, but you think he likes to remind you by doing things like this, sitting on the edge of his building’s roof with his legs dangling off the edge. You don’t have nearly enough trust in yourself not to lean too far forward and go toppling over, so you’ve got your legs drawn in close to your chest and have situated yourself a few inches back from the edge, watching Sirius as he tempts fate for his lungs as well. 

“I sort of knew he was going to end it tonight,” he says, smoke billowing out from his mouth into the darkness. 

He’s melancholy but trying to hide it, looking off into the distance instead of at you. Your heart aches for him. Sirius likes to pretend that these little rejections don’t phase him, that he’s only dating casually and having fun, but he gets attached quickly; when things don’t work out, he hurts. 

“How did you know?” you ask. 

“He said he wanted to talk over dinner.” 

You wince. “Yeah, that’s never good.” 

“No.” Sirius smiles wryly, the cherry of his cigarette flaring orange as he takes another drag. “But I suppose I can hardly blame him. He wanted something easy, and I’m hardly the easiest person to be around.” He laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “I really make you work for it.” 

“Sirius,” you chide, already exhausted. 

This, unfortunately, isn’t uncommon. Sirius’ heartbreaks, big or small, always come with a horrid bout of self-deprecation hidden under the facade of humor. Even hearing about his dating life isn’t so bad as this; you’re somewhat jealous of the people he finds attractive enough to date, sure, but what you really want, most of all, is for Sirius to be happy. You’re fine with it if someone else is the key to that. But hearing him like this, using jokes to paint himself as worse than he is, is agonizing for you. 

“Don’t say that. It’s not work to be around you.” 

“Oh, but you would say that.” If there’s some bitterness in Sirius’ voice, you know well enough that none of it is for you. He turns to look at you with one eyebrow raised, unable to keep himself from flirting even now. “You’re the sweetest thing on this side of the equator, babe. We can’t expect everyone I go out with to have your saintlike patience.” 

You level him with a stern look despite your heating face. “Stop.” 

“M’just saying,” Sirius goes on, unaffected by your remonstrance, “it’s not like I’m bringing tons to the table.” 

“Don’t say that. You don’t have to bring anything to the table, it’s not an exchange of goods.” 

“But that’s sort of how it starts, isn’t it? And what do I have to offer? Fucked up ideas of intimacy?” 

“You have plenty to offer.” 

“Right. Like a cold, bony shoulder for them to lie their head on.” 

“Sirius—” 

“I’m careless, and impulsive, yet unbearably clingy,” he’s really on a roll now, laughing at himself as he talks and brings his cigarette back to his mouth, “and Evans is always saying I’m arrogant—”

“That’s”

“Plus the anger issues I suppose, and altogether that’s really not—” 

“Oh, would you quit!” Your voice climbs to a shout. Sirius turns to you in surprise, and you snatch the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out on the ground. His eyes follow the movement. 

“My cigarette,” he says bemusedly. 

“Fuck your cigarette!” You’re seething, his words nettling you worse than insults against yourself, and Sirius looks at you like you’re something new and unexpected. Good. Maybe he’ll listen. “You are not difficult to love.” 

“Now, I’m not sure I quite said—”

“No, shut up!” You pin his stare with yours, vehement. “You are smart, and kind, and brave, okay? You are impulsive, but it’s because you’re brave. And you’re not clingy, you just care, Sirius, I—” Your voice grows fraught, and you have to fight past an intrusion in your throat, blinking away some dampness in your eyes. “I don’t want to be a part of your pity party if it’s just going to be you shitting on yourself. You’re a good person, and you’re easy to love, and for those of us that love you, it’s—for all of us, that love you, it’s awful to hear you talk about yourself like you’re not. You’re great to be around. It’s not work.” 

Your voice gets softer at the end, squashed defeatedly under the weight of your emotions. Sirius’ brow pinches. 

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands like he’s surrendering, then like he’s reaching for you. “Message received; I’m the shit.” 

“You are,” you insist tearily. “You can’t say it like you’re joking.” 

A little laugh stutters out of him. “I’m sorry. C’mere, babe.” 

If there was ever a time to hold out on going into Sirius’ arms this would be it, but you’re not sure you’ll ever have that much willpower. He folds you into him with one hand, using the other to brush away the still-hot cigarette butt before pulling you closer. 

“And your shoulders are nice,” you whimper, pushing your cheek into one to prove it. 

Sirius chuckles again. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He rubs tentatively between your shoulder blades. You feel bad that you’d met up tonight so you could comfort him, and somehow you’ve made it the other way around. “You’re too good to me.” 

“I’m not just saying that because I’m good to you.” You pull back from him, wiping under your eyes. “You’re a thousand times better than you say you are.” 

“I…” Sirius’ expression looks somewhere between confused and disbelieving, but there’s a caution there you know enough to be wary of. “Did you mean what you said about loving me?” 

Your heart stutters. “I said all of us that love you.” 

“No, but before that,” he presses. “You said those of us, and then you changed your mind, but it seemed like you were talking about you.” 

You shut your eyes, mortified. “That wasn’t the point.” 

“You did mean it, didn’t you?” Sirius’ voice isn’t gentle or pushy, just full of pure, bald curiosity. He sounds mystified. “You really feel that way about me?” 

“Sirius.” You keep your tone measured. “I realize you’re having a shitty night, but please don’t make fun of me right now—” 

“Hey.” Sirius sounds so genuinely wounded that you open your eyes. Once you look at him, his expression gentles. “Hey, I wouldn’t. I’m just surprised.” 

You give him your best attempt at one of his wry smiles. “Well, you shouldn’t be. I’ve just finished telling you about how lovely you are.” 

He laughs again, a breathy, startled sound. And beyond your humiliation, you can still appreciate the rare privilege of seeing him like this; shocked into his truest, most genuine self. 

“Yeah, but you’re only supposed to tell me nice things to make me feel better,” he says. “You’re not supposed to start believing them.” 

You decide to give him a pass on the self-deprecation, but you shoot him a half-teasing irked look. “Thin ice, Black.” 

“Fair enough.” He’s smiling an awful lot, his real one, pretty and dashing at the same time. It keeps coming back like he can’t hold it at bay. “I’m in love with you, too, you know.” 

Your heart can’t decide whether to be in your throat or your stomach. You feel like you’re choking on air. “Don’t fuck with me.” 

“I’m not fucking with you,” he laughs. 

“You are not in love with me.” 

“I am! And who are you to decide? You don’t get to tell me everything about myself, you know. I can know some things.” 

“But,” you’re shaking your head, bewildered and still looking for the trick, “why haven’t you said something?” 

Sirius shrugs, the first hint of that feigned nonchalance making its return. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. I do make you listen to me whine about all my woes and heartaches, after all. It can’t be very attractive.” He shoots a look at you, sizing you up. “Why haven’t you?” 

You sigh. Your voice comes out quiet. “I was always hearing about all your woes and heartaches. With other people.” 

Sirius makes a low groaning sound, but he nods. “Sort of shot myself in the foot there, I suppose.” He offers you a little smile. “Maybe we both ought to have given ourselves a bit more credit.” 

You rub your lips together, grinning despite yourself. “Maybe so.” 

[finelinefae]

camping [pilot!harry x teacher!yn]

synopsis: It’s the 1950s. Harry and Y/N leave the air base to go on a camping trip in July and their feelings are all over the place.

word count: 13.2k (!?)

contains: friends to lovers, opposites attract, violence, nightmares, flirting, smoking, fluff, smut (breeding kink, size kink, she's on top, cockwarming *if you squint*), forced proximity

this is part 2 of the aviator, you can read part 1 here

. . .

“Leave me alone Harry!” Y/N stormed several paces in front of him, hugging her arms around herself to try and keep herself warm. 

“Birdy, c’mon now, it’s not what y’ think it is.” Harry kept his distance behind her but had been following her home since she stormed off after she’d caught him with her housemate, Nancy. 

“Quit calling me that! And will you stop following me?” She spun round and he immediately froze in his steps. 

“Promised I’d walk y’ home,” He shrugged, “Not gonna let y’ walk home in the dark alone.”

“I’d probably be better off,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms.

“Will y’ let me explain?” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. Y/N opened her mouth to say something but he carried on talking, “I won’t quit following y’ if that’s what y’ gonna say and the view of the back of y’ head is just as pretty as the front so there’s no way y’ gonna stop me. I just… Will you let me explain? Please?” 

Y/N scoffs like she can’t believe what she’s hearing right now. What would it take for him to take a message and leave her be? “You’re not used to hearing the word no are you?” 

“I respect it but doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop trying. God, especially not with you.” Every part of him seemed serious. Y/N’s shoulders dropped and he took it as a sign to continue, “Me and Nancy we have history tha’s for sure,” He started and the words made Y/N’s chest ache, “But we only slept together a couple times before Christmas tha’s all. She came out and found me smoking and I realised she was a ‘lil drunk. I tried to pull her off me but she wasn’t having it, said she saw me outside with y’ and got upset.”

Y/N frowned, unsure of whether to believe him or not, “Listen, I know you’ve heard things about me but-” He dug his heel into the ground and chuckled lightly, “I ain’t ever felt the way I did back there when I kissed y’ Y/N and I’m not jus’ saying that.” 

Y/N felt some of the anger dissipate from her body, replaced by pure frustration. She hadn't come to Offutt to get tangled up in a mess with a man she barely knew, yet here she was. Nancy's revelation about having her sights set on a man hit Y/N like a ton of bricks. If she had known it was Harry, she might never have kissed him in the first place. She hardly knew Harry beyond their brief interactions and the hearsay from her housemates. How could she trust him? Yet, despite her doubts, there was one undeniable truth: the kiss they had shared lingered vividly in her mind. The taste of peppermint and cigarettes still clung to her lips, a tangible reminder of their brief encounter. It was a moment that now intertwined her with him in a way she wasn't expecting.

Y/N huffed, “And what? I’m just meant to believe you now. Take your word for it and run into your arms and kiss you again?”

“That’d be nice, yeah.” Harry smiled, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. 

Y/N shook her head, trying to process everything Harry had just said. Despite her frustration and confusion, there was a part of her that wanted to believe him. She knew deep down that she couldn't deny the chemistry they shared during that kiss, but she also couldn't ignore the uncertainty punching at her gut. 

"Harry, I... I don't know what to think," Y/N admitted, her voice softer now, lacking the edge of anger from before. "I want to trust you, but it's hard after everything that's happened and what’s been said. I-I don’t know you that well is all."

Harry stepped closer, his expression earnest. "I understand, Birdy. And I don't expect you to trust me blindly. But hey maybe we could start as friends, get to know each other better before anything else, if that would make y' comfortable."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, considering his suggestion. The idea of starting as friends seemed more sensible, given the circumstances. "Friends?"

"Yeah, friends," Harry confirmed a hopeful glint in his eyes. "No expectations, just getting to know each other without any pressure."

Y/N nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Alright, I like that idea.” 

Harry grinned, relieved that she seemed to be willing to give him a chance. "Well, you need more of ‘em.”

Y/N’s smile disappeared, “I do not! I have plenty of friends.”

“The girls at the nursery don’t count,” Harry smirks, “And neither does Elise.”

“Whatever,” Y/N muttered, spinning on her heel to continue her journey home. She heard Harry’s footsteps jogging up to meet her and was surprised to feel his jacket being placed over her shoulders. 

Harry put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Y/N’s heart stuttered, “Friends don’t do that you know.” She grumbled, pretending to act grumpy around him in hopes it would hide the fact that she was most definitely swooning inside. 

“Oh? I do it with my friends all the time. Sometimes I kiss them on the lips too, we can try if y’ want-” Y/N looked up at him, glaring, “Alright then, another time.”

Y/N let Harry walk her the remainder of the way home, feeling a little more at peace with the fact she would be welcoming him into her life, even if it was just as friends for now. She hoped it would be enough to get to know him and eventually, she’d trust him enough to allow their relationship to blossom into something more and hopefully sometime soon because when Harry had left her on the doorstep of her house, she knew she’d be dreaming of that kiss every time she looked at him. 

Y/N closed the door as gently as she could, pressing her forehead against the wooden frame. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding before walking into the kitchen where Nancy was standing, “How’d you get home so quickly?” Y/N asked, unable to meet her hard stare.

“Harry must have taken you the long way home.” She shrugged pushing her chair back from the table, the legs of her chair scraping against the tiled ground.

“I-I didn’t know Harry was the guy you were talking about Nancy,” Y/N said truthfully.

“Would it have made any difference?” Nancy asked, a bite to her tone.

Y/N sighed, “All this was never my decision. Harry asked me to the dance, I-I didn't know it was going to be such a big deal.” 

“Harry loves attention from any girl who bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair.” Nancy glared, “You don’t make the exception.” 

Y/N straightened her shoulders, “What if I do?” She wasn’t going to allow herself to be belittled by another woman over a man she had just met.

Nancy snickered, “Are you that entitled?”

“Harry’s smart enough to make his own decisions Nancy and I’m not going to be involved in whatever petty game you think this is. Not only is it up to him to decide who he likes but it’s my decision too and if he’s not with anybody then I can decide whether I should be allowed to get to know him or not.” Y/N declared.

Nancy narrowed her eyes, “I’m not trying to compete with you but I’d be careful if I were you. If you’re planning on standing so close to the fire prepared to get burnt. Those Styles boys have their things going on. Harry hasn't the faintest idea of what to do with a girl outside of the bedroom. I've known him long enough for that.” 

“Maybe you don’t know him that well.” 

“Maybe,” Nancy shrugged, “Maybe you can tell me all about it when you realise he’s not all he says he is.” 

“Why do you want him if you have no faith in him?” Y/N asked.

“I said I had my eye on him, not that I planned on settling down with him. Every girl wants to sleep with him and not only because he’s Offutt’s best pilot, he’s the only man who knows what he’s doing.” Nancy stands from her chair, “I won’t compete but I don’t particularly enjoy being proven wrong.” She moved past her, leaving Y/N standing in the kitchen. 

. . . 

As winter turned to spring and spring into summer, Y/N and Harry's friendship seemed to blossom with the seasons. They had developed a type of bond that neither of them had with anybody else and through it they learnt more about themselves and each other. Ever since the night they began their relationship, there was never a moment where Y/N wasn’t seen with the brunette aviator walking beside her. 

Even Harry’s brothers had come to enjoy Y/N's company. Somehow she had taken on this maternal presence within their family dynamic that none of the siblings had ever really had before. Sonny had taken a particular liking to having Y/N around, enjoying the free time he had now that Y/N would sometimes volunteer to put Elise to bed in the evenings. 

Along with Harry’s brothers, also came Y/N’s housemates Molly and Patsy. She had become good friends with them too in the last few months and now she finally had her own little girl group to hang out with (they’d often include Elise in that group too). 

The group had become their own little, dysfunctional family on Offutt. 

Even though their friendship was meant to be the start of something more, Y/N and Harry hadn’t spoken much about that night at the dance since it had happened. Even with Harry’s flirtatious teasing from time to time, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that something had happened between them like this friendship had created a strange liminal space between them that held so many questions. She loved the current dynamic - the comfort everyone shared, even amidst their occasional bickering. It made her wonder if this was how it was supposed to be, and perhaps Harry thought so too.

However, her feelings for Harry continued to grow stronger with every passing day. She would dream of the kiss they shared and wake up with a strong ache in her chest at the idea that it would never happen again. Every day she tried to coax herself into talking to him about how she felt and every day she’d get distracted or put off by doubts and the voice in the back of her head warning her, telling her enough time had passed that maybe Harry didn’t have feelings for her anymore which is why he never bought them up. 

It was July now and the girls were sitting eating breakfast in the kitchen. Y/N was nibbling on a piece of slightly burnt toast as Molly rambled on about how busy her day was going to be down at the hairdresser with her hair rollers still in her hair. 

Opposite Y/N at the table sat Nancy, who had hardly spoken since waking up. She was dressed to the nines, her hair perfectly curled, and her uniform immaculately pressed. The tension between the two girls lingered from the dance night. It was clear Nancy was prepared to do anything for Harry's attention, even if he didn't see it. While Nancy seemed distant, Y/N tried to keep things friendly, despite the awkwardness between them. They had to live with each other after all. 

Y/N had seen Nancy and Harry alone together a few times and even if it filled her with an insatiable amount of jealousy, she wouldn’t allow herself to get involved with whatever went on between them. This wasn’t a competition she was taking part in, her feelings were her own and so were Nancy's. What mattered was her own relationship with Harry because it had slowly become the most important thing in her life. 

The front door burst open, Sonny’s voice boomed down the hallway, “Good morning ladies!” 

“Is anyone ever going to teach those boys how to knock?” Molly grumbled, standing from the table to lean against the kitchen counter, “I oughta start locking that front door before I go to bed.”

Y/N looked down to hide her smile as three grown men, dressed in overalls and white t-shirts walked into the room, one of them holding the small toddler in his arms. “Give me the baby!” Patsy launched from her chair and reached for Elise, smothering the girl in kisses. 

“Can I have a turn, Patsy?” Sonny asked, batting his eyelashes playfully. 

“You wish,” Patsy glared. 

“Morning Nancy,” George grinned, only to receive a curt nod in return, “Good morning George, y’ sure are looking mighty fine in tha’ uniform of yours,”  George remarked, his voice slightly mocking, delivered in a high pitch to tease her. 

Nancy stood from her seat, glaring up at the tall brother in front of her, “Good morning George, do you mind getting out of my way? I’ve got work to do, unlike some people.” 

“How could y’ say that? I’m always working,” He argued.

“Cigarettes and arm wrestling during work hours do not count as working.” Nancy picked her bag up from under her chair. 

“Know y’ like watching though darlin’.” He smirked and Nancy scoffed, shoving past him and leaving the house. 

“Y’ oughta be careful with that one George,” Molly smirked, taking out a cigarette and offering one to him.

“She’s all good,” He shrugged, his eyes on the seat Nancy had been sitting in.

Y/N’s smile dropped when someone snatched the piece of toast she was eating from her hand. She looked up and was met with green eyes looking down at her, a lazy grin on the face she saw every day, “Hi birdy,” His voice was always deeper than usual in the mornings 

“Hi Harry,” Y/N grinned. 

He grabbed the empty chair that Nancy had been sitting in and lifted it from the tiled floor to sit next to her. His eyes flitted around her face, and the corner of his lips turned upwards, “You’ve got jam-” He reached his thumb out and wiped away the jam from the corner of her lips. Y/N’s cheeks tinged pink, “There y’ go.”

“Thanks,” Y/N murmured, looking away from his intense gaze. 

“No problem,” He smirked, “Y’ look beautiful by the way.”

Harry said the same thing almost every morning and Y/N never failed to blush whenever he told her the compliment. “I only woke up thirty minutes ago, I haven’t even run a brush through my hair.”

“And you still look beautiful. It’s unfair birdy, truly it is.” He sighed, shaking his head dramatically.

Y/N giggled, “You’re such an idiot.” 

“So what brings you boys here so early? Ran out of food back home?” Molly asked, reaching for Elise since apparently, it was her time to hold her. 

“We’re going off base with some of the guys later to the town to buy camping gear for the trip,” Sonny explained, taking a sip of black coffee from Patsy’s mug. 

“What happened to the stuff from last year?” Molly quirked a brow, “It was perfectly fine when we left it.”

Harry reached for Y/N’s hand and mindlessly played with her fingers as people spoke. George shrugs, “There’s more of us going this year so either way we need more tents.”

"What are you talking about?" She asked, turning to Harry for an explanation.

All eyes turned to her, then to Harry, their expressions puzzled. George's frown deepened. "You never told her?"

Y/N's gaze remained fixed on Harry, waiting for his response as he dropped her hand onto his lap.

"Every year on the last week of July, a huge group of us go camping down at Harpers Lake," Sonny explained. "It's a five-hour hike, and we camp out for two nights. We're all going this year, and we thought Harry over there already told you about it, but clearly he didn't."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly. "I thought Molly would have told you," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

Y/N's eyes darted around at everyone's faces as they looked at her expectantly, "I-I don't know if I'll get time off at the nursery," Y/N stuttered, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over her.

"Hey, I'm sure someone'll cover for you," Harry reassured her with a shrug. "If you don't go, I won't go either."

"Harry," she huffed, unable to resist the warmth in his eyes. "What about Elise? Who will take care of her?"

"Elise is coming, of course," Sonny piped in. "You think the Styles go anywhere without each other?"

Y/N glanced at Harry, her heart softening at his earnest expression. He gently picked up her hand again, squeezing her fingers lightly as if to persuade her to come with them. Harry's gaze held hers, his voice soft but determined. "If you’re worried about skipping work, it’ll be fine. We'll figure that out together, Birdy. I promise."

“I hate camping,” Y/N confessed, the corner of his lips quirking.

“But y’ haven’t camped with me yet.” He smirked as if doing anything with him was the solution to everything. 

Y/N’s shoulders sagged, “Okay, fine.” She relented, falling into their persuasion. Though the idea of camping was her worst nightmare, being with Harry off-base seemed to make it bearable. 

Eventually, everyone left to start their day of work. Y/N took Elise into her arms and made her way down to the nursery, “Y/N!” Harry called, she turned and saw him running up to them from down the road. “Y’ not mad at me are you?” 

Y/N frowned, “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Y’ know,” He stood straight, scratching the back of his neck, something he always did when he was nervous or about to say something sincere, “Because I didn’t tell you about the camping trip. I was meant to but every time I’m with y’ all the things I plan to say just seem to slip from my mind.” 

Y/N’s face softens, “No I’m not mad at you Harry. I mean, I wish I could have found out sooner, but if you say it’ll be fine, I’ll believe you.”

Harry grinned, a dimple carving into his cheek, “Y’ believe me huh?” He took a step forward until he stood directly in front of her. 

Y/N’s heart stuttered at the proximity, “Y-yeah, I do.” She murmurs. 

Harry’s hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “Y’ might be the only one.” He whispers his breath minty from the gum he was chewing on. 

His eyes darted to her lips and then back up again. Even though they were outside, Y/N felt the oxygen slipping from the space around her until a tiny, chubby hand swatted Harry’s face out of the way, “No!” Elise yells and starts to ramble. 

Harry’s expression shifted, his features softening with amusement. He grabs Elise’s hand and starts pressing kisses to the inside of her palm, “What do y’ mean no? Y’ don’t like it when I speak to my best friend? ‘S that because you’re my best friend Elise?” Harry teases, pretending to bite her small hand. 

Y/N giggles, “It seems I’m always competing with somebody for your attention.” She jokes but Harry’s smile falters.

“Y’ don’t need to do that,” He murmurs, “Y’ too special to me to do that.” 

Elise carried on rambling as Y/N remained silent, surprised by Harry’s words. That classic, flirtatious grin reappeared once more on Harry's face as he pressed a quick kiss to Elise’s cheek and then Y/N’s too, “I’ll see you later, baby girl.” He said to Elise. 

He walked backwards, eyes fixed on Y/N, “I’ll see both my best girl’s later!” He winked and then turned around. 

“Your brother is stupid,” Y/N said to Elise. 

“Ha, Ha!” Elise pointed at her brother who disappeared around the corner, calling him the name she always called him since she couldn’t say his full name properly yet. 

“Ha Ha indeed,” Y/N sighed, making her way to the nursery. 

. . .

The camping trip had been a tradition in Offutt for the last ten years or so. Harry had been with his brothers ever since he had come to Offutt. He mostly enjoyed it for the fact that he got to spend time away from the Air Base. He didn’t do very much other than smoke cigarettes and maybe sleep with one or two people if he felt like it. 

This time though felt different. Harry had never been this excited about a camping trip before, especially not with Y/N. It had been ages since he anticipated anything, but the thought of spending two entire nights with the girl who had completely transformed his life was exhilarating enough to have him willingly sleeping in a tent out in the wilderness.

They were into the final hour of the hike to Harper’s Lake. The sun was beating down on their faces and Y/N and Harry were way behind the rest of the group. Y/N had been huffing and puffing ever since the halfway point of the trail. It had kept Harry rather amused during what was often a long and boring walk.

Harry walked in front wearing a white vest and cargo trousers, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips and a silver dog tag around his neck. Y/N was walking behind him, beating bushes with a big stick as she walked by them. 

“Y’ keep beating up those bushes back there darling and they’ll start shouting back to y’.” Harry smiled to himself as he heard her mumbles. “You dawdling back there?”

“No,” Y/N snaps, “I do not dawdle thank you.” Her feet were slipping. She didn’t have decent shoes to wear and Harry had already had to stop twice to put bandages on both her knees which was probably why they were so behind from the rest of the group.

“Why couldn’t we just fly? You’re a pilot Harry, can’t you go get us a plane?” 

“Y’ want me to get a military plane to fly us to a lake so that y’ don’t have to get all hot and bothered 'cause you’re walking, is that right birdy?” Harry holds back a laugh.

“Well, I don’t see the point in flying planes if you’re not gonna use them.” She mumbles.

Harry stops and turns around to look at her. She’s wearing a shirt that’s too big for her and shorts on her small legs. He let her borrow his flight cap so she didn’t get sunburnt but it was too big for her head so it covered her eyes. “Are y’ asking for a lift up the hill?” 

Y/N fell silent, her gaze drifting past him to the peak of the hill. She nodded quietly. Harry chuckled, dropping his bag to the ground. Turning around, he squatted and gestured behind him, arms outstretched. "Hop on, birdy."

“Are you sure? What if I'm too heavy.” Y/N says.

“I’m only offering once so I’d make the most of it if I were you.” He teased and waited for her to jump on his back.

He heard her feet tread along the ground before stopping behind him. She put her body weight onto him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, “Y’ won’t drop me, will you? Because it’s not gonna be funny if you do.”

“Never,” he promised, lifting himself off the ground. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist and he picked up his bag off the floor. “How’s the view up there birdy?”

“Pretty,” she said, her lips close to his ear.

“I bet,” he said to himself before tracking up the hill.

The lake glimmered in the sunlight, surrounded by birch and willow trees. Y/N had never seen something so beautiful before as she looked over Harry’s head to see where they’d be staying the next few nights. Her feet hit the floor as Harry released her from his grip. There were around thirty people from the base who had come along on the trip and were already deciding where they were going to set up their camping spots. 

Y/N glanced around to spot her friends only to find them already bickering with each other in a shaded spot away from everyone else. Patsy and Molly were sharing a tent, while Sonny and George were setting up theirs with Elise. Harry had his own tent, and Y/N had bought a separate one as well. “Hey Patsy, have you seen my tent?” Y/N glanced around the floor where everyone had thrown their bags. 

“No, I thought you would have taken it.” Patsy shrugged.

“Me too,” Y/N huffed, looking through her backpack to see if she had packed the small tent she had bought. 

“Have you lost it?” Molly asked. Y/N frantically shoved some of the bags out of the way, hoping to spot it somewhere, until the realisation hit her like a ton of bricks.

It was sitting on the couch in the living room of her house, five hours away from where they were camping.

“You left it at home?” Sonny burst out laughing, Y/N’s cheeks flushing red. 

“It’s not funny Sonny,” Patsy whacked him on the shoulder, “Where’s she meant to sleep?"

“With me.” A voice spoke, and Y/N turned around to see Harry standing with aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. 

“W-what?” Y/N stuttered as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. 

“Well unless y’ wanna sleep with Elise, Birdy, the only other option is with me.” He shrugs as if it was no big deal that he was offering her to sleep in his one-man tent. 

“I-I can sleep with Elise,” She noticed how no one was saying anything or coming up with other ideas for her sleeping arrangement. She could have sworn she saw her two housemates giggling in the corner of her eye.

"And I could sleep with Elise too, but you know why I don’t?" Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "It's because all three of my siblings seem to have inherited a gene that I missed out on. Trust me, Birdy, you don’t wanna sleep in a tent with a snoring swing band the whole night."

Harry reached out and gently tugged her hand, “We’ve slept in the same room before.”

“Yeah but you slept on the floor,” She crossed her arms, trying to think of any other way she could sleep without having to share a small space with the guy she had feelings for. Y/N glanced around at her friends who immediately went about fixing their own tents as if they hadn’t stopped to watch the whole ordeal. She sighed, “Fine.”

Y/N brushed past Harry. He quickly snatched off his hat she was wearing and placed it on his own head, grinning, “It’ll be fun,” 

By the time they had set up the tent, it had dawned on Y/N exactly what she had agreed to. The tent was barely large enough for one person, let alone two, and with Harry's muscular frame, she couldn't fathom how they were meant to sleep without being practically on top of each other.

As Y/N unravelled her sleeping bag, Harry’s head peaked through the entrance, “A few of us are borrowing bikes to head to the nearest gas station to buy things for the barbecue if y’ wanna come.” 

Y/N nodded, “Just give me a second and I’ll be right out.” He nodded and paused as though he wanted to say something else before shaking his head and leaving. Y/N released a sigh and pushed back her hair wondering how she even got into this mess in the first place.

Harry was standing by two bikes, holding Elise in his arms, “A few of ‘em already went ahead.” 

“I didn’t know Elise was gonna be here,” Y/N cooed and pinched the two-year-old's chubby cheek. Harry’s eyes warmed before he placed her in the basket of his bicycle. “Is that safe?” Y/N frowned. 

“Course it is,” He shrugged. 

Soon they were riding side by side with Elise squealing in the basket of Harry’s bike, her small fingers gripping onto the front of the basket as the wind blew through her hair. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much as she watched the two year old laugh and scream with excitement. 

Eventually they pulled over into the gas station. Y/N held Elise as Harry grabbed the things they needed for the barbecue, “Do y’ wanna ice cream Elise?” Y/N gasped, taking her to the freezer to pick out an ice cream.

Elise squealed and babbled incoherently as she picked the most colourful ice pop in the whole freezer. Y/N picked out two for herself and Harry to have since it was so hot out and they still needed to ride back to the campsite again.

They sat under a grouping of trees, Elise inbetween Harry’s legs as he helped her eat her ice pop. He’d have to wipe her chin every now and then with how sloppy she was when eating, “There y’ go baby girl, that ice pop ain’t going anywhere,” Harry chuckled as Elise gripped the ice pop in two hands. 

Y/N smiled to herself as she watched the two of them interact, Elise’s adorable antics continuing to amuse them both. She couldn’t help but think about how strangely normal this all felt. Despite the little time they had known the Styles’ siblings, it felt like they had known each other for much longer. The ease with which they connected, the laughter shared between them—it all felt so natural, as if they were meant to be together in that moment.

Harry’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s face with a hint of a smile on his lips, “What’s going on in that head of yours Birdy?”

Y/N smiled, “Nothing, I’m just happy.”

Harry looked surprised, “Y’ are?” 

“Yeah,” She nodded, “I am. Are you?”

Harry thought for a moment, “Yeah Birdy,” He grinned, dimples popping, “I am.” 

Their exchanged smiles lingered for a moment longer before Harry stood up, “We should probably start heading back before the sun goes down.”

“Yeah,” Y/N sighs, she could have stayed right there in that moment for a little longer but she knew they needed to get back to feed the others. 

They picked up their bikes off the floor and began their journey back, stealing glances at each other when the other one wasn’t looking. Y/N’s heart fluttered everytime he caught her eye and looked away bashfully. 

After eating and staying out to talk to her friends, Y/N was already ready for bed and wrapped up in her sleeping bag. She was wearing her pyjamas and an eye mask on top of her head. She wanted to make sure she was the first person in the tent so that she could be the first one to claim her space. 

She tried to relax but her heart was racing when she heard Harry’s voice from outside as he said goodnight to his little sister in the tent next door. Y/N randomly picked up a book she had bought with her and pretended to read as the entrance to the tent lifted open and Harry crawled in. 

He was in nothing but a pair of shorts, his tattooed torso completely bare, “Normally I’d wear less than this but since the lady’s present,” He smirked. 

Y/N scoffed, “How kind,” 

There was nothing but the rustling of his sleeping bag as he crawled into the tight spot next to him. Y/N’s eyes widened when she felt his arm right next to hers as they lay side by side in such close proximity. She immediately sat up, looking down at his relaxed state, “What?” He frowned.

“Can’t you move over a little?” She huffed, even though they both knew there wasn’t exactly anywhere to move. 

His head turned, “Where exactly?”

“I-I don’t know!” She exclaimed.

Harry smiled as though he were amused by her franticness, “Oh c’mon Birdy, I don’t bite. I mean I may get a little bit touchy in the night but that’s no fault of my own.” 

“Harry,” She sighed. 

His expression faltered. "Fine," he muttered. Reaching beside him, he retrieved the blanket he had stowed away. Sitting up, he rolled it up and placed it between them. Y/N settled back down, the blanket now forming a barrier between them. Though it sacrificed some space, she found herself feeling a bit more at ease with the added distance.

“Thank you,” She sighed. 

“Mhm,” Harry huffed. 

A silence settled between them. Y/N, exhausted from the hike, found herself unable to drift off to sleep quickly. Her mind raced as she listened to the man beside her breathing softly. "Y' trust me, don't you, birdy?" he whispered into the darkness.

She thought for a moment, “More than I did before.” 

“But not completely?” Harry’s voice seemed sad, almost defeated. 

She said nothing, wondering what she could say. Of course she trusted him, he had been nothing but good to her these last few months and proved to her he wasn’t what most people said he was. Even if he was a flirt and enjoyed attention from time to time, he was loyal to the people he held close in his life and she adored that about him. 

“You’re getting there,” She whispered but the truth was he was already there. She just didn’t know if she trusted herself. 

Y/N woke up in the middle of the night when she felt something jolt next to her. Groggy and disoriented, she blinked in the darkness, trying to make sense of her surroundings. As her eyes adjusted, she realised that Harry was stirring restlessly, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“H-Harry?” Y/N sat up, the sleeping bag falling to her waist. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm to shake him, “Harry wake up,” She urged, voice laced with concern. 

She noticed how he had begun to shiver, his arm covered in goosebumps. Y/N reached to put her hand gently against his forehead and hoped that her touch would provide some warmth to his shivering body. “Harry, you’re dreaming, it’s just a dream.” She tried to coax him out of his sleep without scaring him more than he already was. 

Harry's eyes snapped open, wide with fear as he gasped for breath. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, and Y/N could see the remnants of tears glistening in his eyes.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Y/N murmured soothingly, her heart aching at the sight of Harry's distress, “You just had a nightmare that’s all.”

Harry's breathing gradually slowed as he focused on Y/N's voice, the warmth of her presence calming whatever dark thing that lurked inside of him. With a shaky exhale, his head fell, “Fuck,” He hissed, “Did I wake y’ up?” He looked up at her, his eyes tired and sad. Y/N warily nodded her head, “M sorry, M so sorry.”

“Hey, Harry, it's fine. It’s okay.” She reached out to wrap her arms around his shoulders, she could feel a thin layer of cold sweat on his back as her palm pressed against his shoulder. 

Harry took the opportunity to bury his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the floral scent of her perfume as if it would be enough to bring him back from whatever memory he was trapped in. Y/N wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as she whispered words of reassurance. She gently stroked his hair, feeling the tension slowly melt away from his body.

“It was real,” Harry whispered. 

“W-what?” Y/N pulled away, still holding him.

“M-my old man left me out in the cold one night when I tried to stop him from hurting my Mama. He kicked me out in the backyard and locked the door behind him like I was some old dog.” He spat the words out, full of anger. 

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears, “He hurt you?”

Harry exhaled shakily, as though he was trying not to cry, “Y-yeah he did Birdy, real bad.” The way he said it made Y/N believe it wasn’t the only time his father had hurt him. 

Y/N swallowed back her tears, her throat burning. She held his face in her hands and forced him to look right at her, “Y’ might have to be big and brave for your brothers and Elise but y’ can be whatever you want with me.” She murmured, “I won’t let anything hurt you, Harry.”

His eyes softened, something flashed in them as Y/N moved her face closer to kiss his cheek, tasting the saltiness of his dried tears. “God where have y’ been all my life birdy?” He whispered, their lips inches apart. 

“It doesn’t matter,” She shook her head, “I’m here now.” 

Y/N made space for Harry to lay back down, but he couldn't seem to let go of her. She noticed how he held onto her hand whenever she tried to move away. So, she removed the rolled-up blanket between them and unzipped the tops of both of their sleeping bags. Once they were lying next to each other, she placed the blanket on top of them for extra warmth.

Harry’s arms reached out for her and he didn’t even ask before he was holding her close to his chest. She could hear the beating of his heart as her ear pressed against it. “Y’ not afraid are you?” She asked, peering up at him to see his eyes closed gently. 

“No, that's just how it goes whenever I’m around you. Y’ get used to it after a while, don’t worry.” He murmured. 

Y/N’s heart seemed to pick up pace until it matched his own, “Okay.” She whispered and fell asleep in his arms. 

The next morning, Y/N awoke in the embrace of Harry who was still fast asleep. She thought back to last night and how she had never seen him so afraid before. She pressed a kiss to his cheek when she sat up and tried to leave the tent without making much of a noise. 

She reached for her sweater and pulled it over her torso so she wouldn’t get cold from the morning air. “Good morning sunshine!” Molly grinned, “How’d your first night with the pilot go?”

Patsy giggled, “Yeah how’d it go?”

Y/N bit back a smile, “It was nothing like that and you know it.” She said but they weren’t accepting it as an answer. 

George smirked, “I better not wake up an uncle by tomorrow morning.”

Y/N’s mouth gaped open, she hit him on the arm playfully and grabbed a carton of orange juice from the crate, “I’m two months older than you so I’d be careful!” She glared. 

“Ha! Ha!” Elise grinned, her mouth covered in yogurt as she stood and stumbled over to Y/N’s tent. 

"Good morning, baby girl," Harry's raspy voice greeted, a hint of strain evident as he lifted Elise into his arms, “Y’ sure are a little mess, madam.” He chuckled. 

Y/N tried to resist the urge to look at him as everyone greeted him with a good morning. She settled into one of the camping chairs, folding her legs beneath her, but soon a shadow loomed over her, blocking the sun, “Good morning Birdy,” His voice was deep and raspy. 

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, “Morning Harry.”

“Where’d y’ go? Left me cold in tha’ tent this morning y’ know?” Multiple snorts came from the group around them. 

“I-I was-” She didn’t know what to say and she was pretty sure her face was the colour of a tomato.

“Wake me up next time, yeah?” He smirks, leaving her to grab some of the coffee Molly had made.

“Oh, so there’s a next time huh?” George winked. 

Y/N cleared her throat, feeling flustered from the interaction. "So, what's everyone doing today?" She attempted to change the subject, wondering if there would ever be a moment on this trip where she wouldn't be embarrassed by something she wasn’t expecting. 

. . .

Y/N didn’t see Harry for the rest of the morning as the girls got ready to go swim in the lake for the afternoon. Due to the tent mishap, Y/N was worried she’d forgotten her bathing suit as well but luckily found it at the bottom of her bag. 

Molly was already in a blue, plaid halter one-piece that tied around her neck and Patsy was wearing a yellow one with a bow on the front. Y/N stepped out of the tent after getting changed, “Oh no, you can’t wear that.” Molly was the first to comment. 

Y/N frowned, looking down at her plain black and white striped swimsuit, “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” Molly pulled the cigarette from her lips, “Honey y’ look like a crosswalk in upstate New York.” Patsy snorted.

“It’s not that bad,” She huffed, reaching for the suntan lotion only for Molly to snatch it from her grasp. 

“Honey, this trip isn’t just a relaxing break for our pilots - it’s also the chance for us ladies to get a little something out of it. Think about it, all those men do is work and all we do is sit around waiting for some excitement. Y’ think Patsy and I want to camp in tents? Y’ think we want to hike up hills? No of course not, most of the ladies here come because they want a little fun. They want to flirt and be romanced by a pilot who we might never see again.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, “Really?”

“Really,” Patsy nodded. 

Molly brushed past her and walked to her tent to pull out something from her bag, “Y’ lucky I’m an overpacker.” She unfolded the material and held up a red, polka dot swimsuit with a sweetheart neckline and a scoop back. 

“I can’t wear that!” Y/N almost gasped, she couldn’t help but look around to see if anyone saw.

Molly rolled her eyes, “You don’t think we’ve all seen you with Harry? He’s head over heels for you! Put this on and I guarantee you’ll be thanking yourself for forgetting that tent.” 

Y/N hesitated, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. The thought of Harry's reaction to seeing her in such a swimsuit sent a flutter of anticipation through her stomach. With a playful roll of her eyes, she took the swimsuit from Molly's outstretched hand. "Fine, but only because you're relentless."

Harry was already by the lake with his brothers and some of the other pilots working on Offutt. He was lying on a towel with his sunglasses on and swimming trunks hanging on his hips, smoking a cigarette. “Oh shit, I didn’t know Nancy was coming on this trip,” George said, taking a swig of his glass bottled beer as he sat down. Nancy was sitting with a group of friends, lounging on the dock, “She sure is something in that swimsuit, H. Would y’ look at her- pure sunlight she is.” 

Harry chuckled, “Yeah, sunlight, sure. Think you’ve had one too many of those beers George. Why don’t y’ go over and talk to her?”

“Are you kidding me? She spews venom every time I try to talk to her.” George says, “And she likes you more anyway. I don’t know why though, everybody knows you’re with Y/N.”

Harry’s ears perk at the mention of her name, “What are you talking about? We’re not together.”

“Uhuh, keep talking and your nose will get bigger than it already is,” 

Harry sits up to lightly hit his brother but he pauses when he sees his mouth drop open, “What are you staring at?” Harry turns around, following George’s gaze.

That's when he notices Molly and Patsy approaching, both clad in their swimsuits. Yet, it's not them who have captured the attention of not only George but seemingly everyone else as well. Y/N walks in between them in a swimsuit that reveals the soft skin of her thighs and the curve of her breasts from the low neckline. Her hair is pinned up and tied with a red ribbon, her smile so bright it overtook the light from the sun.

Harry felt a rush of breathlessness as he removed his sunglasses, unable to tear his gaze away from Y/N. "Have mercy," he muttered to himself, rising from the ground and striding over to the girls, with Sonny and George trailing behind him. 

The girls laid their towels out on the ground as the boys were walking over, “Looking swell Patsy,” Sonny’s eyes were fixed on her cleavage.

“My eyes are up here Sonny,” Patsy spoke, monotonously. 

Harry ignored everyone else as he stepped in front of Y/N. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him. He felt his cock stir in his swim shorts as she licked her bottom lip, sending a jolt of heat through him. Harry knew he needed to get a grip on himself before things got out of hand. 

He glanced around and noticed eyes staring at the girl in front of him, “Hi Birdy,” 

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “H-Hi Harry,” She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Are you saving this swimsuit for someone or?” He smirked, wanting to get a rise out of her. He liked seeing her cheeks turn red whenever he attempted to flirt with her. 

“M-Molly and Patsy wanted me to wear it. I wasn’t sure at first but they thought it looked good. I feel like it’s a little too much, what do you think? Do you think it’s too much?” Harry’s eyes softened as she rambled nervously to him. 

Sensing her self-consciousness, he put her at ease by saying, “Y’ look beautiful Y/N,” 

She took a deep breath, “Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure about anything in my life,” He murmured, reaching his hand out to hold her own. Y/N offers a shy smile. 

“I don’t know about you all but I’m just about melting from how hot it is. Are any of you going in the water?” Molly asked, receiving a nodding of heads in response. 

“What do y’ say we go for a swim huh?” He smirks. 

Y/N suddenly gets all embarrassed again, “H-Harry, I need to tell you something,”

“What’s wrong?” He was immediately concerned. 

“The thing is, I don’t know how to swim all that well.” She confessed, “We don’t have anything like this back home so I never really got the chance to learn.”

Harry snickered, “How’s about I teach y’ hmm?” 

She purses her lips and then nods, “Okay Harry.” 

They walk hand in hand to the dock. Harry notices Nancy’s glare as they walk past her and gives Y/N’s hand a small squeeze in assurance. He’s first to jump in the water, submerging underneath and swimming up to the surface. 

Y/N stood on the edge of the dock with her toes hanging over the edge, “Oh I’m not so sure about this Harry,” She said, uncertain as she realised how deep the water was. 

“It’s alright darling, I’m right here,” He holds his arms out, ready for her to leap right into them, “I’ll catch you before your head even goes underwater, wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty hair now would I?”

“No,” She says and he knows she wasn’t paying attention to anything he was saying, too busy worrying about jumping in.

“M right here Y/N, you can do it. Get in the water darling, c’mon.” He coaxes her and thinks she’s about to do it but she hesitates. 

“I can’t! I really can’t Harry.” Y/N shakes her head. 

“C’mon Y/N, you can do it!” Molly and Patsy cheer for her, already swimming in the lake with Elise in their arms. 

“Alright Birdy, on the count of three,” Harry’s smiling even though he knows it’s hard for her. “One…”

“I can’t!” She bends her knees slightly. 

“Two…” He shouts, people clapping and cheering now. 

“Harry seriously!” She giggles, her eyes squeezing shut. 

“Three!” 

“I can’t do it,”

“Birdy get in the water!” He yells and then laughs because she’s laughing too at her own silliness, “I’m sorry daring, will you please get in the water.”

Y/N closes her eyes, bends her legs and screams, using one foot to leap into the water. Harry’s already there waiting to catch her and drag her up. It’s almost instinctive as he grabs her hips and feels her legs wrap around his waist beneath the water. Her head emerged and she quickly wrapped both her arms around his neck. “That’s m’ girl,” He cheered, everyone joining in as Y/N emerged with a smile. 

“It’s cold,” She laughed, water coming out her nose. 

“It’s not so bad,” Their faces were close, if he moved any closer he’d almost be kissing her. 

“Are you gonna teach me how to swim now?” Y/N asked, her teeth biting her bottom lip. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, grinning, “I kinda like having y’ like this.”

Y/N splashed him with water, “What if I drown?”

“I won’t let you,” He said as though it were a matter of fact.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “But what if I’m eighty and you can’t swim anymore but I wanna swim instead.”

He knew she was being silly but he liked the fact that she considered him to be a part of her life for that long. A spark of hope flashed within him, “I’ll probably just swim with y’ anyway. I mean it would be a sight to see Birdy but wherever you go I go.”

Y/N huffed, “Fine if you won’t teach me to swim, you’ll just have to carry me around in the water.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Harry joked, “Where to first Birdy?”

She pointed to her two friends who were keeping Elise entertained in the water and Harry grinned, understanding her silent request. With a playful twinkle in his eye, he scooped Y/N up into his arms and waded into the water towards Molly and Patsy, Elise's delighted squeals echoing around them.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the lake, they reluctantly made their way back to shore after spending the whole afternoon swimming. As it was the last night, people had been preparing for a bonfire - a tradition created to commemorate the end of the trip. Sonny and George were already sitting with Nancy’s group of friends as they waited for the bonfire to be lit, the other’s going to join them. 

Elise was napping in Patsy’s arms as they sat together, wrapped in towels and talking. Harry pulled Y/N down to sit next to him on one of the logs, pulling her into his side. He noticed she was shivering as the air turned cooler and silently reached for the sweatshirt he had brought with him to pull over her head. She thanked him quietly in return. 

Eventually, the evening air was filled with the scent of woodsmoke and the sound of laughter as they settled in for a cosy night by the fire. Someone pulled out a guitar, and soon the sound of music filled the air, blending with the sounds of voices and the crackling of the flames. 

Harry excused himself from Y/N's side for a moment to join his brothers and friends for a smoke. Despite the distance, he couldn't help but steal glances at her now and then, his heart warming at the sight of her. Each time she took over from Patsy in looking after Elise as she slept, a sense of peace settled within him.

It had always worried Harry that Elise wouldn’t have another woman in her life to provide the things she needed that Harry and his brothers knew nothing about. There was something profoundly comforting about seeing Y/N with his baby sister. It wasn't just the way she cradled Elise with such care, or the gentle sway of her movements as she rocked the sleeping girl. It was the way Elise seemed to instinctively trust her, snuggling closer to Y/N as if she sensed the warmth and safety she provided.

Harry turned his back on her momentarily to extinguish his cigarette in the dirt. But when he faced his friend again, his attention was drawn to someone approaching the girls. It was a man he recognized, someone Nancy and her friends had been conversing with for most of the day. He observed as Y/N smiled, but he could sense her discomfort as she subtly retreated while he continuously tried to get closer to her.

Harry began to slowly walk towards them until he could make sense of some of what the stranger was saying. The closer he got, the clearer it became that the man's words were laced with suggestive undertones, and Harry's protective instincts surged to the forefront. 

As he approached, he caught Y/N's eye, and he could see the silent plea for help in her gaze. “Hey fella, I think you’ve had enough,” Harry said, his tone firm as he confronted the guy. 

The thug sneered at Harry, clearly not appreciating the interference. "Mind your own business, pretty boy. The lady seems to be enjoying my company just fine," he retorted, a smug grin on his face.

Harry’s jaw clenched, “I don’t wanna have to ask y’ again to leave her alone.” He warned, his voice laced with a steely edge.

The man stood up and Harry tried to keep calm when he saw the frightened look in Y/N’s eyes. He wasn’t going to fight in front of her and he wasn’t going to wake his sister who was now in Molly’s arms. Although Molly, as though sensing there was going to be a fight, backed away and bought Elise somewhere away from the campfire. 

Harry looked behind the man who was a few inches shorter than him, “Was he bothering y’ birdy?” He pointed at the thug who was trying to intimidate her.

“H-Harry-” Y/N stood and tried to reach for him but he held up a hand to stop her. 

People were watching, the noise had quietened down as a thick tension fell over the camp, “I just wanted to talk to the pretty bitch over here. You know she was asking for it the way she was wearing that swimsuit all day.” The sick thug chuckled. 

“You think that’s funny huh?” Harry faked a smile, stepping forward until he was right up close to the man, “Y’ know, my old man told me that when a guy makes comments like that to a young lady, it means something.” 

“Oh yeah? What does it mean?” The thug spoke, as though he was in on some kind of joke Harry was making. 

Harry’s jaw tightened as he muttered, “Their cock’s too small to find.” With a swift movement, he clenched his fist and swung, the impact landing squarely on the man's jaw. The thug stumbled back, stunned by the force of the blow, and Harry wasted no time in delivering another punch, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Harry!” Y/N gasped as Patsy screamed in shock. 

People gathered around to watch as the two men delivered punch after punch at each other. Y/N’s eyes welled with tears as she watched Harry get hit repeatedly, his entire face covered in blood. 

“George!” Y/N ran over to him, “Y’ gotta stop it,”

“What am I meant to do? That guy’s huge!” George exclaimed although he also looked worried for his older brother. 

“Please,” Y/N begged, “He’ll kill him.”

George hesitated for a moment, torn between the instinct to protect his brother and the fear of intervening in the dangerous fight. But the sight of Harry, bloodied and battered, spurred him into action.

"Sonny, help me!" George called out to his younger brother, who immediately rushed to his side. Together, they managed to pull Harry off of the thug he was punching, their combined strength enough to separate Harry from him.

Breathing heavily, Harry glared at the man lying on the ground, spitting out blood from his mouth as he did, before turning to face Y/N. Despite the pain etched on his face, his eyes softened as he reached out to her. "I'm okay," he assured her, his voice hoarse.

“Y-you’re hurt,” She was in shock, unable to believe this was real and not just some nightmare she was having. 

“I’m okay baby,” He heaved, spitting out more blood onto the floor. 

Before the man could get up and try to hit him again, Sonny, George and Y/N led Harry away from the bonfire. Y/N's heart ached at the sight of Harry's injuries, her hands trembling as she gently touched his bruised cheek. "We need to get you cleaned up," she murmured, one of his eyes already beginning to swell. 

They managed to lead Harry away from the chaos of the campfire, guiding him towards their tents where they could tend to his injuries in privacy and ignoring the gossip that was whispered amongst everybody. Y/N caught sight of Nancy who stood up and looked over at Harry with concern etched on her features. 

“Put him down here,” Y/N pointed to one of the logs for him to sit on and ran to grab a first aid kit she had packed in her backpack as a precaution and a wet cloth to wipe his face with. Harry groaned at the impact, hunching forward and clutching his ribs in pain. 

Y/N knelt in between his legs in front of him and opened up the kit, “You two should head on back, make the most of the rest of the night,” She told them as she placed the wet cloth to remove the blood from Harry’s face. 

“Are you sure Y/N?” Sonny scratched the back of his neck, “We can help if you want.”

“And do what? All I’m gonna do is fix his wounds and then go to bed. I don’t want you two to miss out and ruin the rest of the trip.” It was only ten thirty so there was still plenty of time to spend at the bonfire. “The girls are leaving Elise with one of the families and I’ll pick her up in the morning. Everything is fine, you two go and have fun.”

Harry hissed as she applied disinfectant to his cuts, “Well alright,” George said, still unsure, “But you’ll come get us if something goes wrong?” 

Y/N nodded, trying her best to smile, “I promise I’ll come get you.”

They soon left and Y/N was left alone with Harry writhing in pain, “I’m sorry Y/N.” His voice came out a whisper.

Y/N’s jaw clenched, “That was silly, y’ could have easily diffused the situation without delivering the first punch.”

“He was asking for it and I won’t allow anyone to talk to y’ that way. I saw how scared you looked when he was talking to you. God Y/N,” Harry exhaled heavily through his nose, “I think I saw red - I’ve never been so angry before.” 

Y/N sighed, “I know you were just trying to look out for me but you frightened me and I-”

“I did?” His voice sounded hurt, taking Y/N aback.

“A-A little,” She admitted, “I thought you were gonna die.”

“I can’t die, you know that,” He tried to crack a smile but his face hurt too much, “I never want to scare you, you know that right?” 

Y/N said nothing, “Hey,” He cupped her face in his hand, “I never want to scare you, ever.” 

“I know,” She shrugged him off, “Just don’t ever do that again.” 

Harry looked at her with a furrowed brow, unsure what to think of how she was feeling, “Alright,” His shoulders dropped, “I won’t.” 

Harry thought better than to interrupt her as she tended to the cuts and bruises on his face and hands. His eyes stayed fixated on her as she focused on fixing him up. He was pretty sure his pupils had carved themselves into hearts with how much adoration he had whilst looking at her. Her hair was wavy and tangled from swimming in the river, she had caught the sun a little so her face was tinged red and she was wearing his sweatshirt that was much too big for her small form. 

“I think that’s as good as it gets,” She whispered, eyes darting across his face. 

As she was about to pull away, Harry tugged on the sleeve of her sweater. Y/N looked down as he curled his fingers around her wrist and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her pulse point, “Thank you,” He murmured, doing his best to look at her despite his black eye. 

Y/N helped Harry into the tent, trying to make it easy for him to lay down comfortably without feeling any pain from where he had taken a few hits on his torso. She crawled in beside him and lay on her side to look at him, “Do you need anything?” She kept her voice quiet. 

Harry shook his head, “Just you here is fine.” 

Y/N swallowed, “I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.” 

A silence fell over them, the tension felt palpable now that they were alone together. There was so much that needed to be said hanging in the space between them - things that had been brushed off or put to one side all so they could build trust. But perhaps as their trust in each other grew, they began to question their own judgement and feel uncertain about themselves. 

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, breaking the silence. He rarely said her name now, often replacing it with the nickname he had given her, so hearing it from his lips sounded sweet like a term of endearment. 

“H-Harry,” She said back, unsure of what he was going to say.

“My old man used to hurt me and m’ family a lot,” He started, Y/N’s heart hurting for the man in front of her and his younger siblings, “When I grew older, I started t’ fight him back and I got so good at it. Not that that’s something to brag about but… I-I guess when I see the people I love, like my Mama and my brothers and Elise, in pain, I just get so angry. I-it’s like I see red every time and all I can think about is how much I want to hurt the cause of their pain.”

Y/N stayed quiet, allowing him time and space for his moment of vulnerability, “But I don’t think I’ve ever been as angry as I had been tonight. It’s like I saw you flinch and I swore I could have killed him.”

“Harry,” Y/N gasped, wanting to reach out for him. 

Harry turned over, wincing at the pain but needing to look at her as he spoke, “I ain’t stopped thinking about that kiss since it happened. When I sleep rough, I picture it to help me get back to sleep. Y’ seem to settle something in me that no one else can and… I don’t know what to do about it.” 

Y/N’s heart thundered against her chest like it was trying to leap out, “Watching y’ with my family, being with y’ every day - it is the one good thing in my life. You are the one good thing in my life, the only thing that is wholly and completely mine. I don’t know how to quit y’ Birdy, I’ve been trying because I thought y’ wanted to do this whole friends thing for a little longer but I think about you when I sleep, when I eat, when I’m a hundred feet in the air - Hell, I even think about you when I’m holding Elise, imagining you being there and holding her and how much I want that with you.”

Y/N felt her eyes burn with tears, “Y-you do?” She said her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I do darling,” He shuffles forward and reaches a hand out for hers under the blanket.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.” Y/N confesses, feeling the weight on her chest ease with each word she spoke, “I don’t think I’ve stopped thinking about you since the moment I saw you.” 

“You haven’t?” Harry questioned like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I haven’t,” Y/N affirmed, “Somehow it seems you’ve set up camp somewhere in there,” She placed a hand over his heart, “‘S a little annoying really,” She giggled. 

Harry grinned, his head moving closer to hers. Y/N’s smile fell when she felt his breath blow across her face. Her eyes darted down to his lips, “Are we going to kiss again?” She asked. 

“Do y’ want to kiss again?” He murmured, his lips feathering across hers. 

“I do, so badly, I do.” She was almost begging. 

“Well alright then,” His voice husky with desire. With that, he closed the remaining distance between them, capturing her lips with his. 

The kiss ignited something within them both. Months of longing and watching from afar, releasing into this moment.  Harry's lips moved with an urgency as Y/N sighed deeply in relief,  their mouths melding together. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as if to bridge any remaining space between them.

Y/N responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in Harry's hair as she deepened the kiss, her heart racing with every beat. The world around them faded into insignificance as if they were the only two people remaining in the world and they were all each other had. 

Y/N’s hand went under his shirt, feeling his warm body beneath her fingertips as she slid them up his torso. Harry gripped her hips hard enough to move her on top of him. Her bare legs were between his and he remembered she was still wearing her swimsuit beneath her sweatshirt.  “Harry,” She whispered, breathless. She was tugging on the hem of his shirt, silently begging him to take it off.

He shot up and she pulled his shirt over his head. Y/N marvelled at his muscular, tattooed body, she’d seen it plenty of times before but she could never seem to get over how perfectly built he was. Harry was eager to kiss her again, but Y/N hesitated. Her fingers went to the hem of her sweatshirt, and she pulled it over her head. Then, she did something that left Harry breathless.

She pulled the straps of her swimsuit down, leaving her upper body completely bare. Harry had never seen something so ethereal. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the ends falling at her supple, rounded breasts, her nipples hardened from the cold air. Harry felt his cock stir in his shorts and he was pretty sure Y/N knew what was happening from the way her pupils dilated and her lips parted. 

“We don’t have to...” Harry wasn’t sure where this night was going to go but Y/N stopped him.

“I want to,” She whispered, “I want you.”

“Y/N,” He murmured, unable to believe this wasn’t all a dream. 

“Shhh,” She shushed him and pressed her lips against his again. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed their bodies together. 

Harry tossed the blanket to one side with his lips still attached to her. He pressed kisses down her neck, sucking and biting on her skin leaving a mark that would tell him in the morning that this was all real. Y/N could feel the bulge in his boxers beneath her as she straddled his lap. She rolled her hips against him, Harry groaning against her lips in response. 

Y/N gasped when Harry thrust his clothed cock against her core. She could feel the dampening of her swimsuit as her pussy grew wet the harder he ground against her, “Harry,” She breathed, his lips ghosting against her jawline, “I want you to put it in me,” She said, her desire overruling everything.

“Yeah?” His voice came out raspy, “Y want my cock in your pussy darling girl?” He looked up at her with hooded eyes.

Y/N immediately nodded, desperate to feel him inside of her, “Take me out then baby,” He ordered.

Y/N swallowed and tugged on the waistband of his shorts, her fingers fumbling to pull him out. Her eyes widened when she saw the outline of his cock against the fabric. She reached into his shorts and felt his cock beneath her hand, wrapping her fingers around it only to realise how big he was as she pumped her hand up and down. Harry clenched his jaw, his head falling back as he released a moan. 

“Gonna take off the rest of that swimsuit baby?” Harry murmured, playing with the nylon fabric. Y/N nodded and lifted her hips, allowing him to tug the swimsuit off of her body. Harry’s mouth fell open as her wetness touched his thighs. “Look at tha’ making a mess all over me hmm?” He tutted, his eyes looking down at her bare, pretty pussy. “So pretty, the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“I need you so bad Harry,” Y/N mewled, her head dropping forward onto his shoulder as she went back to pumping his cock. He ran his hand up and down her back, soothing her. 

“I know baby, I know.” He cooed.

He helped her a little by pulling his shorts down from his hips. He almost died when he saw how much bigger his cock looked in her smaller hand, “Will it fit?” Y/N asked, eyes looking up at him big and round. 

Harry glanced at her pussy, “Dunno baby, y’ pussy’s so small,” He sighed, “Might hurt y’”

“But it’ll fit, I know it will,” She insisted because if he refused she’d probably pass out. 

“Oh yeah?” He looked at her with a cocky grin, “Look at you, you’re so desperate for it.” He reached out to wipe the drool from the corner of her mouth as she looked at his aching length.

His lips went to her ear, feeling her shiver beneath his touch as he breathed, “Show me.”

“What?” Her mouth fell open. 

“Show me how it fits in y’ baby,” He muttered. 

Y/N swallowed and nodded, exhaling shakily. She sat up on her knees, lifting her hips and shifting herself so her pussy was directly above Harry’s cock. Harry waited patiently, moving his hands to her hips and giving them a soft squeeze in encouragement. She grabbed the base of his cock in her hand and lowered her hips until she felt the tip nudge against her hole. She gasped when she lowered her hips a little further and the thick crown of his cock squeezed through the opening of her core.

“There y’ go,” He inhaled, “Tha’s my girl.” Y/N nodded, unable to think as his cock stretched her open inch by inch in the most delicious way, squeezing and pulsing against the walls of her pussy the further it entered her.

“‘S it all the way in yet?” She whimpered, her eyes squeezed shut.

Harry looked down and groaned when he saw half of his cock submerged in her tight pussy, “Almost baby,” 

“Okay,” She mewled, sinking further onto his cock until he was so deep inside of her. She whined, her head dropping forward when she felt the tip of his cock nudge the walls of her cervix and his balls pressed against her ass. 

“Fuck baby,” Harry moaned, pressing a longing kiss to the top of her head.

“Y so deep,” Y/N’s words came out slurred. She rested her head against his chest for a moment, getting used to the feeling of his cock inside of her. “M ready now,” She whispered.

“Yeah? Y’ sure?” He wanted to make sure she was okay and that she was in complete control of the situation.

Y/N didn’t say anything. Instead, she lifted herself up and then sank back down on his cock, feeling it rub against the walls of her sopping, wet cunt as she did. She repeated the action, her head falling backwards, back arching; she had to grip Harry’s calves to keep her from falling back. She was seeing stars every time she bounced on his cock, “It feels so good Harry,” She whimpered.

Harry grabbed her waist, helping her move up and down on his cock, “I know it does baby,” He moaned, “Does it feel good knowing ‘m so deep? Only I can touch y’ that deep baby, fuck,” He drawled. 

Y/N pushed herself up and removed her hands from his calves to his shoulders, using them as an aid to help her move up and down. Harry moved his head forward and wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking and biting. He pressed spongy kisses down the center of her breasts, “Can y’ feel me right here darling girl?” He whispered, pressing his hand to her belly where his cock protruded every time she sank back down on him.

“Please Harry,” She whined, unsure exactly what she was asking for but so consumed by the intense pleasure she was feeling. 

“Please what?” His lips ghosted against her jawline, sweat coated their skin from how warm the tent was. He tugged on the ends of Y/N’s hair, “Y’ want me t’ put a baby in y’ is that what you're asking?” Y/N groaned, lips parting as the air left her lungs. “Oh you like that, don’t you? Can feel you clenching round m’ cock baby. Darling girl wants me to put a baby in her?” 

Harry thrust his hips harder into her when he received no reply, “Want me to fill you up and put a baby in you hmmm? Do y’ like the idea of having my baby inside of you? Making y’ belly all round and swollen and having everyone at Offutt knowing that baby inside of you is all mine.”

“Y-Yes Harry,” She gasped.

“Yeah? Y’ wanna make me a daddy baby? Be m’ perfect mama waiting on me with your perfect pregnant belly?”

“Mhm,” Y/N choked, his words making her heart pound. Her eyes began to water, feeling overwhelmed with how good she felt.

“Do you want me to cum inside of you?” He kisses her chin, “Know y’ ready to cum baby. Y’done so well.” He moves his hand in between them and starts to rub circles on her clit. Y/N’s gasping for breath, whining and writhing on top of him. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” She says over and over again like some sacred prayer, a stray tear falling from her eye.

“I know baby, I know you’re tired and ready to cum.” His lips puckering to leave a kiss where the salty tear once was on the side of her cheek. He could feel the burning in his belly as his orgasm began to build. He would have cum ages ago if he wasn’t so set on cumming with her. He could feel her cunt tighten around his cock, squeezing him harder. “Cum with me darling.” He murmured.

Y/N felt the coil in her belly burst as she clenched around his cock as she came. Harry’s quiet moans filled the tent as his cum painted the walls of her insides. He makes sure his whole cock is all the way in her even though he knows it won’t do anything, the thought of filling her up with his seed makes him cum even harder. 

Y/N collapses into his chest, her head falling on his shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut and her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath from the intensity of her release. She feels Harry’s heart thumping hard against his chest, his hand smoothing up and down her back as he lays his forehead on her shoulder. 

Y/N whimpers when Harry moves and shakes her head, “Can we stay like this for a little longer?” She asks, tiredly.

Harry kisses her shoulder, “For as long as y’ want.” 

“Thank you,” She murmurs, feeling as though she could fall asleep exactly like this. His cock was still inside of her, she could feel the stickiness of his cum dripping on her thighs, but it felt so good to be so full of him. 

“C’mon darling girl,” Harry kissed her cheek, “Time to sleep.” 

Y/N shuddered when Harry removed his cock, her pussy pulsing around nothing whilst she felt his cum gush out of her. Harry brought his fingers to her thighs and began to push his cum back into her sensitive cunt. Y/N inhaled deeply, shuddering as she felt his fingers stuffing her empty hole with his cum. 

He gently laid her down beside him, her body placid. He grabbed the blanket and laid it across her body to stop her from getting cold, “Your bruises,” Y/N whispered, cupping his cheek in her hand and brushing her thumb over the bruise on his eye.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” He told her, he’d completely forgotten he was even in pain after she admitted his feelings for her. 

“Promise?” She whispered. 

“I promise,” He kissed the tip of her nose and then laid down next to her, wrapping her in his arms. She hooked her leg around his waist and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. “I love you Y/N.” He whispered. 

Y/N smiled, he could feel her lips curving against him, “I love you too Harry.” 

Y/N woke up the next morning with a smile on her face. Memories of last night flashing through her mind like each individual scene from a movie reel. Her whole body was filled with warmth, her core aching from the acts she had partaken in just last night. 

She turned over, expecting to see Harry still asleep beside her only to find an empty space. With a frown, she sat up and ran her fingers through her knotted hair, searching for her underwear and the sweater she had borrowed from him yesterday to cover herself up. 

She crawled out of the tent and glanced around, trying to find the man she had confessed her feelings to. She hoped he was somewhere smoking a cigarette or maybe decided to go for a swim before they had to make the hike back to the Air Base later on. 

Y/N stood on shaky legs and wrapped her arms around herself. She caught sight of Sonny and Patsy walking over with a bucket of fresh water. Y/N waved and tried her best to smile at them even though the feeling of dread began to swarm in the pit of her stomach. Sonny’s head turned in her direction and his expression faltered , “Hey guys,” Y/N said, her voice slightly raspy, “H-Have any of you seen Harry this morning?”

The uneasy silence that followed, punctuated by the grim expressions on Sonny and Patsy's faces, already made Y/N regret ever asking the question in the first place.

p.s y/n is on birth control just wanna make that clear heh

taglist: @ribbonknives @scorpiotulipicon @hermionelove @champagnepronlemsxxxx @n0vaj3an @roxyfan14-blog @avasbeanie @idontcareforausernamesblog @tpwksummer  @celesterry @love-letters-to-uranus @boredhsblog @tpwk-harry-styles @groupieloveclub @estaticheart @unknownkii @royaler1999 @lovebittenbyevans

[he3ts]

POISON

inspired by the song heartbeat by childish gambino

pairings: nam gyu x reader

warnings: smut (p in v) alcohol, nam gyu who is an asshole, toxic relationship, manipulation, but reader is his angel.

notes: i'm posting everything i had in drafts, hope to post my story on the salesman soon which i'm very proud of 🫶🏻🫶🏻

You had decided in those 20 days to mitigate a survival plan. To stop thinking about your ex. This feat had turned out to be stupid from the beginning, which even you did not believe 100%. No impossible. You were still fucking in love with him. To the core, it was unnerving.

But you had had to do it, that relationship was making you suffer, cry and just despair. When you had left him Nam Gyu was so stoned he didn't even know what to say to you, he had smiled and then vanished into the wind. Almost you were no longer you, you had spent every night crying in your bed. You knew he didn't deserve you. You were trying to convince yourself, you were sure you could save him from himself.

That night, however, was different; your friend had forcibly dragged you back to your closet. "Make yourself beautiful. Make him cry," she mumbled against your shoulder laughing, you had lowered your head in defeat. Defeated by you. You knew well that at his hypothetical return you would fall at his feet, give him another chance, again, only with the whim of hurting you again.

But Nam Gyu was not like that. He had changed since he had met his strange group of unnerving friends, tried heroin for the first time, and now he couldn't help but pierce himself.

The Pentagon stood before your eyes like a nightmare, your hair in front of your face, only thanks to the wind, gave you a more rebellious look than usual. You were so uncomfortable in your overly gaudy top and bloody skirt. You had huffed, you had drank, you had danced, then the magic had melted away like the ecstasy pills him so loved to take.

His figure usually disappeared from your thoughts before dawn, your legs clamped between them and your mouth on fire. You could still see him clearly as he climbed over your body, so small compared to his, and conquered it mercilessly. You missed him. It was embarrassing.

You had searched the others for something of him. A trace. His long, black hair, his eyes that could peer inside you. It was too much, it was the alcohol.

But he was there, how could he not be there, him, the kid without rules and nonconformist. Sitting with his back straight, his hair behind his ears and the glass attached to his mouth. At that distance you had seen his eyes glisten, dilated, you were his fix. Nam Gyu always looked the same, with his strange colored-haired friend next to him, and a girl with bleached curly hair on the other. You needed air.

He, so cheeky, had given you a long look, then lingered on your bare legs. He had smiled again, then turned his gaze to the girl at his side. The young woman slipped a cigarette from her bra in plain sight and then placed it on his lips. She had lit it, then played with his hair as he inspired the smoke. You couldn't watch. You wanted to walk away. The way Nam Gyu was looking at her made you feel jealous, angry, how could she do this to you?

But you were no longer engaged. Almost strangers. But seeing that him was now someone else's could hardly go down with you.

People were swirling around you, you had lost your group in the crowd, you could no longer feel your feet on the ground. You knew he wanted to ruin you in every way possible. His lips soon touched those of the woman, you had seen how she wanted him from yards away, you had seen everything, but he was only looking at you. He was almost getting her on, over the drinks counter, but he wasn't going to lower his gaze.

Damn him. He hadn't kissed you like that the first time.

He kissed her as cruelly as he reserved for you, you were jealous of him, obsessed with him, he was a traitor. The young woman had pulled away from him with her cheeks flushed, her dress turned up and her curls tousled, she looked so content and happy that only a lot of applause was heard from the table.

That's enough. You had to go.

His gaze marked you, followed you everywhere, he had seen how you ran away from him too quickly; he just wanted to make you suffer a little. But you were too pretty that night, with your hair longer than he remembered and your face made up. He knew that it was never over between you and that that was just the tip of the iceberg, Nam Gyu did not wish to hurt you, only to make you wait.

To wait as he had done. Your face was imprinted in his head like a nightmare. It was wrong. Yet he had gotten out of his chair to follow you again. You had not seen his escape, your eyes wet with tears and your lip quivering nervously. Had he not missed you at all?

Your legs seemed to give way, your eyes tired and confused, you had felt a pair of hands with long, tapered fingers cover your eyes from behind.

"Hello, angel. Do you know who I am?" a persuasive whisper against your ear had made the skin on your neck flush. You could feel his scent against your skin, his chest against your back, "Have you been drinking?" his lips came close to your ear, gently nibbling on your lobe. You loved it so much when he did that. You hadn't responded, you had been breathing hard.

"Fuck you and your fucking games," you had pulled away from him, staggering, your eyes closed in two slits, and he had resumed looking at your body. He had moved his hair behind his ear, it was a move he made when he was incredibly agitated.

And that was where you had seen him, on his middle finger.

He still had your ring.

You shifted your gaze, you didn't want to be that close to him, vulnerable, you wished you could get back to your house quickly. You had turned around but Nam Gyu had been in time to grab your wrists and pull you in his direction. Your faces close, it hadn't happened for so long, "I decide when you leave"

Your eyes were fixed against his, "You have no right," you pushed his hands away as people danced around you, you were about to give in. You barely looked at his face because of those damn lights, still the same look, everything looked the same. You were so angry with him. But you were slowly giving in.

"You have that bitch's lipstick on you"

He had chuckled, before pulling you from his arm to follow him toward the bathroom. You hadn't retreated, following him like a damn puppy, but you were just so tired and his lips so magnetic.

"What are you doing?" you had screamed for him to hear you, your feet ached too much but you were not intent on stopping walking. He opened the first door to the hallway, the disco bathroom gave the impression of being a grim, run-down place. Blue and black tiles, meant to give the place a more modern tinge, a row of sinks and a mirror hung and filled with writing not yet erased. All the windows were closed and the air was lacking, although the arrival of low temperatures was upon us.

Your body possessed a life of its own, you were tired from that situation, your eyes would not stop watering, and he seemed to notice. "What do I do?" he had resumed the interrupted sentence you had posed to him, approached your silent body, running a hand through your long hair, "I take back what belongs to me"

"I'm not an object" you had muttered clenching your fists, Nam Gyu laughed cautiously.

"Did you like it?" he brought his face closer to yours, what he was up to left you destabilized and all the hairs on your arms stood up because of that suave breathing.

"The way I was touching that whore, did you like it?" his hands went further down to your back, his hands knew just where to touch you. That was enough. You had moved away by stepping backward, your footsteps crunching on the shabby tiles, thus repelling his hands as well.

"Stop. Stop," yours was a prayer. His cock twitched in his pants as he saw your beautiful face shrouded in tears. So pathetic. He grabbed you by the wrist as he made you fit perfectly with the sink you had behind you, he didn't even care about your back that had suffered that painful blow. A grimace of pain appeared on your face, a sign that you hadn't expected it at all, and you were immediately frightened of the boy in front of you. Whom you still loved.

"What the fuck do you want from me? You can fuck whoever you want, I don't care," you had resumed, blowing on his lips.

"You left me" one corner of Nam Gyu's lips pulled upward, "You didn't have to. I don't abandon my investments"

Your heart exploded. He does it to hurt you, hurt you. His pupils were dilated, so black it scared you, "When I kiss her I think only of you"

He snapped a kiss on your lips, barely grazing them, and then gave a funny to your nose, "But she can't give me anything" You felt overwhelmed by a rush of tiny flames that gave you a charge moving your whole body.

"She's not you, damn it"

He hurled himself at you aggressively, bringing his lips together again as he wished. In fright you had recoiled with your head, but his hand was ready to clutch the back of your head. One hand on your right hip, marking and tearing the skin under your tiny skirt. And in that case nothing could stop him. His grip was firm and, meanwhile, he was knotting your hair with his fingers. He smelled it, kissed it, owned everything.

He lifted your body making you sit comfortably on the uncomfortable sink, not even for a second did your faces come apart. It was the union of lips, hair clasped in his hands and gasps that no longer found an end. He continued his work, massaging the skin of your legs and applying pressure with his fingers to give you more pleasure. You had no more shame.

He reached up to the already short skirt, raising it permanently. He defined the skin of the top, moving closer to intimacy, at that contact you had pulled away from the kiss looking into his eyes.

It was clear that now neither of us wanted to go back, you had consented even though he seemed just prepared to take you up there. The fire burned in your chest as he resumed kissing you as he finally lowered your panties in a rough gesture, there was nothing chaste about it. He did the same too, quickly, taking your quivering thighs. All of him had lost his senses.

He entered you in a dry, fatal gesture, you had squeaked from that speed feeling yourself burning out and in.

You had done everything wrong, it just shouldn't have happened. You wanted to talk and tell him, but the heat he was using in his thrusts had burned away even the last glimmer of reason in you. No one could fuck you like he could.

You had clung to him, throwing your head back and rolling your eyes in a gesture that made you look like a perfect accomplice. You were furrowing those shoulders, scratching your skin through the fabric of his shirt.

Sweating, you were trying to raise your skirt higher and higher, wishing for a few more steps forward, and, as one of Nam Gyu's hands began to caress the skin of your torso, another crisis enveloped you, letting even the hope.

"Fuck, fuck," you were trying to say without being overwhelmed by any kind of gasps as you arched your back further down continually longing for the frenzy and boldness of his hands.

"Stay away from this place. I never want to see you here again"

Was that a threat? You hadn't noticed, too caught up in the moment. His hands coincided perfectly on you; to feel him even more you had tied your legs around his waist, sritzing his body to feel him more alive and close. Fleeting thrusts made your legs tremble, like an earthquake, but you could say nothing but scream and writhe on that washbasin.

"Say you still love me"

That was the union of two bodies caught in frenzy possessing each other without inconsistency, Nam Gyu kept pushing and pulling your legs closer on him to feel you as close as possible.

An I love you was enough for him. To know that he was still in your thoughts.

The black eyeshadow was on the sides of your eyes and joined with your skin, along with the now worn mascara locked in your lashes all kneaded together.

"Fuck you-"

He also nibbled on your neck while, you caught in your very own personal breakdown, you had closed your eyes ecstatically. You wanted to scream, you wanted to be with him again, but that relationship was sick for both of you.

"Fuck, say it, and maybe I'll leave you alone," his cock was still inside you as he came, your thighs branded with his seed and trembling. He had done it on purpose, let go against your chest like a child looking for its mother. Your hands spontaneously ended up in his hair.

"I love you"

Only this time it was he who had said it.

MASTERLIST.

[bumblesimagines]

Ride or Die, Remember?

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

Summary: When his life takes a swift and abrupt turn, Lip Gallagher is left feeling a storm of emotions such as heartbreak and anger. In the midst of the hurricane, he doesn't realize what's standing right in front of him.

CW/TW: Typical Shameless warnings, Karen's assault on Frank mentioned, angst(?), the best friend trope

~~~

He had to find Lip before the Gallagher took a nosedive into manslaughter territory. 

The cold nipped annoyingly at his exposed face, the viciousness of the freezing temperatures having luckily gone down with the slow arrival of spring and summer but still cold enough to give someone hyperthermia if they weren't careful. He fiddled with his fingerless gloves, clouds forming from his lips each time he huffed out some air. His legs maneuvered him down alleyways and sidewalks; be it by luck or a divine deity being merciful, he hardly had a rough time with the slippery, iced-over ground. 

(Y/N)'s eyes locked on the familiar figure crossing the street who slammed his hand into the back of a car that drove by him without slowing down or stopping, relief feeling his veins at the sight of him. Lip looked too relaxed to have heard the news of what Karen had done. Good, but it only meant (Y/N) had the horrible job of breaking it to him. He crossed the street and weaved around those bustling around the sidewalk, almost wincing when he heard Joey and his brother giggling at the bottom of the stairs when Lip stepped by them.

"Be a pal, Lip. When you and Frank get done passing around, uh, 'Daddyz Girl', why don't you send her over to our place?" Joey snickered again, his cheeks a rosy red from his laughter and the cold. (Y/N) groaned internally and slammed his shoulder against Joey's as he stepped past him, shooting the boy a withering glare. 

"Get lost." He snapped at him and watched Joey snatch the back of his little brother's hoodie with a grumble before he walked away scowling. (Y/N) licked his dry lips and turned his head upward toward Lip, a grimace forming at the dumbfounded, near puppy-eyed look on Lip's face. His best friend stared down at him from his spot on one of the steps, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

"You have any idea what the hell he's talking about?" Lip questioned, the metal clanging beneath his boots as he slowly stepped down the stairs toward him, bits of snow flying from his shoes. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered desperately between Lip's vibrant blue ones, words heavy in his throat but his mouth refusing to form any of them for the sake of Lip's heart. The Gallaghers were a tough family but each of them had their weak points.

Besides, how the hell could you break the news about a video floating around showing their best friend's dad and crush fucking? (Y/N) certainly had no idea.

"(Y/N)..." Lip lifted his brows at him, a frown beginning to tug at his lips when the teen in front of him remained deathly silent. The suspicion seeping into his eyes only made (Y/N) wince and avert his gaze. "Who the fuck is 'Daddyz Girl'? Is it about Fiona? Is it- is it Debs? V?"

"I..." (Y/N) clamped his mouth shut and rolled his head back, releasing a low groan into the cold morning air. He stared at the gloomy gray clouds floating overhead and dropped his head back to gaze at his friend again, his hand reaching out to pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and take a deep inhale. Lip watched him closely, his brows only furrowing further. Releasing the smoke in a sigh, he pursed his lips. "It's honestly better if I... if I showed you, Lip."

It certainly hadn't been any better showing him, perhaps it'd been worse.

The agonizingly long wait for the site and video to load with Lip's face right up on the laptop's screen definitely hadn't soothed his jittering nerves. It'd nearly given him a headache when the video finally loaded and Lip's eyes almost bulged out of his head at the sight of Karen naked as the day she'd been born on his father's equally bare lap. The silence from Lip - horribly filled in with pants, moans, skin slapping on skin, and Frank's drunken mutterings - only forced (Y/N) to tear himself away from his windowsill and close the laptop before it drove him crazy. 

"That fucker." Lip snarled, and the typically calm boy (Y/N) knew was replaced with a rage-filled Gallagher. Lip shot up from the desk chair and snatched his coat, slipping it on hurriedly as he stumbled out of (Y/N)'s bedroom and practiced raced down the hallway toward the front door. He tossed it open and stomped down the porch, a gust of cold wind slipping into the house. 

"Fuck," (Y/N) hissed, almost tripping over his untied laces trying to follow his friend out the door, the cool metal of the doorknob making him flinch when he shut the door behind him. His eyes tracked Lip storming down the sidewalk and toward the Jackson house just down the street by the elevated train tracks. Shit, shit, shit. (Y/N) called out to him as he attempted to catch up. "Lip! Jesus, Lip, just- let's think about this, huh? What- What are you even going to do, Lip?"

"He fucked my girlfriend, (Y/N)! What the hell do you think I'm going to do?!" Lip snapped over his shoulder, his trembling hands curling and uncurling. (Y/N) knew Lip well enough to think of just a few things Lip was capable of, with murder as a very slim option for the otherwise Harvard-smart teenager. 

(Y/N) bit his lip "Lip, you know Karen has been fucking half the guys at school! Is she really worth being this?" He still vaguely recalled the day Karen had approached him with batted lashes and a coy smile, as well as the sullen look that fell on her face when he dismissed her with a scoff. "She's not even your girlfriend!"

Spinning around on his heel to face him, Lip snatched the collar of his hoodie and tugged him close enough for their noses to bump. "I love her." He whispered lowly, his bottom lip threatening to quiver before he released him and resumed his warpath toward the slim two-story house. Karen coincidentally stepped outside and pointedly ignored Lip's questions until she disappeared down the road with the dirty blonde staring after her hopelessly. 

His jaw clenched and his eyes scanned the area around them until they locked on one of the cars parked in an alleyway. Lip made a beeline for it and fumbled with the pockets of his coat until he pulled out a makeshift picklock to mess with the door. (Y/N) rolled his lips into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning again when he heard the soft click of the door unlocking. Fucking Steve. 

"Fuck," (Y/N) sighed heavily and dug into his pockets until he found his phone, flipping it open and dialing in the number he had memorized since he was a child. He pressed it against his ear and watched Lip get inside the car to hotwire it. His older cousin's cheery voice greeted him sweetly. "Hey, Kev? I, uh... I need you to drive down to Sheila's place. I think Lip might actually try to kill Frank. 'Kay, thanks." 

Once he hung up, he crossed the street toward the car and grabbed the door before Lip could shut it. "What are you doing, Lip? Are you going to run your pops over the second you see him? Stealing a car is one thing, using it to commit manslaughter is a whole other ballpark. Don't act stupid when you're the smartest asshole in this shitstain of a place." 

"He can't keep getting away with this bullshit, (Y/N), he can't. That good-for-nothing piece of shit..." Lip's teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, his leg bouncing furiously and hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a new shade of white. "I love her. I fucking love her and he- he-" 

"I get it, alright? I know it sucks to get your heart broken, trust me, I know." (Y/N) released a shaky sigh and rubbed his cold fingers against his forehead. "Listen, I... I just ask that you don't kill him, okay? Get in a punch or two and leave it be. I don't want to have to visit you in the same prison my old man is locked up in, alright?"

Lip let out a deep sigh. "Yeah... yeah, fine. I... I'll try not to." He muttered quietly, his rage finally simmering down and out of manslaughter territory. (Y/N)'s lips pulled back into a tight-lipped smile and he stepped away from the car to let Lip slam the door shut and pull out into the neighborhood's main road. 

Roughly fifteen minutes passed before Frank turned a corner further down the sidewalk and made his way over to the Jackson house. Once he was close enough, the car sputtered to life and sped toward him, barreling down trash cans and swerving around to catch the panicked running man until Frank slid over the hood of another car, forcing Lip to ram into the side of it. (Y/N) exhaled a sigh of relief when Kevin finally pulled up and the two quickly rushed over to the Gallaghers as Lip began to pummel his fist and feet into Frank's body.

"Come on, come on! Calm down, alright?!" Kevin shouted and leaned down to grab Lip's arms, managing to pull him off his father for a brief moment until Lip shoved him away and went in for seconds. (Y/N) quickly dove in between the two and roughly took Lip by the shoulders, digging his fingers into his jacket and pushing him back. 

"You're bleeding, Lip, come the fuck on. You fucked him up enough, okay?" Lip's chest heaved, his lips curled into a sneer and a trickle of blood slipped down the side of his head from an injury on his temple. His feet dug into the ground, hands grasping onto the sides of (Y/N)'s hoodie to push him away. "Lip."

Kevin pointed a finger at him and planted himself firmly in front of Frank. "That's enough, Lip. Listen to (Y/N) and get the fuck out of here!" 

With one final, forceful push from (Y/N), Lip relented and swung his arm around his friend's waist, allowing the teenager to guide him away from his bloody and bruised father. He remained silent on the walk back to (Y/N)'s place, only heavy panting filling the air between them. The tension in his muscles and limbs began to disappear and the storm of fury in his eyes gave way to a look of pure heartache and betrayal. (Y/N) could only pat his side and led him to his bedroom.

Lip collapsed on the bed and tiredly shrugged off his coat and gloves, blindly tossing them aside somewhere in the room. (Y/N) searched his room and bathroom, collecting some cotton balls, a bandaid, and rubbing alcohol. Hardly a proper med kit but it was all they really had in the house. He tossed the supplies on the bed and stood in front of Lip, forcing his blank stare away from the wall and onto him.

"Ready?" (Y/N) dipped his fingers into Lip's curls and gently tugged his head back. He used his free hand to unscrew the cap of the rubbing alcohol and press one cotton ball against it, giving the bottle a quick tilt to soak up the cotton before he began dabbing at the injury with a slightly crinkled nose. Lip's hands moved to rest against (Y/N)'s thighs, his fingers digging into him with each painful prick of pain that shot through his head. 

Once finished, (Y/N) wiped away at the liquid with his thumb and released Lip so he could fiddle with the bandaid. Lip dropped his forehead onto (Y/N)'s stomach, his hands beginning to inch upward ever so slowly. His fingers dipped under the hoodie, the rest of his hands pushing up the hoodie and shirt underneath to expose (Y/N)'s stomach. Lip tilted his head and pressed his lips against the bare skin, the bridge of his nose pushing up the clothes further. 

"What are you doing?" (Y/N) asked softly, freeing one of the bandaid wings and working on the other. 

"Destressing." Lip muttered against his skin, continuing to nuzzle and kiss whatever skin he could reach. His lips felt dry and cracked against him, and (Y/N) nearly squirmed when Lip swiped his tongue over his happy trail. His hand flew down to grab hold of Lip's hair again, forcing his head back and slapping the bandaid over the cut.

"We haven't done that together since seventh grade, Lip." (Y/N) reminded him with raised brows, scooping up the bloodied cotton and bandaid papers into his hand and tossing them in the small trash can by his desk. Lip's hands dropped over his lap and his lips slightly jutted out, his sharp gaze following (Y/N) around the room. 

"So? Friends get each other off all the time." Lip pointed out, his hands shooting out to grab the bottom of (Y/N)'s hoodie and drag him closer toward him, face pressing into his side again.

"And look where getting off with Karen got you, Phillip." (Y/N) wriggled around in Lip's hold and tumbled onto the bed, his back meeting the mattress and only prompting Lip to crawl over him. Despite himself, he released a breathy laugh when Lip's mouth pressed into his neck and his cool hands slipped under his hoodie. 

"This is different." Lip's voice came out muffled, his words wiping the smile off his face and making his heart twist uncomfortably. God, how he hated it. 

"'Cause you don't love me." (Y/N) breathed and moved his hands to press against Lip's shoulder blades, effectively pushing him up and off him. Lip flopped beside him onto the mattress and blinked at him, his brows twitching down into a furrow. 

"No shit I love you, (Y/N). You've been my ride-or-die since first grade. You're basically a Gallagher now." Ah, fuck, that one stung more than it needed to. (Y/N) forced out a hum of acknowledgment and inhaled sharply through his nose, his body rolling over so he could reach out and grab his cigarette pack from the nightstand. 

"Yeah, well, last I checked-" He messed with the lighter until it flickered on, taking a deep inhale once the cigarette lit. He pushed himself up against the headboard and breathed out a cloud of smoke. "-brothers don't sleep together, Lip. Besides, you said it yourself: you don't swing that way. You only like fucked up chicks who'll never like you back." 

"I don't want to fight today, (Y/N). I'm fucking serious." Lip leaned back into the pillows with a hint of a scowl on his face. "I've had a shit enough day as is."

"Whatever," (Y/N) shook his head lightly. "We can play video games until you forget about Karen and your dad and all that other bullshit, alright? But if you want to mess around with someone, it won't be with me."

"Fine."

[voidsuites]

heavy

ART doesn’t venture much from stanford’s campus if it’s not for tennis. yes, he’s gone on the occasional bar-crawl with his teammates after a big win, or taken a rare trip or two to the 24-hour pharmacy on a late-night run for snacks, but never really for anything like this.

a bonfire— one of his teammates had invited him and the rest of the stanford men’s tennis team to the event at the local beach, seeing as it was for his girlfriend’s sorority. art had been quick to decline initially, but the team wouldn’t let him say no.

don’t be a loser. the title would’ve hurt art a long time ago— back in his early days at mark rebellato— but now it hardly broaches the walls he’s built to surround himself. it barely leaves a dent, if that.

but god, does he wish he’d stood his ground more. standing around with sand between his toes and a lukewarm beer in his solo cup’s never looked more pathetic; he’s certain that he resembles a kicked dog more than someone who’s enjoying themself. a volleyball game had been going on behind him earlier, but now that the sun’s set everyone’s decided to sit around the fire and talk.

he’s never been a much of conversationalist, content to stand in the shadows of others. then again, it was easy to shrink himself down in the presence of patrick— let him light up the room with pearly-white teeth and levels of self-assuredness he’d kill to have. no, art was always in his head; always thinking ahead, planning for the next moment.

he’d rather just be alone. and whether that’s in the comfort of his dorm or alone on the beach, he’s not picky.

beer forgotten in the sand, art leaves his solo cup behind as his keyring spins around his finger. maybe he can slip away under the cover of darkness. no one would notice— not with the only source of light being the fire, the conversation around it and the waves crashing in the distance providing the perfect muffling for his footsteps.

it seems like he’s opted for the latter choice, finding himself straying towards the water. it’s pitch-black as he draws close, but art can catch the occasional flash of deep ultramarine under the light of the moon. it’s a shade he could get lost in time and time again— one that’s been dangerous since he’d been twelve, new to mrta, and had met the eyes of his future roommate of six years for the first time— and one that will forever hold him in its clutches for the rest of his existence. not that he’d ever admit that aloud.

it’s only when the foamy edge of the sea washes over his toes does he pick on the voice behind him.

“don’t get in the water. you’ll freeze.” broad shoulders tense at the intrusion to the waves and the soft breeze, but art turns and relaxes. it’s just you.

“you’re probably right,” he admits, voice sheepish. “my feet are already going numb.”

they’re not— he’s just barely entered the water— but that’s not important. art instead fixes his attention on your silhouette in the darkness, lit up by the bonfire behind you and the lit cigarette between your lips.

“those things kill, you know.” he hasn’t smoked since the open a few months ago. not that he smoked often, anyway, but he always was susceptible to the pleas of those with cerulean irises and calloused hands.

you smile, something that makes the edge of your lip curl upwards ever so slightly, the dimple in your left cheek making a rare appearance. he’d know; it doesn’t reveal itself unless the moment’s appropriate. he learned that last week when you’d shown up at the courts after practice, amused with his surprised reaction and subsequent stumble over his own feet.

“i know.” a pause. a quick flutter of your lashes as you inspect him. “you want one?”

no. “sure.” huh. was his stomach feeling this fluttery earlier?

the cigarette leaves your lips so you can offer it out, and art hesitates before ultimately taking it. rough fingertips brush against smooth in the exchange, and the sensation sends goosebumps up his arms. it could’ve been the wind, but he knows it’s the former. art’s certain.

after a decently-sized plume of smoke leaves his nostrils, he passes the cigarette back. he’s got practice tomorrow— the last thing he needs is to be off his game any more considering his beer from earlier’s finally working its magic. the dimple in your cheek fades.

“thanks.” he half-smiles when you just nod in return, seemingly content to stand in silence as well. you haven’t stepped away, though; art can practically feel the warmth rolling off of you considering how cold it is and how close you are. “you can go back to the group, y’know… you don’t need to keep me company.”

you shrug. “i’m not.” it’s not harsh, just honest. “i just want to be alone.”

huh. he ignores the twinge in his chest at that, even if it was just the truth and nothing personal. “me too,” he supplies eventually.

maybe he should’ve known better— should’ve left when he had his chance and gone back to campus. save himself from the slight blow to his ego and the guilt for indulging in something bad for his health regimen. cigarettes kill, you know.

“i know,” the voice in his heads supplies, an echo from a time not-so-far into the past. he can still see the towel wedged underneath the door jam and the plastic bag over the smoke detector. “what— you gonna stop me?”

ultramarine. pearly-white teeth. calloused hands just like his own.

smooth hands. a penchant for being unpredictable. dimples.

… maybe he really is a loser. he’s not sure anymore, but his chest grows heavy regardless.

“you need a ride back to the dorms?” he doesn’t know why he offers it. the last thing he wants (or, thinks he wants) is to have to sit in tense silence with someone that makes his stomach flip-flop like a certain brunet. he should be in his dorm, in bed, covers pulled high over his head as his mind races—

your left dimple resurfaces, almost like it never left. “sure.” and suddenly, he feels lighter than he’s felt all night.

“cool. c’mon.” maybe there is a reason not to wallow in those feelings, as he allows his hand to slip to the small of your back. that’s something he’d never allow himself to do with anyone else.

“but first, let’s stop by cvs on the way back— i need something more than just hot dogs and beer in my system if i don’t want to puking all morning…”

[vegan-peppermint]

In which Toby is kidnapping the reader.

Toby never wanted to hurt you. He's just young and stupid, too eager to prove to those creatures lurking in the shadows that he is cut from the same cloth as them.

It's been no more than two years since the fire swallowed his life whole, since the faceless figure first started treading on the edges of his mind. Every day spent in that eerie house, under the watchful eyes of his so-called "mentors," pushed him further from the boy he used to be. Tim's unbearable presence didn’t help—Toby had even toyed with the idea of doubling down on his pyromaniac tendencies.

Then The Operator spoke his name—his name alone. It wasn’t just a command in Toby's mind, more like a one-way ticket out of being a second-class proxy, lesser than the other two. This was his first solo mission, a validation of all the time and effort he'd poured into this twisted world. A reward.

You.

He at least had the courtesy to stalk you first. He tracked your habbits down, watching your work from across the street or joining you on your bus ride home on particularly uneventful evenings. He has been creeping closer, gliding from shadow to light and back into the dark- just like Hoodie had thought him.

Toby never wanted to scare you, that's why the first thing he did after parking the car in front you your house was going to the convenience store down the street. He'd seen you buy this particular brand of chocolate many times before. He hoped once he handed it to you it would bring an once of comfort amidst the circumstances.

The fact your hands are tied behind your back and your mouth stuffed didn't cross his mind then.

You were nothing like the others, he observed. You didn't scream or cry- hell, didn't even bite. He wanted to be grateful for such an easy capture, but -for fucks sake- you stared. Stared with gloomy, empty eyes past him into some far-off, unreadable place. Shaking his head in frustration, he muttered to himself dissaponted he ended up with the creepy chick, before slamming the the trunk door down, leaving you blind in the cramped space.

The drive to the mansion was uneventul for Toby, giving him plenty of time to let his mind wander. He hadn’t asked why you were wanted or what his boss planned for you—it didn’t matter to him then. But he couldn't help notice how you were rather easy on the eye. Maybe it was the isolation, the pent-up frustration and loneliness but a thought crossed his mind; what harm could it do if Slender let him borrow you for a little while? He chuckled darkly at his own thoughts, already imagining your surprise when, after a few days surviving on scraps in the manor’s cellar, he'd hand over the chocolate he’d picked up. You’d probably think he was your savior, fall right to his feet.

And if you would still be devoid of any reaction, he'd fuck your face into a pretty nice expression.

The old Mazda pulled into the driveway, its engine puffing and huffing, similar the old man Toby had swiped it from. Tim and Brian were already outside, blowing smoke and ash into the brittle winter air, their jackets hanging loose against the chill. The car's strained chug faltered as it rolled to a stop, steam curling from under the hood. Without waiting for Toby to fully park, Tim burried his cigarette into the frozen ground with the heel of his boot, his sharp gaze fixed on the boy as if he didnt expect him to ever return. Brian exhaled a plume of smoke, letting it drift lazily into the night.

"Back already, Tics?" Tim snarled, looking back to his friend. "What you say, Brian- think he's got her?"

The hooded man didnt respond but stepped closer with hesitation.

"Obviously I g-got her, got her," he smirked proudly getting out the driver's seat. "Hardly a challenge, really" he added, tilting his head back so high he might've been mistaken for a certain snouted animal.

"I gotta admit, that's a pretty impressive first job," Tim said, clapping Toby on the back as they approached the trunk. Brian hummed in agreement but kept a few cautious steps behind.

"What d-does Slender even want-t with some goth bitch?" Toby asked, gripping the key with newfound confidence and turning it smoothly in the rusty trunk lock. The red, corroded door creaked open with a deafening shriek, the sound swallowed immediately by an even louder silence.

So heavy was the quiet, Brian was certain he heard Tim's grin vanish, and he Toby's posture shrink. The trunk was empty.

A collared dove cooed mockingly as it flapped past their heads.

"A witch, Toby," Tim finally exhaled. "She's a witch."

"Yep, a witch, thats exactly what I was gonna say..."

[theonottsbxtch]

SACRED ASHES | CL16

an: this was a request from @waytooobsessedwithlife and i think edgar allen poe possesed my body and wrote this, enjoy

warnings: religous themes

wc: 5.2k

THE CHURCH WAS COLDER than she’d expected. A frigid December draft seeped through the old wooden doors, curling its way up her spine like an unwanted hand. She hadn’t been in a place like this for years, not since she was a child and her Sundays were dictated by her parents’ piety. The smell of wax and ancient wood was the same, though, as was the hollow echo of voices ricocheting off the high, vaulted ceiling.

She sat stiffly in the pew, her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth set in a defiant line. The hymns washed over her, half-forgotten verses bubbling up from the recesses of her memory. Her grandmother sang with fervour, her voice wavering yet unyielding.

And then, she saw him.

He was standing near the altar, his head bowed as though in prayer, the soft light from the stained-glass windows painting his pale skin in hues of crimson and gold. He was slender, boyish in a way that made her stomach twist unexpectedly. His dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, and his lips moved in quiet harmony with the hymn, though his voice didn’t rise above the others.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, curious despite herself. He seemed untouchable, like something out of a painting—an angel that had stumbled into the wrong century. And yet, there was a fragility to him, a softness that made her bold gaze feel like an intrusion.

When he finally glanced up, his eyes met hers. They were a soft green, wide with surprise, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fall away. She tilted her head slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. He blinked, his face colouring as he quickly looked away.

“Mm,” she hummed softly under her breath, leaning back against the pew. Interesting.

The service dragged on, but she hardly noticed. Her attention flickered to him again and again, drawn to the quiet way he moved, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his choir robe when he thought no one was watching.

After the final hymn, she slipped out with the first rush of people, desperate for fresh air. Outside, she lit a cigarette, cupping her hands against the wind. The first drag filled her lungs, sharp and bitter, grounding her.

And then he was there.

He emerged from the heavy oak doors, his coat too thin for the biting cold. She recognised him immediately, even with the way he kept his head down, as though willing himself to be invisible. But when he noticed her, his steps faltered.

She exhaled a curl of smoke, the grey tendrils spiralling between them like a challenge. “You look like you’re freezing,” she said, her voice low, tinged with amusement.

He hesitated, his cheeks flushed from either the cold or something else entirely. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice soft, almost musical.

“Sure you are.” She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made him shift awkwardly. “You always this shy, or is it just me?”

He looked away, his lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. “I… don’t usually talk to people out here.”

“Lucky me, then.” Her smile was slow, teasing, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—curiosity, maybe even a touch of admiration. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled only by the distant hum of Christmas carols spilling from the church.

“You shouldn’t smoke here,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s… disrespectful.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting the cigarette dangle from her fingers. “Disrespectful?” Her tone was incredulous, but her gaze was steady, probing. “And what would you call staring at me during the service, then?”

His mouth opened, then closed again, his face turning a deeper shade of red. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, you were,” she interrupted, the corners of her mouth lifting into a wicked grin.

He faltered, his breath visible in the cold air, before finally meeting her gaze. “I’m Charles,” he said, the words almost lost to the wind.

She let the name linger in the air between them, savouring the sound of it. “Charles,” she repeated, as though testing it. “Well then, Charles, maybe you should’ve kept staring. It’s the only thing about church that’s caught my interest in years.”

His lips parted, but no reply came. She took another drag, her eyes never leaving his, and for a moment, the world seemed to still once more.

Charles shifted on his feet, his breath fogging in the frigid air. “I… I wasn’t staring,” he said again, but the colour rising to his cheeks betrayed him.

She tilted her head, a slow smirk playing on her lips. “Sure you weren’t. You just happened to look my way… what, five times?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing nervously towards the church as though hoping for a divine intervention to save him. “It wasn’t five,” he murmured, his voice almost lost in the cold wind.

“Four, then.” She exhaled smoke in a languid stream, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

Before he could stammer out a response, a voice cut through the evening air. “Darling! There you are!”

She winced. Her grandmother’s voice, clear and commanding, carried with the ease of someone used to making themselves heard. She turned her head to see the older woman striding towards her, a knitted shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Charles’ eyes widened. “You’re Lady Carden’s daughter?”

She raised an eyebrow, flicking ash from her cigarette. “Granddaughter,” she corrected, her tone sharp enough to slice through the frost. “Why does that matter?”

He blinked, looking flustered as he glanced between her and the approaching figure of her grandmother. “I just—” He hesitated, fumbling for the right words. “I mean, Lady Carden is so… devout. I don’t understand how…” He trailed off, gesturing faintly towards her cigarette and the defiance etched into her every move.

Her lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like a flicker of something darker, something veiled. She leaned in slightly, just enough to make him take a half-step back, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “That’s the thing about belief, Charles,” she said, her words laced with a quiet, almost mocking amusement. “It’s not hereditary.”

He stared at her, speechless, as she straightened and tossed the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out beneath the heel of her boot.

“Come along, dear,” her grandmother called again, her tone softening as she drew nearer. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Coming,” she replied, turning away from Charles without another word.

She had taken only a few steps when she glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “See you around, Charles,” she said lightly, before slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat and disappearing into the night with her grandmother.

Charles stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot. The smell of smoke still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the crisp scent of winter. He couldn’t help but feel as though she had left behind more than just a cigarette stub—something intangible, something that stirred in the pit of his chest.

He whispered her words to himself, testing them on his tongue. It’s not hereditary.

And then, with a faint shake of his head, he turned and walked back into the church, his thoughts a tangle of confusion and intrigue.

The next evening, Charles found himself standing awkwardly at the doorstep of Lady Carden’s house, a modest but stately home tucked neatly behind an iron gate. He adjusted the strap of his bag, which was slung over one shoulder, and glanced up at the window where a wreath hung perfectly centred.

Lady Carden had asked for his help transporting the church’s nativity set. The pieces were too delicate and numerous for her to manage alone, and he, ever eager to assist, had offered without hesitation. Still, now that he was here, he felt an inexplicable twinge of nervousness—not because of Lady Carden, but because of her.

She hadn’t left his thoughts since the night before. The way she had spoken to him, so self-assured and enigmatic, had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

The door opened suddenly, and Lady Carden’s warm smile greeted him. “Oh, Charles, thank you for coming,” she said, ushering him inside. “It’s so good of you to help.”

“It’s no trouble, Lady Carden,” he replied politely, stepping into the warmth of the house. The scent of cinnamon and pine enveloped him, mingling with the faint strains of a Christmas hymn playing somewhere upstairs.

“The nativity pieces are in the sitting room,” she said, gesturing down the hall. “I’ll start wrapping them while you have a look. Oh, and my granddaughter’s here—she’s just upstairs. She might come down and give us a hand.”

Charles nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her again, not when her words from the night before still echoed in his mind.

He made his way to the sitting room, carefully examining the carved wooden figures of Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds spread out on the table. They were beautiful, each one intricately detailed and painted with care. He was just reaching for the angel when he heard the faint creak of footsteps descending the stairs.

And then she was there.

He turned, and the breath caught in his throat.

She wasn’t dressed for the weather at all—just a loose tank top that hung low on her shoulders and a pair of shorts that revealed long, bare legs. Her hair was mussed, as though she’d only just rolled out of bed, and a faint sheen of sleep still clung to her eyes. But even in her dishevelled state, she was radiant.

Her eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. She leaned casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, the movement drawing his attention to her collarbones.

“Well, if it isn’t the choir boy,” she said, her voice low and teasing.

Charles felt his face heat immediately. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His mind had gone blank, the words tangled somewhere between his thoughts and his tongue.

Her smirk deepened, and she took a step closer, tilting her head as she studied him. “You’re blushing,” she said, a hint of delight in her tone. “What’s the matter, Charles? Cat got your tongue?”

He shook his head quickly, forcing himself to look away, back at the nativity figures. “I—I’m just here to help with the nativity,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm,” she murmured, leaning slightly over the table to inspect the figures as well. The movement brought her closer, and he caught the faint scent of her—a mix of something floral and the remnants of cigarette smoke.

“You’re good at this, aren’t you?” she said, picking up the angel and turning it over in her hands. “All these neat little pieces, everything in its place.”

“It’s just… careful work,” he managed, still unable to meet her gaze.

She set the angel back down and straightened, her expression softening just slightly. “Careful work,” she repeated, as though tasting the words. “You’re such a contradiction, Charles.”

He frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she smiled—a small, almost wistful smile—and shook her head. “Never mind. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Before he could ask her to explain, Lady Carden appeared in the doorway, holding a box filled with straw for padding. “Thank you both for getting started,” she said brightly. “Charles, would you mind carrying this out to the car once we’re done?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly, grateful for the distraction.

But as he busied himself with the nativity figures, he couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes on him, or the lingering curve of her smirk as she leaned casually against the wall, watching him work.

Lady Carden bustled into the room, her cheeks slightly flushed. “You know,” she said, placing the last wrapped figure into the box, “I really ought to start dinner. Why don’t you drive the car to the church, darling?”

The suggestion was aimed at her granddaughter, who was still leaning lazily against the wall, one eyebrow arching at the proposal.

“Drive the car?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “What about choir boy here?” She tilted her head toward Charles with a sly smile.

“Charles has been kind enough to carry everything,” Lady Carden replied, smoothing her skirt and giving her a look that brooked no argument. “It’s the least you can do.”

Her granddaughter groaned, pushing off the wall. “Fine,” she muttered, dragging out the word. “But don’t blame me if I crash into a lamp post or something.”

“I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable,” Lady Carden said with a serene smile.

With a huff, she turned to Charles, her eyes glinting with a mix of defiance and amusement. “Guess you’re stuck with me, choir boy.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but before he could string together a coherent sentence, she disappeared up the stairs, her footsteps echoing faintly through the house.

He tried to focus on the nativity figures, carefully arranging the last few in the box, but his mind was elsewhere. The thought of being alone with her in a car, of the charged silences and her sharp, teasing remarks, made his pulse quicken.

Minutes later, her voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. “Ready when you are.”

Charles turned toward the staircase—and froze.

She was wearing a skirt, short enough to show just a hint of her thighs, paired with a tight-fitting top that accentuated every curve. Her hair was tousled, her eyes bright with mischief, and she moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect she had.

“Something wrong, Charles?” she asked, her lips curving into that now-familiar smirk as she descended the stairs.

“No,” he said quickly, averting his eyes to the nativity box in front of him. But his face betrayed him, flushing crimson as he busied himself with adjusting the straw.

She stopped in front of him, reaching out to pluck a stray piece of hay from the box. “You’re blushing again,” she noted, her voice low and teasing.

“I’m not—” he started, but his voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat. “I’m not blushing,” he finished, though it sounded more like a plea than a statement.

She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Let’s get this over with, then.”

Lady Carden reappeared, oblivious to the tension thickening the air. “Thank you both so much,” she said warmly, clapping her hands together. “Drive safely, and don’t dawdle, dear. Dinner won’t cook itself.”

Her granddaughter rolled her eyes but said nothing, grabbing the car keys from the side table and tossing them into her bag.

Charles followed her to the door, his heart thudding in his chest. As they stepped out into the crisp winter air, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on the way the hem of her skirt swayed with each step.

He swallowed hard. This was going to be a long drive.

The car rattled softly as they drove through the winding country roads. The heater struggled to keep up with the winter chill, and the faint scent of pine from an old air freshener lingered in the air. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping absently against the doorframe.

Charles sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the nativity box wedged securely between his feet. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, and he kept glancing her way, unsure whether he was more intrigued or unnerved by the nonchalant way she handled the car.

Without warning, she reached into her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one with a practised flick of her lighter. The sharp scent of smoke filled the car, and she cracked the window to let the cold air swirl in.

Charles frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you have to do that?”

She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do what?”

“Smoke. In the car.”

She took a drag, her lips curving around the cigarette before exhaling slowly. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice firmer than he’d intended. “It’s not good for you. Or me.”

For a moment, she looked like she might argue, but then she sighed and rolled the window down farther, flicking the cigarette out into the night. “Fine,” she said, her tone laced with mock exasperation. “Anything else you want to complain about, choir boy?”

He shook his head, looking out the window. “Thank you,” he muttered.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the tension between them crackling like static. When they reached the church, she parked haphazardly near the entrance and leaned back in her seat, watching as Charles climbed out with the nativity box in his arms.

She stayed in the car, fiddling with the radio as he carried the pieces inside, arranging them carefully on the altar. When he returned, he hesitated at the open car door. “I can walk home from here,” he offered.

She snorted, leaning across the seat to look up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Get in.”

He hesitated, then sighed and climbed back into the car. The door shut with a heavy thud, and she started the engine, pulling out onto the road without another word.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The low hum of the engine and the faint buzz of static from the radio filled the space between them.

“What does Christianity mean to you?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Charles blinked, startled by the question. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, glancing at him briefly before turning her attention back to the road. “What does it mean to you? All of it—God, Jesus, the prayers, the hymns. What’s it for?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. What did it mean to him? It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought about—not like this, not in the way her question demanded.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smirked, her eyes flicking to him again. “You don’t know? You spend all this time praying and singing hymns, and you don’t even know what you’re praying to?”

Her tone wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was challenging, like she was daring him to dig deeper, to confront something he’d never questioned before.

“I—” He faltered, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I feel it. When I’m in the church, when I’m singing… I feel something.”

“Something,” she repeated, her voice sceptical yet not entirely dismissive.

“Yes,” he said, a little more firmly this time. “Something bigger than me. Something… good.”

She didn’t respond right away, and he didn’t notice that the car had stopped moving until the faint roar of the engine quieted.

When he looked up, they were parked by a lake, the water still and dark beneath the moonlight.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

She turned off the car and leaned back in her seat, her eyes fixed on the shimmering surface of the water. “You tell me, choir boy,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with mystery.

She stepped out of the car without a word, her boots crunching against the frosty gravel as she made her way toward the lake. A large rock jutted out near the shore, its surface smooth and pale under the moonlight. She climbed onto it with the kind of ease that spoke of familiarity, sitting cross-legged as the night wrapped around her.

Charles lingered by the car for a moment, watching her. The stillness of the lake seemed to mirror the confusion in his chest, the weight of her earlier question pressing heavily on his mind. Finally, he stepped forward, his shoes scuffing against the cold ground as he followed her.

She didn’t look up as he approached, but when he climbed onto the rock and sat beside her, she shifted slightly, making just enough space for him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The lake stretched out before them, vast and quiet, its surface catching the faint glow of the stars. The crisp air smelled of damp earth and winter frost, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

“I don’t really know what religion means to me,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, hesitant, as if the words themselves were fragile.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes catching the silver light of the moon. “Then why do you cling to it?”

He exhaled slowly, the cloud of his breath dissolving into the night. “Because it’s the only thing that’s ever stayed the same. My parents…” His voice wavered, and he glanced down at his hands, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “They’re not… happy. They haven’t been for a long time. The fighting, the silence—it’s like living in a storm that never ends.”

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t interrupt, waiting for him to continue.

“When I’m at church,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “it’s different. It’s quiet, but not the kind of quiet that feels heavy. It’s… safe. Like maybe there’s something out there that sees me. That cares.”

She was silent for a moment, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. Then she asked, her tone gentle but probing, “Do you really believe that? Or do you just need to believe it?”

Her question landed like a stone dropped into the still water. He blinked, startled, and turned to face her. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

She tilted her head, her hair catching the faint light. “Have you ever wondered what you’re actually praying to? Not the words, not the rituals. Just the feeling. That something you talked about.”

Charles hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I’ve always thought it was God.”

“Maybe it is,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a breath. “Or maybe it’s hope. Or love. Or the part of you that doesn’t want to give up.”

Her words settled over him like a blanket of mist, filling the empty spaces inside him that he hadn’t even known were there. He stared out at the lake, the reflection of the stars rippling across its surface, and tried to find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he said again, the frustration creeping into his voice. “I’ve never… I’ve never questioned it before.”

She leaned back slightly, propping herself up on her hands. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know everything right now.”

He turned to look at her, the moonlight catching the faint curve of her smile, and for a moment, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.

She glanced away, her eyes tracing the outline of the lake. “Sometimes, I think it’s less about finding answers and more about figuring out what questions you’re really asking.”

Charles let her words sink in, the stillness of the night pressing softly against him.

The stillness of the night wrapped around them like a cocoon, the faint rustling of the wind through the trees the only sound beyond their quiet breaths. Charles shifted slightly, glancing sideways at her. She was gazing out at the lake, her expression distant but calm, as if the vast expanse of water mirrored something inside her.

“Why don’t you believe?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a quiet weight.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let the question hang in the air, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the surface of the rock. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost bitter. “Feels pathetic to pray and not get listened to.”

Charles blinked, caught off guard by the rawness of her words. She pulled a cigarette from her jacket pocket and lit it with a practised flick of her lighter, the flame briefly illuminating her face. She took a long drag, the tip glowing like a tiny ember in the dark.

He hesitated, watching the smoke curl lazily into the air. “So… you seek your refuge in smoking?”

She smirked, exhaling a plume of smoke that caught the moonlight. “At least it doesn’t pretend to care.”

The words stung, but before he could respond, she turned toward him, the cigarette held delicately between her fingers. “Want one?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. That’s not… I don’t smoke.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, but there was a faint glint of amusement in her eyes as she brought the cigarette back to her lips.

He tried to focus on the lake, on the cold night air biting at his skin, but he couldn’t ignore the warmth radiating from her, the faint, heady scent of the smoke mingling with her perfume.

And then he realised just how close she was.

Her shoulder was barely an inch from his, her breath warm as she exhaled again, the smoke curling between them. The world around them seemed to blur, the lake, the stars, the cold—all fading into the background as his awareness narrowed to her presence.

She tilted her head, her eyes catching his. In the dim light, they were dark and unreadable, like deep pools that threatened to pull him under.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Cat got your tongue?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as she leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, her gaze dropped to his lips and then back to his eyes, as if waiting for him to stop her.

He didn’t.

Her lips met his, soft and warm, and the sensation sent a jolt through him, like the first spark of a fire catching on dry kindling. The kiss deepened, her hand brushing lightly against his jaw as if to steady him, and he felt himself sinking into her, the world falling away entirely.

But then, as suddenly as it had begun, he pulled back, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“I’ve sinned,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling.

She stared at him for a moment, then let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. “Sinned? Oh, come on, choir boy. It’s just a kiss.”

“To you, maybe,” he said, his cheeks flushed, his breath uneven. “But to me…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as if trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside him.

She tilted her head, studying him with an amused but not unkind expression. “Relax,” she said softly, leaning back slightly. “Your God’ll forgive you. Isn’t that his whole deal?”

Her words didn’t soothe him, but they didn’t anger him either. Instead, they left him even more confused, his mind spinning with questions he didn’t know how to answer.

The smoke lingered between them, faint and warm, as he stared at the lake, struggling to catch his breath.

Charles stared at the lake, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The weight of everything pressed down on him—the kiss, her words, the sudden chasm between what he thought he believed and what he felt now. His hands trembled slightly as he buried his face in them, his elbows braced on his knees.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” he said, his voice muffled, almost to himself. “Church, the hymns, the prayers… the rules. It was meant to make sense of everything. But now…”

She didn’t respond, didn’t press. She simply watched him, her gaze steady, the cigarette burning down between her fingers.

“What if none of it means anything?” he continued, his voice cracking. “What if it’s all just… rituals we do to distract ourselves from the silence? What if God’s just… nothing?”

The lake seemed to mirror his turmoil, its surface rippling faintly in the night breeze. He let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it.

“I’ve built my whole life around this,” he said, lifting his head, his eyes bright with anguish. “Every prayer, every song, every confession—what was it for? To feel like this? Lost? Alone?”

Her lips curved into the faintest of smirks, though it lacked her usual sharpness. “Existential crises look good on you, choir boy.”

He shot her a look, but there was no real venom in it. If anything, her calmness grounded him, kept him from spiralling too far into the void opening up inside him.

After a moment, she exhaled softly, the smoke curling around her in the cold air. “Want me to take you home?”

He shook his head almost immediately, his voice hoarse. “No.”

Her brow arched slightly, but she didn’t press. Instead, she took another drag of her cigarette, the ember glowing faintly. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, almost tender. “I can take you back to my apartment if you want. No expectations. Just… somewhere to land.”

He hesitated, the war in his chest visible in the tense set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed restlessly against his thighs. But then he nodded, barely perceptibly, and she smiled, just a little.

“Come on,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette on the rock before flicking it into the dirt. She stood and offered him a hand, and after a moment, he took it.

The drive back was silent, but it wasn’t the awkward silence of strangers or the heavy silence of unspoken words. It was the kind of silence that allowed space to breathe, to think, to unravel.

When they pulled up outside her place, she climbed out first, waiting for him by the door. He followed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were walking through a dream.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly scented with the lavender sachets she kept tucked into drawers. She flicked on a lamp, its soft glow casting long shadows across the walls, and motioned for him to sit.

He sank into the worn sofa, his head falling back against the cushions. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I don’t know who I am without it,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

She sat on the armrest beside him, her fingers idly brushing against the fabric of the sofa. “Maybe that’s the point,” she said softly. “You’re not supposed to know yet.”

He looked up at her, his expression raw, open. “What if there’s nothing? What if I let go and it’s just… empty?”

Her gaze softened, and she leaned down, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Then you build something. Brick by brick, piece by piece. You don’t need a God to tell you who you are, Charles. You figure that out on your own.”

Her words echoed in his mind, sinking deep, unsettling and grounding all at once. He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

And as the silence settled over them once more, it carried with it a weight he couldn’t quite define—a strange, aching liberation.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t pray.

And that terrified him.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[osamucide]

FLAVOR PROFILE—afab+gn!reader, angst and comfort??? smoking, alcohol, established friendship, feelings, f!masturbation, loss of virginity, body worship, biting, scratching, tiniest hint of corruption (there should've been more I’m sorry) and possessive aku, praise, fingering, penetration, creampie

ABV—6.1k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

"Really?"

He can't believe you're laughing at him. You swear you're not—you've sworn twice now. He just sighs and snatches your cigarette from you.

"I just kind of can't believe it, Ryuu," you rationalize, pressing your shoulder against his. "I'm not, I promise. I'm not laughing because it's funny. Just surprised, that's all."

Surprised, sure, alright. Look at me, he wants to spit at you, but he's hacking from holding the smoke in his lungs just a moment too long and so you work the dart from his fingers and tuck it back between your lips as he rights himself.

Akutagawa crosses his arms, not unlike a pouting child, and fixes his eyes on the brick wall across from you both and the one you lean back on as you're sat atop some wooden crate, one long discarded after a weapons shipment or whatever else. He can't help but feel a little small beneath your reaction, but you resume issuing soft kicks to the gravel beneath your feet like it was nothing—like you hadn't just drawn probably one of the most humiliating confessions out of him. He never really gave a second thought to all that before you came around, but now that he's beside you, elbows crossed over his knees as he draws them closer to himself, he suddenly feels like he should've before.

You finish your cigarette in silence, pointedly not moving away from him.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, sincerely as you chuck the butt to the ground in front of you. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable." But he still doesn't look at you. Akutagawa's dealing with more than one predicament at the present moment and he needs to sort them before he can turn his attention back to you.

One—he doesn't know if it would've been more or less attractive, or maybe repulsive, if he could've said, yeah, I've fucked plenty of people before, or at least I've fucked someone, and Akutagawa's aware he's a lot of filthy things, but apparently he's neither a liar nor a whore, and it leads him right to his second predicament, which is this: why does he care whether you find him attractive or repulsive?

How long has he care what you think of him at all? And last: what does it mean, that he does?

It's that last one that his thoughts get snagged on.

You tap your foot beneath you. This alleyway is where you always drag him off to when you feel like getting away from work. He can hardly remember the last time he said no to you when it came to escaping Mori's iron rule for an hour or so. But he wishes he would've today, kind of like he wishes he would've skipped the only other time he can recall wishing to have skipped—the day you let him smoke one of your cigarettes.

It's funny how your conversation from that day parallels the exchange from minutes ago. It sticks in his mind right now. You, at least two years younger and having known him on a much more superficial level than you do now, had laughed a little; it makes him feel only marginally better about you laughing now. Even then you were reassuring him, not because it's funny, but just because—I don't know, that's what I do when I’m surprised, I guess. He's always envied your ability to find joy in small things like that, after all.

You didn't make him feel small just now. He finds ways to do that all on his own; he knows that. He must've been weak back then because he'd inhaled less tar than you, and he hated that, so he did it when you offered. But now, here he was. You know he's never even kissed anyone, let alone fucked. The sensical pattern, thinking back to that day when you tapped a cigarette out of your pack for him, lit it off your own, good-naturedly patted his back as the coughs raged out of him because he inhaled it all down way too fast for someone with clean lungs—

Where exactly would that lead now, logically?

It's not like he's never thought about it. But you don't need to know that.

Akutagawa turns his his head away from you, chin on his arms. He can feel his face burn. He won't let you see.

But he knows you now, and you know him. And he knows you'll offer anyway.

You sit in silence, maybe ten minutes more, kicking the ground and letting your eyes flutter open and shut, before you pull another smoke out of your pack and stick it in your mouth.

“Well,” you mumble as your lighter flicks, “If you wanna change that…”

He doesn’t move. He can still feel the crate trembling from how you tap your foot, which is good, because he’s a little restless himself. You draw off your cigarette; he sees the smoke dissipate in his peripheral as your head falls back to rest on the brick. What he doesn’t see is your little half-smirk, but he knows it’s there.

It’s not that Akutagawa doesn’t like you. Anyone that knows him well can probably see he likes you, or at least tolerates you—he lets you drag him here week after week, shift after shift, after all. He gives you grace, even if it’s small, when you fuck up on jobs—something he never gives to anyone else, hardly even Chuuya. He doesn’t flinch or swat you away when you absentmindedly pull him in some direction by his elbow or his wrist; he doesn’t scoff at you when you lean up against him, like you are right now, and shift away from you or push you off like he might even with Gin. To someone who doesn’t know him, he probably looks indifferent to you at worst, and indifference and tolerance, and maybe even liking, tend to go hand-in-hand when it comes to the wielder of Rashoumon. He’s not outright evil to you, and that’s enough—if for no one else, for you. But you know him by now.

And because you know him, you know what he’ll say next.

“No.”

And it’s not because he doesn’t like you, which is why you’ll do what you do next, and he knows you will because he knows you, too, by now—enough to maybe like you—you’ll press him.

“Aw, why not?” It drawls out of you lightheartedly, almost jokingly.

It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never looked at him with fear, disgust, or hatred in your eyes—not even before you knew one another so well and he would regularly, in response to your antics, threaten to beat you to a pulp with his black beast. It might have something to do with how you seem to look right through him like that, and then inadvertently boost his ego by telling him you think he totally has the capacity to be cool, or even normal, doing things like fucking and smoking cigarettes. He wants to laugh at how silly it all sounds to him. Akutagawa’s never been good at letting himself understand why you make him feel the way you do. Why he deserves your kindness or companionship. Why you can’t see him for what he is: a war machine, configured from birth, far beyond—or maybe beneath—any sort of semblance of a normal destiny that includes indulgence. Love. It would make him respect you less, hate you, maybe, if it wasn’t so secretly pleasant, the fact that you don’t look at him like that. The fact that you seem to think he does deserve something more than misery.

I have a feeling this is gonna be a long partnership, so it’d be a lot more fun if you smoked! You said that the day you were assigned to each other, before you knew about his lung condition, and he knew he shouldn’t have ever accepted your offer that day in this very alleyway because he ended up liking the head high cigarettes gave him, even if it was horrible for him.

The same way he likes you, and it makes him unbearably soft. The same way he’d probably like kissing you. Fucking you. Another thing that’ll kill him one day, one way or another. He knows if he gets any closer than he is, and then for some reason you leave—die, run away, decide your relationship is awkward now and he’s horrible and you hate him, whatever—it’d kill him, undoubtedly. Better not to smoke the cigarette. Better not to fuck the only real friend he thinks he’s had since he was watching his back every moment he lived in the slums. Anything that felt good was almost certainly a trap laid to hurt him.

“Because,” he huffs.

If for sole annoyance or disgust, he would’ve bitched you out. But he doesn’t. You note this. So, you let it go. Because you know him.

“Alright,” you sigh. Not disappointed, not dismissive. Just affirming and understanding. It blows his mind all over again. He doesn't move, doesn't look at you. "Well, I suppose we should get back." Your eyes flick to your wristwatch. "Kouyou wanted us for something in about a half hour."

Some silly meeting in some bar. Chuuya's not there to keep her from getting off topic, so Akutagawa sits beneath the low light (on the edge of the booth, thank god), you next to him, while your superior's ordering another round of whisky sodas for the table.

When Kouyou distributes the drinks, Akutagawa slides his toward you, which you then slide to the man on your other side. His name's Shota—one of Chuuya's subordinates—and he takes it off your hands happily. You nestle your own between your hands on the tabletop.

"But as I was saying," the scarlet-haired woman continues, "it's going to have to happen over the weekend. I don't think it's wise to do anything until Nakahara's back from Tokyo, which will be Friday at the earliest, and the tracking number for the Makarov shipment on its way in got thrown in the trash so Hirotsu's going to have to..."

Akutagawa's gaze trains steadily on your hands; his own are busy, one propping his chin up, the other circling rings over the rim of his first and only glass, now empty. It's not out of the ordinary for him to tune out of Kouyou's tipsy ramblings, especially when Chuuya will be back in a few days to explain the game plan concisely and soberly. What is out of the ordinary is that he's still stiff, thinking about your conversation from the alleyway and the tone in which you so nonchalantly cooed aw, why not? Almost as if you'd been a little disappointed when he said no, he wouldn't take you up on your offer. Were you? He has to doubt it. You've always been a little too eager to get him fucked up on Chuuya's wine, drag him out of work, pull him out of his comfort zone—he'd seen the unmistakable excitement on your face the first time you'd jammed a cigarette between his lips. But that is way too far out of his wheelhouse, and he's pretty sure you both know it.

Even if he does keep thinking about it.

You, well—you sip your second whisky and take note of his fidgeting. Although your drink’s only half gone, you tap your foot against his, glancing between him and the door; he looks at you, then back down at his empty glass, clears his throat and nods ever so subtly. Code exhcange for I'm bored, wanna leave? Of course. So when the conversation lulls, you both stand.

"Kazuha has us at eight-thirty," you explain, bidding everyone good evening and seeing yourselves out the door before anyone has the chance to ask what for.

"Kazuha? That was the best lie you could come up with?"

"Are we still sitting in there or not?" you refute, cigarette dangling from your mouth as you walk with your hands behind your head in the direction of headquarters. "Can't wait to get home."

"Yeah, after your hard day," Akutagawa mutters.

"Hey, watch it," you poke. "I moved shit all morning. Need a shower bad."

Which is exactly what you do after you depart from your partner and scamper up to your apartment. But first you take the liberty of lighting a few candles, cracking your bathroom window for a breeze, dancing around to a little music as a bath full of lavender salts warms, and rubbing out your sore knees with that pain relief oil Higuchi recommended to you. It's true, you did spend all morning getting shipments from the port; the less luxurious side of the life and work of a mafioso moving their way up the ladder isn't something you're unfamiliar with, although you do it less now.

You settle in, sighing. Maybe it's wrong to still be thinking about it, but you had sort of hoped Akutagawa would take to your little quip earlier with at least a hint of curiosity, or bring it up on your walk home even if just to tell you how absurd it was that you'd even think such a thing; perhaps you should've been more deliberate, you think. Or maybe it's a good thing that you weren't. He's one of the last people you'd want to make things weird with—outside of being the (rather oblivious) object of your affection, he's still your coworker and, as of recent years, very best friend. Somewhat of a literal partner in crime. You snicker at that as your shoulders dip below the water. You momentarily debate trying to dismiss your little feelings for the night, and you will, for the most part—but while you're relieving physical tension under the soft flicker of your candles and the hum of the city below you, you figure you might as well dispel your disappointment, too, and you trace your fingers down the curve of your hip to find yourself wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water.

Meanwhile, Akutagawa is pacing his living quarters. He's already taken a cold shower to stave off what has only become more difficult not to think about now that you're gone—he doesn't have to hold it together for you or anyone, and he finds himself trying to sit still on the edge of his bed as his phone sits a few feet away on the nightstand. Should he text you about it? Call you? Fuck that—you do a fine job of flustering him when you're barely trying, but if he let you know—god, if he let you know, he'd never hear the end of it. Text or call you to talk about anything else, even if just to hear your voice and have your presence? No, he has a feeling that would drive him even further up the tree he's chased himself up; he's sitting, tapping his foot like you were earlier when he should've been able to answer you normally, his apartment is dead silent, his dick's half-hard in his sweatpants and he doesn't know what to do.

You probably weren't even serious. If he was smart, he would've jacked off in the shower and called it a night.

But he likes you. More than you realize—more than you can realize, because he's always stone-faced, no-bullshit, hard-ass Akutagawa and he doesn't know how to be anything else, even when you're around and ecouraging him to loosen up. You can't possibly realize how much you've done for him in terms of easing his anxiety over always being good enough, in terms of helping him understand his humanity, in terms of making him feel like a real person.

He suddenly feels like he's on a tightrope of keeping you close and messing it all up, and whichever way he decides to fall will inevitably bring unending frustration that he could've done something different, something better.

And maybe this is an opening. Or a pinnacle that his relationship with you was doomed to come to. Either way, he can't sit in his apartment. Marching forward, like he always does—no matter how hesitantly—he slips his jacket on and shoves his keys in his pocket before he's heading for the elevator.

It's not until he's staring at the interface of buttons that he decides between launching himself to the ground for a long walk along the port or punching in your floor.

And you're so close—your back's arching, your jaw hangs slack, you're spilling water down the side of the tub that pools on the floor, but you'll worry about it later—when you hear manic pounding coming from your hallway. Maybe it's not yours, you think, screwing your eyes shut and working your fingers back and forth in tight circles around your clit because you want it, damn it, but your apartment's so damn big that it's almost impossible to conceive of it being for anyone else.

"One minute!" you shout, rising out of the water with grumbling breath to wrap yourself in a towel and blow all your candles out in one swipe. But whoever it is doesn't hear you, or doesn't care—the harsh knocking pattern booms again, and you almost trip over your pile of discarded work clothes as you fumble out of the bathroom wondering what could possibly be so important, and on account of who, that they had to interrupt your first hour of alone time all day, not to mention when you were so deliciously close to an orgasm you'd been working yourself up to with painstaking care. You'd even edged yourself a little, just because you figured you had time; you would've gotten it over with if you'd have known you were on call, but here you are, unsatisfied and stomping to your door, about to crack it open and take whatever orders were about to be unloaded onto you with a smile and can-do attitude.

You fling the door open.

“What?”

Akutagawa’s fist is still raised to knock. You watch his eyes behind his sunglasses as they flit down to you—you in nothing but a towel—and his face breaks out in a blush you’ve never seen on him before.

If you were any less annoyed, you would’ve smirked.

“Ryuu, what?” you snap again as his hand falls to his side. Whatever it is, if someone needs backup, if it’s urgent, you wish he’d tell you already—it’s so unlike him to stand speechless that you almost want to ask if something else is going on. “Can you spit it out so I know if I should get dressed, please?”

No, he wants to croak out, but you’ll just keep barraging him with questions—all he does is fumble his way inside your apartment with please don’t get dressed on the back of his tongue and that really strange, dazed look behind his glasses. He can't even blame the alcohol from earlier—he only had one, and it's had ample time to wear off.

“Ryuunosuke—”

He freezes where he is, steely eyes locking onto yours, and his voice leaves him, hoarse. “Say that again, please.”

You look at him incredulously, scrunching your towel up beneath your fist that holds it up. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Akutagawa feels small again. This was the wrong decision. He should’ve gone for that walk. He should’ve jerked off in the shower and then went to bed and tossed and turned until he finally fell into an erratic sleep and he should not be here, he should wake up tomorrow morning, sleep-deprived and full of regret but knowing he’s safe because he didn’t go to your apartment to find you in nothing but a towel and he spared your relationship, he didn’t make it weird, and he’d look at you longingly for the rest of however long, only when you weren’t looking just so you’d never know how much agony your stupid little joke from earlier today put him in.

But you’re expecting an answer, and out of all the filthy things Akutagawa is convinced he is, he is not a liar.

His eyes fly to the ground. Your legs, knocking together from the chill of the water droplets that still cling to them.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about earlier,” he forces out. “What you said.”

You hesitate. “What I said…?” Had you said something wrong?

Great, he thinks, mouth falling open. So you weren’t serious.

“You know what, nevermind.” He shouldn’t be here. He goes to push past you, toward your still-open door, but you stop him, shutting the door and pushing a palm against his chest.

“Tell me,” you mean to say, but it sounds more like a question; his pale face flushes again, and you search him with your gaze. He seems to shrink a little more before he sighs and looks to you once more.

“If I wanted to change that I’ve never…”

You wait.

“Kissed.”

You blink, cock your head.

“Or fucked anyone.”

Your hand lets up on his chest, and you find yourself taking a step back—little, but it sends your partner reeling into self-doubt all over again.

“You want…” You speak, quietly, with less urgency than you have thus far. “You wanna fuck me?”

And Akutagawa’s nodding, more frantically than his pride would prefer. But he’s nodding. Not looking at you. Waiting for you to laugh and clap him on the shoulder with a yeah, as if and tell him to go home.

But your fingers slide up to curl along the side of his neck. When his eyes are still downcast, you cup his jaw in your palm.

“Ryuu, look at me.”

Here it comes. The big rejection. He’s ready. He’ll go home and punch a hole in his wall, but he’s ready to hold it together right now.

His eyes drift to yours again, still cold and nervous, like a dog’s when it’s about to bite.

But you smile, trace your thumb along his bottom lip, and whisper.

He has no idea how much you mean what you're saying next.

“I wish you would’ve just led with that.”

It’s like bombs are about to detonate in his brain. He knows what he should do next—he should kiss you, he should throw himself at you and let your tongue between his lips, but part of the reason why he’s here is because he never has, and he trusts you to show him—just what kind of weak has he become, trusting someone with their teeth so close to his throat? It doesn’t matter because he wants it, he just wants you to—

“Show me, please.”

To his displeasure, you don't latch onto him like a hungry animal. Instead, your fingers drift down to his and wind between them; you lead him past the couch to your bedroom, sit him down, and pull your towel a little tighter around you. He wants it off, he wants to see you—even if the thought of sitting naked himself, in front of you, makes his stomach flip, he wants nothing more than to tear the towel away, get to exploring the ways you like to be touched, hear sounds from you he's never heard before.

"Ryuu," you say, one hand on his shoulder. "Be sure you want this."

"I do," he squeaks out, hardly ever having heard his own voice so meek.

"Tell me. Say it."

"I want it," his words follow yours seamlessly, without another thought. He's already established in his mind that he trusts you. But he's still sort of waiting for you to start chuckling and tell him this is a big joke; his hands tremble as you stare, digging for uncertainty, but you don't find any. So as you hold your towel against you, you crawl carefully onto his lap, astride his waist.

And now, he has you. Between his fingers. They find the curve of your waist as you curl an arm around the back of his neck after you work the jacket off from around his shoulders, tear his glasses off, push his soft bangs from his face. Akutagawa looks at you with so much wonder, so much need; you set your weight on him, and you feel him, and his nails grip your ass through the towel.

"Please, don't be gentle," he whispers when your lips hover immediately over his. He can feel your breath, warm and inviting, as the tip of your nose brushes past his.

You smile into his mouth and wrap your other arm around him.

You let the towel fall as you kiss him.

Hot, slow.

And the bombs go off all at once. Before the towel can pool over his hands he's batting it to the floor, scooting back onto your mattress to accomodate you; he wants to shut his eyes but you grind down against him through his pants as your lips mold against his and he’s probably never felt so alert in his life. Akutagawa gasps in a certain way, another sound he's never heard himself make; when your fingers tangle into the hair at the back of his head, he groans, grips your waist, and his eyes melt shut, finally.

You kiss him until he's putty, and he follows your lead; you grab his wrists and guide his hands to your chest, which has his eyes flying open all over again as he feels his fingerpads twitch over your nipples. You work him onto his back, easing him down with your tongue against his, so warm, so wet; your teeth, harsh in his bottom lip, where your thumb stroked so tenderly before, force his hips in a circle, and, oh, god, you have him losing it already, completely helpless, completely breathless.

You pull back, grinning, before grabbing for the buttons on his shirt.

"This okay?"

It's not okay, it's insane. His pants are too tight. He's never needed someone like this. And you look so angelic above him waiting for him to nod, give you a small yes, before you work him out of his shirt next, taking care to trace every ridge and valley of his ribs and abdomen as you do. He shivers when it's gone, discarded with his jacket and glasses; his arms come to cover himself but you trace those, too, the dips in his lean muscle and severities of his shoulders, collarbones, elbows, wrists. Just as he thinks he might feel too vulnerable, you start mapping him out with a softness he's never felt before; he wants to sink into it, keep it forever. If he wasn't so painfully hard, he might not even need to fuck you; just laying, relaxing into the sheets beneath him as you look at him like he's beautiful, is a heaven of its own.

"You're so pretty, Ryuu," you mutter. You hunch to bite the juncture of his throat and shoulder, then soothe it with a kiss. "So, so fucking pretty. You know that?"

Akutagawa shudders again. "I told you not to be gentle."

You bite him once more, grinding your bare cunt along his clothed cock, and a groan throttles from his chest. After doing the same to the opposite side of his neck, your lips meet his again, and he forgets about shielding himself in favor of letting his hands rock you back and forth against him.

You feel him twitch below you as you work him into nothing but impatient breath and swollen lips; your irritation from not reaching your climax earlier doubles back on you in a wave of arousal, and you’re guiding him out of his pants and boxers at the same time, and thank god that’s all that’s left and that you’re so turned on already because when the tip of his pale cock hits his abs, all you can think about is sinking down onto it, feeling it fill you up and pulse inside you.

But you wait, looking at him low-lidded and asking him, “You want me on top, or you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses, twisting a leg into the bend of your knee at his side; you’re not weak by any means, but in one smooth movement he’s got you on your back, pinned down by your wrists. “If you’re going to be gentle, then I won’t.”

Wasting no time. You almost giggle but you’re gasping, his eagerness streamlining into a searing kiss to your mouth and one of his rough hands snaking down to collect the wetness pooling between your thighs.

He knows he should touch you. He knows that much. He wants to know—

“Where? Tell me where,” he growls into your mouth, and you guide him by his wrist and fingers once again to draw tight circles over your clit—ones that make you arch, and after feeling how you do it he burns it into his brain, the movement you’re guiding him through that sends your head lolling onto the pillow. Akutagawa’s eyes widen. He could watch your expression replay for hours.

“That’s it,” you encourage him, breathy, letting him go as he memorizes your rhythm. “Feels so good.”

You bring your two wet fingers up to his mouth, which he accepts without hesitance; his tongue swirls around them and you realize how serious he is—he doesn’t want it slow and you’re losing your resolve against him and you think you need him in you, right now.

He stills when you reach for his cock, dark hair swaying as his gaze trails your hand; he sits back, heaving, as he rubs you, as you stroke him and smear a pathetically large bead of precum across his tip and down his length. Trying desperately not to stop, to keep making you feel good, he throws his head back when you squeeze just beneath the head of his cock and pull him back toward you by his shoulder.

“Wan’ you to fuck me, Ryuu,” you whine, lining him up with your weeping hole. He’s pushing in with hardly a second thought, and, oh—he’s groaning in yet another way he’s never heard before, watching himself disappear into you, bracing himself on your forearms until he fills you up to hilt. So wet, so warm. He hardly realizes how ragged his breath is until he hears your own.

You squirm, and after he presses another series of messy kisses to your lips to stifle the noises of pleasure leaving him that would be so humiliating if he wasn’t so drunk on you, you hold him by his chin and look so deeply into his eyes that he’s afraid for a second you’re doing that thing where you look right through him into his very soul, but your mouth is forming around words that he must hear, he must hang onto, you have to tell him what to do, and you do—

“Don’t be gentle.”

So he isn’t. He moves, on nothing but your words and intuition and the way you clench around him; there’s virtually no resistance when he pulls out, slams back in, pulls out, slams back in—and he loses himself in it so quickly, so noisily.

“Unh—fuck—” Your name leaves his lips like a song that has you linking your ankles behind his back as he writhes, pounds into you—and you understand all over again, he wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t want it slow. And neither do you, you realize, now that he’s dragging his perfect cock along your insides so deliciously.

He realizes something too, as he falls to his elbows and buries his open mouth into your neck; that he never wants anyone else to hear the sounds either of you are making ever again. He doesn't care that you're more experienced than him, or that your relationship is irrevocably changed now that this is happening; you're going to be the first and last person that ever hears him moaning like this, that ever has him blushing from face to chest at the lewd sounds that your bodies emit where they meet and then part each time he pistons in and out of you. You’re clawing at him, raking tracks down his back and biceps that spur him to a pace he didn’t know he was capable of—he can’t wait to see them in the mirror tomorrow when the rawness has left and they’re angry red, a testament to how quickly he’s learning you, how quickly you’re both falling apart, how much he thinks he loves you.

Yeah, he thinks he loves you—it’s muffled by your skin, but he’s saying it, he can’t help it, he can’t keep it in his lungs if he’s going to keep this pace up.

“Love you, Ryuu,” you echo, and he echoes you right back like he didn’t start it.

“Love you.” Thrust. “Love you.” Thrust. “Love you—mmh!”

"My good boy," you croon when he reaches down to touch you, to feel you squeezing him down on him. Your good boy. You could turn him into a whore if you kept saying that.

"My name, please," he breathes, high-pitched, almost wheezing; you hold him as close to your body as you can, shortening his unstoppable thrusts against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, pushes rhythmic moans from your throat, and his hands are all over you, begging for it in his rough grips that undulate into soft caresses back to harsh nails back to gentle strokes.

"Ryuunosuke—" you choke out, "Don't—" Gasp. "—fucking—" Gasp. "—stop!"

The most gorgeous strand of strained moans, gasps, and growls leave him as his head batters insatiably against your cervix; he’s falling off that tightrope, and you’re catching him, all his shaking fingers and trembling thighs that still momentarily before he can warn you, before he can tell you—

"Cum in me," you sigh as you feel him, feel yourself breaking, coming undone as he forces his sounds down your throat; you swallow them all, crying out against his lips as he bites you, furrows his brow, pulls back to bore into your clouded gaze—he's sure he looks the same if not worse, more unraveled, mouth open, lips wet, when you arch back and pull him flush against you and he's cumming, taking you for every last bit you'll give him until you're hypersensitive, fluttering around him, helping him make a sticky mess beneath the both of you as his head falls forward again, into your shoulder, restless, groaning with aftershock, until his lips meet yours and he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you, neither of you ready to come down yet.

But soon enough you're reduced to exhausted writhing, slow bites, fingers through his hair and he's spent—pleasantly so. Weak, not in the way he feels after he's been brought to his knees by a formidable foe but in a way he will not be content to part with; a comfortable resignation that he could make a home in.

Akutagawa wraps himself around you, and you kick the blanket at your feet up until you can pull it over his shoulders and tuck your nose into his forehead.

"Still kind of don't believe you've never done that before," you think out loud, voice a little absent from how you’ve been sobbing for him.

And Akutagawa finds himself smiling into your skin. He sounds just as much of a wreck. "Never. Not until now."

It was good. Not only was it good, but you can feel him softening inside you, and you want him to stay.

"Meant it, by the way."

Then he looks up at you, quizzically. That strange, dazed look is in his eyes again.

But you just look back at him. Push his bangs back, mirror his tired smile. Wipe the drying sheen of sweat from across his brow.

When it clicks, he's buried in your neck again. Grumbling. "I meant it, too."

You hug yourself impossibly tighter around him, muttering his name, rolling you both to your sides where you cup his face once more, pressing smooches all over him, less heated and more playful, and Akutagawa scrunches his nose as you pepper him and start mumbling in between—

"Love you. Love you. Love you."

He catches you in your tirade and kisses you like you first kissed him—slow, deep. His own love you whispered, almost imperceptible. He'll stay. "Thank you. Love you."

Like he never knew he was capable of loving. He’s not uncomfortable. For once. For real. You caught him when he was falling. He hopes you’ll keep doing it.

But right now, he only has one more question.

"Do you have any cigarettes?"

You reach across him, over to your nightstand. “Who do you think I am?”

My angel, he thinks in response as you nudge the filter between his lips to light it. You, in control, let him puff before you steal it for yourself.

And he’s yours. The Port Mafia’s ferocious Hellhound is your good boy, your angel.

You’ll love him until he believes it.

[doumadono]

was wondering how tomura shigaraki and dabi would respond to a female reader after she lost her parents to criminals and no hero came to save them? if you have any questions to clear things up dm me

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Dabi

It was one of Dabi's rare quiet moments, where he let himself sit in his usual slouch, one leg draped over the armrest of a tattered couch, fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers as his gaze was fixed on a ceiling. Smoke curled from his lips in lazy spirals, painting hazy shadows across his face.

You sat across from him on the tattered couch, your eyes unfocused as you stared at the TV.

The news had just aired another report, praising a group of heroes for their brave intervention in rescuing civilians from a hostage situation.

Dabi’s eyes had flicked toward you, catching the way your shoulders tightened, your hands clasped so hard your knuckles turned white.

You looked as if you were barely breathing.

“Something eating you?” His voice broke the silence, casual but carrying an edge that forced attention. You startled, turning to him, and his narrowed eyes tracked you through the hazy filter of smoke. “You’ve been weird ever since that report.”

You looked away, struggling to keep your expression blank. “It’s nothing. Just thoughts.”

“Oh, don’t pull that on me.”A flicker of impatience creased Dabi’s face, and he took another slow drag, eyes half-lidded as he exhaled a plume of smoke that seemed to linger, heavy and expectant. “Is that right? So, nothing’s had you looking like you’re gonna crack any second?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he fixed you with that sharp stare. Dabi’s voice was sharp, almost bored when he asked, “Since when did you start lying to me?”

His tone was flat, but it twisted something inside you, dragging the words from a place you thought you’d buried. “It’s 'bout my parents,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “They… They were killed by criminals. They were just waiting for someone — anyone — to come and save them. But no heroes came.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint crackle of Dabi’s cigarette. His gaze hardened, mouth set in a sharp line as he took in your words. “So they were stranded?” It was hardly a question.

You nodded, and he scoffed, flicking ash to the ground, his hand flexing like he was picturing crushing something far less innocent than a cigarette. “So, let me get this straight. These heroes get pats on the back for doing the bare minimum, but when it mattered…?”

“...They didn’t come,” you finished, the words rough, each syllable scraping against the memory. You let out a shaking breath, turning to Dabi, unable to hide the raw hurt. “I know it’s pointless to dwell on it, but I thought heroes were supposed to help.”

He laughed, a harsh sound with no warmth. “Heroes. Yeah. All they care about is their damned spotlight.” He took another drag, the smoke curling between you both like a veil. “Let’s be real — they don’t give a shit about people like you and me. We’re the background to their big, showy heroics.”

You looked down, feeling the truth of his words cut into you, bitter and sharp. “I thought they were good,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

“Good?” Dabi scoffed, his voice was low, dangerous, tainted with a resentment that felt as familiar as it was twisted. “They’re parasites. They want to look good, sound good. But the moment they’re out of the spotlight?” He exhaled, the smoke carrying his words, thick and full of venom. “You’re just another nobody left in the ashes.”

Slowly nodding your head, you fidgeted in your spot a little, trying to find a comfortable position while pulling your knees under your chin.

“You know,” the fire-quirked villain started, voice dripping with venom, “I’d bet anything that bastard Endeavor would spit on corpses if it meant climbing one step higher on his precious ladder. Hell, he’d probably grin about it, too.” He let out a slow, bitter chuckle, smoke curling around his face as he leaned back, cerulean eyes fixed on you. “Heroes like him? They’re all about that damn rank. Doesn’t matter who they trample or leave behind in the dust.”

You flinched, the thought of a hero so revered by the world doing something so heartless hitting you like a punch to the chest. But as you looked at Dabi, saw the bitterness carved into every line of his face, you knew he believed it with every fiber of his being. And somewhere deep down, you found yourself believing it, too.

“He’s proof that heroes don’t care,” Dabi continued, his voice low, almost a growl. “Everything they do, it’s for the spotlight. They’d let the whole damn world burn if it meant looking like gods when they finally swoop in to save the day."

He took another drag, then exhaled slowly. “They’re not worth the damn pain, you know that?” He leaned closer, close enough that you could smell the smoke mingling with the faint scent of burned leather on his coat. “Let it go. You’re wasting your breath on a rigged game. Aim that anger at the right people.”

The cigarette burned down to its last smoldering inch, and he let it drop, grinding it into the floor with the heel of his boot. His voice softened, but it was no less cutting, each word sharp and unrelenting. “Don’t waste your grief on them, on people who’d rather walk over your bones than lift a finger to help. If you’re gonna feel anything, let it be anger. They’re the ones who deserve it. People like us? We learn early on. Heroes don’t save us. We save ourselves.”

You swallowed hard, his words settling into your chest like smoldering coals. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Dabi."

"Anytime," he playfully tapped your nose before grabbing the remote to change the channel.

Shigaraki

The news hit like a brick thrown through glass.

Shigaraki had been leaning against the tattered, peeling wall of the League's hideout, his usual impatience masked beneath an outwardly calm stare as the TV anchor praised the hero squad for their latest rescue. The words commendation ceremony and heroic intervention dripped from the screen, followed by footage of the smiling, grateful civilians they'd saved.

That was when Shigaraki noticed you — frozen, your eyes locked on the screen but devoid of focus. He knew that look too well.

Without a word, he turned off the TV with a sharp flick. The silence was jarring. Everyone else had left the room, leaving only you and him in the shadows, and he could feel the tension radiating from you, thick and unmistakable. “Something’s eating you,” he muttered, voice low. He approached you slowly, each step deliberate. You stayed silent, hugging yourself as if shielding against memories that had started seeping through the cracks. “You haven’t been yourself. Not for a while now.”

Your mouth opened, as if to speak, but the words refused to come.

Shigaraki's gaze tightened, his face cloaked in shadow as he leaned down, his pinky finger raised delicately as he cupped your cheek with his calloused hand. The contact was surprisingly gentle, yet his grip left no doubt about his intentions. “I don’t like being ignored. Especially not by you.”

It was a whisper, barely more than a breath, but it shattered the barrier you’d been holding up. You swallowed hard, then looked up into his crimson eyes, feeling his hand burn against your skin like a brand. “My parents…” Your voice cracked, trembling with the ache of unspoken pain. “They were killed by criminals. They were just normal people. They thought heroes would come to save them.”

You told him everything. That people waited but no one had come. No heroes had appeared, not even as everything you loved slipped away.

When you finished speaking, you looked down, twisting your hands together, waiting. Waiting for some kind of response, some words of comfort or outrage.

But he was silent.

You glanced back up, and what you saw made your heart stutter.

Shigaraki was scratching his neck, his fingers digging into the skin, red welts rising beneath his nails, his lips pulled back in a twisted half-grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked haunted, unhinged, every bit of him coiled tight with a rage you could feel pulsing in the air.

A tear rolled down your flushed cheek, your chin quivering.

A beat of silence passed, and then another. Shigaraki’s red eyes sharpened as he reached his hand out to wipe the tear off with his thumb. "So no one came.” His voice was dark, edged with something colder than empathy — an understanding that cut straight to the bone. His hand stilled, but his fingers curled tightly against his neck, his knuckles white with the pressure.

You shook your head, hands clenching as the memories clawed back up, dragging you under. “No one. They… They died waiting.”

Tomura sat beside you, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes narrowing as his voice turned colder. “They left you to rot. Left you to suffer so they could keep up appearances.” His lip curled, and he shook his head slowly, that dark, knowing smirk twisting his face. “Heroes… The real disease of our world."

He watched you, eyes half-lidded, barely blinking. He had no soft words, no platitudes, but his presence was a comfort laced with something darker, something real. “They pretend to save everyone, wear their titles like armor. But they’re weak, selfish, just waiting to play hero for the cameras.”

The flicker of resentment in his voice pulled at you, like kindling to a flame. He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to smooth over the pain — he let it breathe, feeding off your anger as if it were his own. The tight line of his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened, all betrayed the depth of his own hatred.

“You’re right,” you whispered, the words feeling sharp in your throat, sharper than they’d ever felt before. “They don’t care about people. They never did...”

His hand moving back to your face. “Then stop hurting over it. They’re not worth your pain. They’re nothing.” His thumb traced along your jaw, an unexpected tenderness threaded through his quiet fury. "I want to rip them apart,” he uttered, his tone low and venomous, voice shaking with the intensity of his hatred. “Every single one of those worthless fakes. I want to watch them decay, feel them crumble to dust.” His voice dropped even lower, so quiet you barely heard him. “I want them to suffer.”

You nodded, feeling the first glimmers of solace in his touch. It was twisted, tainted by anger, but it was real.

He leaned closer to you, simply placing a kitten kiss to your cheek before saying, “No one else gets to hurt you like this.” His voice wavered, a hint of something raw, vulnerable, beneath the anger. “Not while I’m here. Not while I can do something about it.”

[mamayan]

oof your writing is so good 🙈 if your requests are open, would you be willing to write smth for dabi with a nervous virgin reader? Maybe some fingering and petting, lots of praise and encouragement if you're okay with that!! I also wouldn't mind if theres a little dubcon scattered in there for flavour😳 Thank you!🙏

Fuck it’s his favorite— absolutely I will Nonnie♥️ Dabi is nothing if not the perfect gentlemen… sorta. Am I gonna get sued for changing his words in this manga panel? I got carried away with this lol

Yandere Dabi x Virgin! Darling

tw: NSFW • Fem! Darling • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Implied Mental/Emotional/Physical Abuse • Dubcon • Praise • Virgin! Darling • BDSM • Fingering • Oral • Sex (M)(F) • Denial/Edging • Overstimulation • Dacryphilia • Unprotected Sex • Creampie

The front door slammed loud enough to reverberate around the apartment.

You sat facing the small tv, the screen playing some sort of cartoon with the volume on low, unmoving even as the thuds of his boots against vinyl faux wood flooring became louder. You were curled around your legs, pulled to your chest as your bare feet seemed to absorb the cold around you, icy skin keeping you grounded. Only a thin ratty oversized t-shirt and tiny shorts covering your body, despite the broken thermostat keeping the apartment at almost freezing temperatures.

Dark combat boots entered your field of vision, you numbly let your eyes flick up to take him in. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey, the burning scent making acid bubble up in your stomach to your throat, but you meekly swallowed it down and gave a wobbly smile. “W-welcome home…” it was said with all the enthusiasm of a man walking towards his execution.

He crouches down to face you better, forearms resting on his knees as he levels you with a… soft look.

It has chills shooting down your spine, your stomach rolling and clenching while your chest heaves with anxiety. He’s not a soft man. He’s never been soft, not really, only in strange sporadic moments does he gently do anything to you, but it’s always followed by something sinister. Always.

“Hey pet, you cold?” He’s sadistic and cruel even on a good day. His words immediately making your eyes burn as you try to stop the impending tears. You’re always cold, left freezing locked up until his return, your only source of comfort and warmth him. It was a nasty play, logically you knew it, but logic was what got you hurt so you nodded despite the itch in your heart begging you to hold out a little longer. “M’cold…” you assent, unable to see the defeated dull look in your own eyes, but he could.

“C’mere then,” his smile is so sweet, his staples hardly pulling and his usually vibrant eyes more subdued and gentle. You wanted him to stop whatever game he’s playing now. Whatever sick trick he’s got hidden to make your walls crumble around you. His arms spread open, his knees hitting the floor so he could straighten his spine, and his embrace looking so warm.

Like selling your soul to the devil, you caved. Pathetically nearly falling as you all but threw yourself into him.

The fire wielding psychopath was a lot of things, and sadly running warmer than a normal person was one of them. Just being close to him was like sitting near a furnace, heat radiating off him in waves it seemed. You had all the time in the world to hate yourself when he inevitably left you again to nearly freeze, for now you focused on getting feeling back into your limbs as you pressed yourself as close as possible.

His chuckle is breathy as he wraps you up easily, pulling you into his lap as he sits back on his ass now, your thighs on either side of his to let you be as physically close as possible. Well, almost as physically close as possible, because when you were so desperate for his touch like this, it’s hard not to think about you begging for him to really warm you up.

“Better?” He doesn’t really need to ask, not when you’re fighting to keep your hands from digging under his shirt and getting more body heat from him. Your little sigh of contentment adorable, and while his day was mundane, he did get to release most of his pent up frustration on some lowlife pieces of shit. He was in a good mood, but he’d be in a better one soon.

“Hn” your little affirmation quiet as you rested your cheek against the exposed skin of his collarbone, breathing him in and relaxing as your stiff muscles and joints soaked his warmth up greedily. You didn’t even fight when his hands began to smooth over your skin, up your calves and thighs to your ass where he gave a little squeeze. You put up no resistance, no screaming or fighting tonight it seemed. “You still cold?” His lips are right are by your ear, warm breath blowing over it and sending a shiver of something… different down to your stomach. The stale cigarette scent wasn’t as bothersome to you when he wasn’t being mean it seemed.

You let him pet and stroke your skin, warming you up gradually and shifting you both around until your core was against his stomach and he was flat on his back. He even lifted up his shirt and your own a bit to give more contact, the staples across his chest smoother than you’d initially thought.

This was all wrong and you were without a doubt being soothed into… something. Peace? A sense of safety? Whatever it was, you mentally kept yourself prepared. Even if his touch was soft and careful, you knew what lurked behind those pretty eyes.

“You stopped shakin’…” his observation was more of a statement, but indeed you had warmed up enough not to shiver anymore. He wasn’t usually so nice as to help warm you up like this, usually making you drop to your knees and cling to him while he heckled your behavior.

Your world flipped too quickly to react. Your back now on the cool floor with his body looming over you.

“You’re still cold though, aren’t you pet?” His smile isn’t nice anymore.

“D-Dabi please…”

“What’s wrong, you don’t want me to warm you up anymore?” It was a thinly veiled threat that had you nearly delirious with panic in seconds.

“N-no I do! I do, please don’t stop!” Your pretty eyes filling with tears made him bite down hard on his tongue, tasting blood as he struggles to keep himself calm. It’s you after all. You weren’t some cheap whore he screwed for a quick release. You were his.

That meant something. Whether it was good or bad was debatable and complicated.

“Then let me warm you up, it’ll be faster like this,” he’s not lying. Even as he laughs at the confusion and waring emotions on your face, he really isn’t lying to you this time.

His lips aren’t soft. The kiss nothing like the ones you’d sneakily shared with a crush under the school bleachers, that kiss was a bit too wet and slimy. This one was commanding. His tongue easily slipping into your mouth in your shock, happy to invade and taste you, to share the overwhelming taste of tobacco. Your hands are tangled in his coat, tugging lightly on the fabric as he devours your mouth. He pulls back when you start to struggle, and the sight of your swollen parted lips has his pants uncomfortably tight. His zipper digging into his cock now.

“Dabi—,” your voice is barely even a whisper, almost inaudible but he catches it and pauses as he looks down at you carefully.

The fact that he’s even being careful should be considered as a mercy.

“Please be gentle…” your lips twist into a grimace, the lame line the only thing your muddled mind can conjure. His snort of amusement not helping your wounded pride, but as he shrugs his coat off and looks down at you, his words give you pause.

“I’m going to make you forget everything bad tonight pet.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You don’t need him to. You don’t want this. It doesn’t matter though, because you never wanted any of this. His sanity not even in question, because he’s clearly out of his damn mind and has been for quite a while.

His shirt is next, revealing his chest in the dim light of the tv still playing quietly, the words not even registering as a language you understood. The damaged flesh leathery and colored a dark purple in contrast to his healthy skin. You lay limp and almost defeated beneath him, watch as his hands deftly remove your own shirt, and while it’s not the first time he’s seen you naked… this would be the first he’s touched you so intimately. Your breasts exposed to the cool air harden quickly, his smile predatory as he leans over your chest to flick one with his tongue.

The sensation shoots straight to your pussy.

“Pretty little pet, are you scared?” His question is rhetorical, but you hate how he just seems to know your thoughts and feelings. So much so you wanted to ask if he hide a second quirk. In a last act of defiance, you shake your head. You are scared, terrified of what else there even is to lose because this evil man seems determined to take and have all of you. He’s insatiable for whatever you have, like a vampire taking the life right out of you. Except he won’t kill you, even if sometimes you wished he would. To end this game.

“Pfft, you look so serious,” his face is filled with only hunger and amusement, as he lets his rough palms rest over your breasts, squeezing lightly as he lets himself just take you in. His hands drag over your much softer skin, looking at the odd scar here and there left by his flames during the early days of your readjustment period. He lets one hand rest just over the mound of your pussy, still covered by the thin shorts that hardly covered anything. He’s quiet, and so are you, as you breathe and struggle to stay still for whatever this was. You imagined it to be more violent, less pathetic on your end, as if you’d given up without a fight.

Your tears of frustration finally broke and trailed down your cheeks, your brows furrowed and cheeks puffed as you try to stay silent and uphold whatever amount of dignity you had left. You wouldn’t beg him to stop, it only spurred him on. When his eyes looked back up, the image of you nearly drove him feral as he grinned, giddy with excitement in lieu of you crying. His snicker of approval only making you flinch back as his fingers hook inside the waist band of the shorts and your underwear.

“Keep crying pet. Maybe a hero will come to save you?” His words drip sarcasm as he now roughly yanks your bottoms down and off your body in one swift motion. You’re left completely nude and shivering as the cold seeps back into your body as you lay on the floor. “I don’t think any heroes even patrol this side of town anymore. Too dirty and messy, they can’t be bothered to save people here. So I guess that leaves just you n’me.” He’s not looking at your face, though he’d be elated to see the look of crushed hope painting your features, instead his eyes were trained on your tightly shut thighs. The soft skin a bit distorted from how hard you squeezed them closed. His dark hair falling a bit into his gaze as he easily digs his fingers roughly into your flesh to pry them open.

“Hii!” You cry of pain and shock adorable to his eyes as he gets an eye full in the dim light of your wet pussy.

“Better keep these spread pet, if I gotta open them again for you, I’ll give you a real reason to cry.” His eyes are fierce and foreboding as they meet your gaze, and fear keeps you compliant as you obey and keep your legs open where he left them. He smiles in approval, humming to himself as he begins to undo his belt and open up his pants.

He shifts to one handedly yanking his pants down to free his aching cock, his free hand moving to his open mouth to layer on his own saliva to his fingers. The wet digits brought to your pussy as you whimper, gently spreading your folds and admiring it as he grips his hard cock in his hand. You make the mistake of looking at it.

He’s covered in piercings. His cock long and thick, more so in the middle, with a slight upward curve… but there’s two distinct barbs through his dick on both sides, with the tip sporting one prominent one that had you wanting to disobey and close your legs anyway. It looked frightful and painful if anything else, and you briefly wondered if he did this to ensure his victims were thoroughly tormented at every step.

“Fuck look at you baby, so pretty like this aren’t you?” He’s gently poking and circling your clit, loving each little scared gasp and unsure look you shoot his way. He can tell it feels good for you, but with the uncertainty and fear factor of his looks and his cock, you’re wound tight in apprehension. He thinks it’s a beautiful sight on you. Your little sniffles and pouty lips captivate him into leaning over you again, licking your lips until you open and let him kiss you again. It’s languid and lazy like him, proving how good his mood currently is by how he’s taking his time with you. Your hands stay by your side, gripped tight into fists as you feel a finger begin to push inside of you.

He breaks the kiss the time, looking down to see you take his finger.

“Not so bad is it pet?” He wiggled and pushes it as deep as he can go, loving how your back aches and chest juts out in his face for easy access. He’s nice as he works you open with one finger, lavishing your sore nipples with licks and bites. You keep the moans soft and low, struggling to hate this like you thought you would.

It didn’t hurt at all. It felt good. That was the problem. Dabi never makes you feel good, he torments you like a cat with a mouse. That’s why he calls you pet.

So when he squeezes in a second finger and you moan louder? You nearly knock a tooth out slapping a hand over your lips in embarrassment.

“No you don’t,” his fingers rip free from your tight cunt, both hands gripping your wrists and pinning them with one hand above your head. He grabs his jacket, using the arms to make a makeshift cuff to lock your hands together. “Keep’’em right there,” he orders, and by his stern features you know he means it.

Tired of just testing the waters, Dabi crawls down your body in favor of bringing his face directly before your pussy. “Dabi?” Your head lifted to try and see him as he wraps his arms under your hips to hoist you up higher towards his awaiting mouth. “Been thinkin’ of how this pussy tastes for months,” he grins, letting his pierced tongue run from your dripping hole to your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body as your legs jolt and snap around his head.

You realize quickly and apologize, opening them to avoid any punishment.

“Good girl~” you don’t like how his praise warms you up further, your shaking now less from cold or fear and more from arousal.

He repeats his first few licks, before beginning to truly lavish your pretty cunt with his tongue and skills. Dabi isn’t actually an experienced man, most women fearful or disgusted by him for obvious reasons, but it wasn’t hard for him to figure out your reactions and follow the flow of your pleasure. The way you twitched and moaned, struggled to keep your hands in the spot he ordered you to, to keep your legs spread, he loved all of it. When your moans became high pitched whimpers and whines, and your muscles spasmed, he knew you were close.

“D-Dabi I think I—,” you were so close, core wound so tight you could snap at any second, and for the first time you liked what he was doing to you.

Until he stopped.

“No—!” Your cry was embarrassing, as you shook beneath him in horror of your own reaction. Panting and trying to catch your breath as your pleasure faded by the second, his Cheshire grin soaking up your disappointment eagerly. Of course he would, you felt bitter, even as he returned to licking and sucking your clit. Only when the build up returned did you relax again, moving your hips up a little as you neared the crest once more…

He stopped again.

“Dabi—!” Your indignant tone telling as you huffed, sweat beginning to dot your skin despite the cool temperatures, Dabi’s warmth even removed like this helping.

Your stomach ached with the urge to cum. “Something wrong pet?” His face said he knew what was wrong, but it seemed he wanted you to say it. Instead you stubbornly pressed your lips together, his shrug of nonchalance following as he returned to kissing and sucking, slower and more gradually building you up again.

Even if you mentally prepared for it, he let you get much closer to coming than the previous times, so when he pulled away, your legs clamped tight around his head to stop him. “Fuck, please Dabi,” you hated yourself. Hated how he held so much power over you.

If you didn’t look so cute, he’d probably punish you too for not listening.

“Please what?” You watch as he lets a drop of his salvia drip into your pussy, your trembling legs pushed open again by his hands as he stares up at you.

“P-please…” you didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to give him anymore of yourself but… “—please make me cum.”

He looks like that cat which got the milk. His satisfaction palpable as he laughs. “Well why didn’t you just say so? Since you said please.” His teasing tone muffled again soon by your wet pussy, his aggressive approach now much more intense as he eats you out with the purpose of making you cream his face now.

It doesn’t take long before the string violently snaps inside you, your orgasm intense and nearly painful as you come apart.

“Ah, yes, oh—,” you try to shift away, his tongue still laving your clit as he looks up at you, narrow gaze teasing and telling as you whine. “D-Dabi I-I already—ah please!” You almost bite your tongue when he sucks hard on your clit, your panic building with another orgasm. You moan, your head thrown back as your fingers grip and tug on the binding of his coat, hips shaking as you come again.

His lower face is soaked, but he can’t find it in himself to stop as he licks up all your release and noses your clit. Switching his assault to inside of your quivering hole, letting his wet hot tongue slither in, licking and poking your walls. He moans with you now, relaxing as he lets himself get comfortable, leaning against your thigh he has propped up now with his arm keeping you locked in position. He’s lazily feasting as you come again, this time breaking his rule and trying to push his face away with your hands still bound.

He doesn’t even stop then, just uses his free hand to grip the fabric and anchor your hands to your stomach as he continues to work you into another frenzy.

“S’too much! Stop! Stop Dabi! Please fuck, I can’t, ugh, no more—,” your pleas are ignored as he laughs, eyes crinkling as he watches you twitch and jolt with even the tiniest amount of pressure to your clit now.

“I thought you wanted to cum? Change your mind already?” You can hardly manage a full sentence, gasping for air like he’s choked you or something. He relents though, only because his cock is close to shooting his load even though he hadn’t touched himself while playing with you. Using his coat, he lifts your hands back above your head and scoots forward to let his heated cock slap against your wet folds. His hips automatically jerking a few times as his dick feels the soft wet heat your cunt is soaked in.

“You want my cock pet?” You look delirious and exhausted, sweat making your hair cling to your face as you briefly almost admit to being too warm now. Your both chilled and overheated as your sweat dries. Your blurry vision glances down to his throbbing length peaking at you from below, the heavy rod sliding back and forth through your slick and causing your pussy to twitch as he nudges your clit with it.

“S’not gonna fit…” his lip nearly splits on his smile, the cute admission only making him wanna shove it in you more to prove it will fit.

“You don’t think so?” His eyes look inhumanly blue from the cast of whatever show played on the tv now. One hand stays to keep your own pinned, while the other travels down your soft body to grip his cock and line himself up. “‘Cuz I think it will,” then he’s pushing in. His tip goes in easier as it gets crushed by your tight convulsing cunt, the rest engorged by blood feels painful as you cry, Dabi moaning as your gooey walls try to force him out. “I think,” one sharp thrust sinks a whole inch in, your eyes opening wide as tears spill freely, “I’ll get my entire cock in,” he pulls out only a little before shoving in a little more again. “And you know what else I think?” He’s leering down at you, manic grin frightening with the added shadows cast. You can feel his piercings, tugging and forcing themselves inside as he shifts and pushes, nearly stealing your ability to breathe.

“I think you’re gonna like it.” You can’t talk and he knows it, as his tip kisses your cervix, and then it’s bruising it as he shoves himself to entire way in, gasping in pleasure he sees himself fully sheathed inside you. His groin flush with your ass. Your walls so tight it feels impossible to pull out now. It doesn’t matter to Dabi though, as he grits his teeth and rocks forward and back, creating delicious friction on his cock. You’re left to sniffle and cry, pussy stretched painfully wide and aching deep inside from how his rough entrance.

“Poor little crybaby,” he chuckles, leaning closer to lick the tears off your cheeks as he finally gets himself wet enough to begin a slow pace inside you. “You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, burying his face in your neck for a moment while he ruts into you, quick short thrusts working him close to his orgasm. His hand works between you, thumbing your clit as you cry and writhe beneath him, pussy clenching and relaxing as you’re forced to cum with something thick, hot, and painfully heavy inside your cunt.

“Shitttt,” his teeth sink into your neck, grunting as his balls draw tight and he pumps his boiling load deep into your womb, pushing even deeper as it twitched and spurts. Your legs locking and trembling as you see stars.

He stills for a moment, catching his breath quickly as he lifts up to look at your ruined appearance. Your face covered in tears as you pant, eyes nearly closed as struggle to stay awake. Your pussy even messier, slick and cum coating you both and the floor, a tiny bit of pink mixed too.

The thought that it was him who ruined your innocence, taken your first and last, has him hardening again inside you.

You can only whine, silently pleading for a break, but his answering smile is familiar and devious.

“C’mon pet, we’re just getting started tonight.” He chuckles, pulling his hips back before roughly slamming into you now. The shock woke you up fully, pussy protesting the rough treatment he sets as the room fills with salacious noises, your pussy squelching with each slap of his balls. The piercing on his tip hitting a new angle as he leans back and jerks your hips up off the floor.

“Oh!” Your vision goes black as you cum, and Dabi only laughs and fucks you harder as you pass out, loving the stupid expression on your fucked out face.

“That’s it pet, said I was gonna make you forget!” He’s emptying another load inside you not longer after, his own dick becoming a bit overstimulated but too engrossed fucking you to stop yet. With you half conscious, it’s easy to slip out and flip you to your stomach before sliding back in smoothly. “Fuck, you feel so good baby, taking my cock like you were made for it,” his words are slurred in his pleasure, his hips working against your ass as he drags his slick cock out of your pussy before working it back in. He’s even deeper like this, your belly and hips flat on the floor as he fucks you.

You can’t even remember why you didn’t want this anymore. The pleasure and warmth overwhelming and so perfect.

At least as he fills your pussy again, you don’t feel cold.

[go6jo]

(love, as if it were carved in stone) s. geto

when he first lays eyes on you, suguru is fighting sleep, standing in the school’s courtyard at four in the morning taking languid puffs out of a cigarette to pass the time, deliberately dragging it out in hopes that sleep will come. however, these days, it hardly ever does.

it’s mid august and he has never been particularly fond of the summer or it’s heat — nor the endless stream of purging that inevitably comes with it.

you first walk into his life in nothing but a white nightgown — the sight so heavenly it’s almost impossible to forget. when you step outside the girls dorm, barefoot and weary, the smoke rushes to suguru’s lungs a little too abruptly, as if he were gasping for air — the material of your dress so flimsy that it's hardly appropriate to stare. suguru is sensible to a fault, many could agree that, unlike satoru, he is somewhat respectable. right now, however, against his better judgement, he can't seem to tear his eyes off of you.

he watches as you drop defeated on the ground before leaning your head against the wall and closing your eyes with a frustrated sigh that travels all the way through the soothing night breeze into suguru’s ears. he indulges himself for a little longer - you’re pretty, he thinks. had you noticed him standing there you would’ve made out a subtle fondness in the smile that grows, although tiredly, on his face. sympathy. he imagines the summer heat hasn’t been kind to you either. 

you seem younger than him, a first year and freshly arrived, your ingenuity still intact - untarnished. and perhaps its the white that engulfs you but suguru thinks you look much too clean, too pure for the swarm of violence that awaits you. something that has started to slowly but surely eat away at him too. he can’t quite pinpoint when it happened — somewhere down the line though, he had long since lost his innocence. he takes another hit, the bitter taste that lies on his tongue from today's purging spree starting to subdue — he wishes you got to keep yours.

it's only then that you notice him, standing inconspicuously by the boy’s dorm entrance but you can’t quite make out his face in the dark, the canopy under which he stands blocking the light. your hands reach with urgency for the hem of your skirt to tug down on the fabric that had ridden a little too high on your thighs and suddenly you’re wary of the fact that the material was clinging to your sweaty skin leaving very little to the imagination - however suguru had already looked away at the first hint of your discomfort, blowing a cloud of smoke skyward and maintaining his gaze towards the moon, wishing not to compromise your modesty.

you tuck your knees under your chin, shrinking in on yourself, an attempt to look smaller, invisible if possible. you felt so exposed, ready to be preyed on, but it was so late and you were so tired, you hadn't expected anyone else to be awake. at that moment, the moon shines on his face, illuminating his features and it’s like your body reacts on its own. your shoulders, no longer tense, fall relaxed by your sides and your hands turn soft, loosening the grip you had on the hem of your skirt. it’s him.

it’s just him. 

you had seen him many times before. you’re suddenly envious of the moon for luring him in with her beauty and holding him captive. you didn't mind him looking at you, you want to be object of his admiration, even if just for once. you want him to look back at you. you only. and then it comes unexpectedly, that feeling of revulsion. you become painfully aware that your skin is too sticky with sweat, the sole of your feet is covered in grim and you feel dirty, so dirty when faced with your desperation, your need. how could you crave such a thing - attention, from a stranger, nonetheless. how could you be so vulgar, yearning for someone’s affection and admitting to being starved. it feels like your belly growling in a room full of people - letting your hunger be known. you’re famished and everybody knows and it’s humiliating.

but it was him - you had seen him on the school’s halls before, so unapologetically gentle in the way he speaks to others, so serene in the way in which he carries himself and so so handsome. you think he’s even more handsome now standing there, sleepless and with his hair down, looking so much less intimidating than usual and within your reach. you see bits of yourself in him - on the bags carved under his eyes from countless nights without sleep, on his tousled hair from tossing and turning endlessly on his bed. when he looks this fragile it makes it so obvious, that despite being one of the strongest, he too can break. he’s not so different from you. 

and his hair… it reaches his shoulders. it’s longer than what you expected. you wonder if he’s one to hold on to his past. 

you let your eyes linger. he’s still too focused on the night sky to notice you staring anyway. he knows you are. nevertheless, he acts as if he doesn’t, as if the longer you stare at him doesn’t make it harder for him not to stare back at you, to surrender himself to you. even the moon, standing above with its infinite splendor seems to submit to you, shining its light on you as if in jubilation of your own beauty.

and although you try to be discreet, only peeking at him from behind your knees, suguru’s skin feels feverish. its too hot. and it feels even hotter under your gaze. he slips his hand under the white shirt he’s wearing to let the night breeze caress the skin of his stomach that is covered in beads of sweat that run from his chest downwards. he takes one last drag of his cigarrette and when he glances down to stub it under his slippers his eyes catch yours for the first time tonight. except, this time, you do not shy away from him, neither does he.

it is hesitant what you share, like hands brushing together, fingers that yearn to touch yet are too reluctant to entwine. suguru relishes in the innocence of it, welcomes it back into his life even if just for a brief moment. in fact, you make him realize that maybe he never really lost his innocence in the first place. its just been tucked away somewhere in a corner deep inside him. only coming out when it's safe. and its safe here with you. he feels like a boy again. one who doesn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

its hesitant yet thrilling like falling in love for the first time. 

suguru chuckles, thinking to himself that this feels nice, oddly intimate.

you were the first one to break, the sound of his laugh pulling you out of your state of reverie and making it hard to handle the tension that grows heavier the longer you stare at each other. you glance up and he follows suit, smiling, thinking that he wouldn’t have withstood the tension for much longer either. 

suguru waits and when you look back at him, he leaves with a wave. frozen in place, you let him leave without so much as mouthing a goodbye to him.

it’s the morning after when he sees you for the second time, sitting outside on a bench, hiding from the scorching sun under a pine tree and chewing on a popsicle stick. you’re wearing white again, he has got his black uniform on and no longer under the moonlight’s spell he’s all too aware that you’re worlds apart. still, he is greedy enough to think that even if decay spreads like poison inside him, you taste like salvation. still, he thinks that he wants you.

then you wave at him and its so full of hope. you’re looking at him so expectantly. like you don’t mind that he is rotten and he’s been pondering taking the seat next to you for the past five minutes. you’re turning him to a madman. had he known you for longer, he could’ve been on that bench eating popsicles with you.

for now, however, he’ll sit down with you and ask you for your name. ask you if you managed to get enough rest. 

“suguru!” he looks away in the direction of the voice that calls out for him, towards satoru who was running to catch up to him. when he looks back at you, you wave him goodbye, only shyly this time with a hint of disappointment in the way you let your eyes fall to your feet and pretend to play with your fingers. satoru is talking his ear off but suguru's eyes are on you.

sometimes fate disguises itself as coincidence. maybe the chance to get you alone has passed him by.

it’s early september and the weather has cooled down a little. suguru is laughing with his friends and you think you’re fine with it. the seat next to you is vacant but he waves at you with a smile and you figure that despite the distance that seems to stretch itself between the two of you with each passing day, you’re fine with watching him from afar. you’re once again sitting on that same bench and even in shade you still feel his warmth and that's enough.

until the incident happens. the news spread fast. riko then haibara. 

spring comes yet again and as the seasons change, so does suguru. he doesn't laugh as much anymore but then, whenever he crosses paths with you, he smiles and there's a tenderness to it that seems to be reserved just for you. you think it’s so unfair. how you didn’t get to meet suguru before sorrow had set itself so deep in the marrow of his bones that it was almost irreversible. but you’re glad to know that despite everything, he remains gentle. its valiant, in a way, that he chooses to stay kind besides having all the reasons not to. and somehow, it gives you hope. 

april arrives. his hair has now grown past his shoulders and suguru is contemplating the transience of things in the emptiness of the room he finds himself sitting alone in. suguru thinks its unfair that despite all the death the world keeps spinning. regardless of all the bloodshed, the sun still shines and he hates it. he feels sick. if the world won’t remember then he will. he will mourn and he will let grief be the thing that keeps them alive. 

he notices you standing at the door and though he wouldn't blame you if you left given the gloominess that hangs in the air that surrounds him, he finds himself wishing that you’d stay, that you'd sit with him and wouldn't falter like he had done so many times before. he was sure of you, has been for a while now but then there were times when he thinks he is so full of filth he wonders if the space that's left for you inside him is enough. if it is okay to be a little greedy. if it’s fair to want to fit you in such a tiny spot. but then you grab yourself a drink from the vending machine and take the seat next to him as if you’re saying. dont worry, ill make room for myself in you.

it's silent for a while. silence has sort of become the predominant language between you.  

“getou, right?” he flinches at the sound of your voice. he realizes this is the first time he has ever heard it. and its so quiet, slightly unsure like suddenly you’re afraid of taking up too much space. and it makes him consider the possibility of tearing himself open just to fit more of you inside - you could never take up enough space. 

“suguru.” he corrects you, albeit gently. he wants to hear you say it. his name. “yes.”

you whisper your name in return, still cautious as not to cut through the quietude that had settled between the two of you. as if this moment right here, with him, was so fragile and precious to you that you’re cradling it to your chest, handling it so carefully as not to break it. “i know” 

he had asked satoru and regretted it just as fast oh, the first year? heard shes the only one in her class. why’d you care? in that moment satoru must´ve found the answer to his question in his friend's face because his tone changes. dont get too attached, suguru. you know few make it past their first year. 

in that moment he had realized something. he had witnessed it himself, how life can be but a dimly lit star in the night sky, its light becoming gradually unperceivable. fragile, fleeting. his time with you isn’t certain. death is a mistress that's always looming around the corner, ever present, always threatening to come out.

he knows he’s still young but he hadn’t met you soon enough. its seems like time is always running out for him. he might be young but he could’ve been younger. could’ve spent more time with you. you could’ve been ten, twelve, fourteen together. he could’ve loved you for longer.

“i hope you don’t think that i'm being nosy.” you mutter to your feet “not too nosy at least. but.” there’s a pause in which you wonder if you imagined everything in your head. that thing that binds you together. but you’ll risk sounding stupid and you will risk rejection because that little sliver of hope inside you tells you that not all has been lost. and although you try to convince yourself you’re doing this with selfless intent you just wish to relish in his warmth again.

“i couldn’t help but notice that lately, you seem to be…” choose your words carefully. 

unlike yourself  “unwell.” coward. 

despite your vague choice of words he is looking at you with wide eyes and you find yourself avoiding his gaze so you won’t back away from it. from saying what you have been wanting to say to him. 

“it’s springtime” you find yourself speaking again. maybe you’re talking too much. “the sakura trees look very pretty around this time of the year. but- you should know that already. i don’t think they’ll last much longer, maybe a week or so”

you look so meek fumbling with the loose threads on your shirt that it hurts him. here you stood, presenting your vulnerability to him and placing it in the palm of his hand yet he's just staring at you wondering what to do with it. he had been so quiet and you were starting to doubt yourself. it hits him that he has made you feel this way twice already, although unintentionally. you looked just as defenseless as the night he met you.

he nudges his knee with yours, its playful and emphasized with a smile that shows the crinkles on the corners of his eyes. he had taken what you had given him, he is clutching your gift close to his heart and begging for more. and it fills you with courage.

“i guess what im trying to say is. geto- oh!” you slap your hand over your mouth in a way that is seemingly too dramatic. in a way that is you, he guesses. amidst your outwardly timidness, you allow him a glimpse of you and he just wants more and more. he wants to tell you that you do not need to make yourself smaller to make room for him or his sorrow.

“suguru” you correct yourself. “would you like to go and see the sakura trees with me? maybe it will help you feel better. even if just for a moment” you’re smiling at him and this is the first time you’re looking him directly in the eye since you sat down next to him, there is hope gleaming in your irises and suguru never would’ve thought he could’ve been the one to incite such a beautiful sight.

“im good company and i usually don’t talk this much either so you should be alright.” you giggle showing him a little more of you. but its still not enough. it will never be enough for him.

he looks away from you with a breathy chuckle, closing his eyes as if trying to prevent the sheer adoration that he holds inside him from spilling though it inevitably overflows and manifests itself into a smile so earnest, it’d be the most genuine anyone has seen in a while.

“there has been a lot of silence going on between the two of us, don't you think?” he stares ahead at the empty wall. you had lost enough to it already. you nod from the corner of his eye. “id like to get to know you, if you let me.”

he looks back at you.  “i don't mind you talking. i'd like it if you did.”

your eyes are wide with wonder. those are the first few words he has ever spoken to you and he has rendered you speechless. they carry so much honesty, the expression on his face so sincere they’re quick to shut down any doubts or insecurities you might have had. 

you had dared to let him peak at the heart that you keep tucked under your sleeve and he wanted to cherish it. he thought he owed it to you to be equally as open, as honest.

“should we go now? he gets up with a hand on his pocket, the other extending itself towards you. "we have a lot to catch up on.”

in the perfect scenario you would’ve wanted to put a little effort into looking pretty. you would’ve put on a dress and maybe a little makeup to impress him. but would that really be the perfect scenario when, right now, he is looking at you with so much adoration that you feel like the prettiest girl he has ever laid eyes on? 

you take his hand - you think you might melt into it.

you grab popsicles on the way. strawberry for him. some over complicated combination of flavors that he had already managed to forget, for you. you had made some light hearted joke about his simplistic choice of flavour, however, as you sit under this cherry blossom he can see the grimace that grows on your face aggravate with each bite you take. he had seen it coming.

“do you want to try?” a knowing smile on his face, somewhat teasing when he offers his popsicle to you.

a few strands of hair get in the way when you lean down to lick at the top and his free hand moves to swipe them away from your face. he holds your hair in place to prevent it from escaping again and guides the popsicle to your mouth instead. feeding it to you.

“should’ve gone with strawberry.” you sound so heartbroken that he wants to giggle.

“here, have it” and he’s not teasing you. its genuine, like he’s whispering i love you, whatever’s mine is yours to take. 

he shuts down your protests by grabbing the popsicle from in between your pinched fingertips and replacing it with the strawberry one, immediately taking a bite from the popsicle that was once yours to claim it as his. it’s bitter, he thinks, it stings on his tongue. but he won’t tell you that. 

you’re picking up the petals that have fallen on the ground next to you and placing them on your lap when out of the corner of his eye, suguru notices a drop of juice that got caught on the corner of your lips and has started to run down your chin. he moves the back of his finger to collect it and then wraps his lips around his digit.

you’re left to stare because you’re dizzy. he makes you so dizzy. you don’t know what to do with yourself. to do with him. you glance towards anything other than him. anything that will ground you.

“you know,” you trail off after a while. your tone soft and eyes still trained somewhere else. he worries that he has come off too strong. “the first thing i noticed about you was your hair”

“yeah?” 

“hm, hm…” you look back at him and nod earnestly. he is glad to learn there is no discomfort between you when you sit on your knees and reach forward with both hands to place the petals that you had picked up atop his head. arranging them in a circle, like a halo, you think. not a crown. “… it’s pretty. it suits you” 

pretty. it takes him a while to gather his words. you’re so close and smell so heavenly. “i thought you were pretty the first time i saw you” he confesses with a whisper.

it takes you even longer to collect yourself. because once again, you're at a loss for words. you busy yourself with the task at hand. the halo. fit for someone with a heart as good as his. 

“i mean it.” you recoil for a moment to meet his eyes and get your message across. “dont ever cut it!” you sound so demanding. like it’d hurt your feelings if he were to contradict your wishes.

“i won’t. it helps me remember”

your smile morphs into a frown on your face and you bring your hands to your lap. he misses you on him already. 

“you’re holding on to grief, suguru.”

if he doesn't, who will? who will remember them? gojo has already seemed to move on from it, nanami is gone. his grief is the only thing keeping them alive. even if just in memory.

“i guess i am” 

he doesn’t miss the way you avoid looking at him. you’re looking at your hands folded on your lap and he wishes he knew what it is that you’re feeling. pity or concern? 

“maybe you could take a little of the weight off”

“thought you didn’t want me to cut it”

“and i didn’t. but surely carrying the weight of all those curses on you and then another must be exhausting, suguru.” your tone raises just slightly, barely enough to be noticeable.

however, suguru notices and he wants you to be mad at him. he wants you to scream if you will because he knows, that right now, he couldn’t love you the way he thinks you deserve to be loved. you deserve a love that is abudant, steady and kind and suguru, with all his troubles and a heart that has grown so terribly worn out, thinks he has barely any love left to give.

but there is something that stirs in his stomach at the thought of somebody else loving you. he wants to be the one to teach you what love feels like. what it should feel like. he wants to prove himself worthy of loving you. he'd love you better than anyone else ever could. he'd treat you so right. you wouldnt have to wake up a single day in your life and doubt whether he still loves you. because he does and he doesnt think he'll ever stop.

“i'll let you trim the ends”

you take him to your room. you’re pacing around tidying the place, moving objects from one place to another and apologizing for the mess but to him, the clutter isn’t just clutter it’s pieces of you scattered everywhere and when he finds himself amongst it, amongst your belongings in their disorderly disposition he, too, feels like he belongs here, belongs to you. he wants to tell you he doesn’t mind he wants to thank you instead for allowing him to see the most intimate parts of you. 

but before he can manifest himself, you hush him into your bathroom while you finish putting things away. you join him shortly after and he watches you, from the toilet seat, searching the cabinets for your scissors while mumbling about how he doesn’t have to be nervous, you have cut your hair by yourself many times before. that he could trust you. but he does, and it goes beyond just giving him a haircut. you’re still rummaging through the drawers and suguru smiles to himself. he pretends he didn’t just meet you today (technically) and that this is what it feels like to share a home with you. 

“found it!” he spreads his legs that are a bit too big to fit in your tiny bathroom so you can stand in between them. he takes up so much of the space and it's cramped enough that you have to scoot your way through. you laugh at it together. 

“ready?” you’re more serious now. you understand he is trusting you with a lot here — his heart.

suguru’s nod doesn’t carry much certainty but he is not nervous, maybe just nostalgic. but he doesn’t regret it, not when you’re so careful even when tearing him open to look at what’s inside, disposing of what is rotten and lodging yourself in the cavity of his chest where his heart dwells. your hands are so soft, so tender as they weave through his hair. you’re handling him with so much care, so much esteem. 

he should’ve felt guilty. he thought it’d feel wrong. but it didn’t. letting go of his past meant welcoming you into his future.

“done.” you finish and he expects you to move so he can look himself in the mirror but there is a certain hesitance in you, in the way in which you purse your lips into a tight line, contemplating something. maybe you messed up the haircut. then you bend down and kiss the corner of his lips, pulling away in a blink of an eye. “there.” thank you for letting me in, suguru.

you look at him apprehensively. you’re nervous wondering if you had stepped too far. but you didn’t step even close to where he wanted you. “come.” 

he weaves all of his ten fingers with yours, he pulls you down and he kisses you. it's warm and its gentle. it’s so very him. but it is also hungry. like hes trying to fit all the kisses of a lifetime into this one kiss right here. he’s greedy, he’d been a fair man once but then you came along and made him so greedy. like the hole in his stomach has no end and he’s insatiable. he’d take more and then some until he is so full of you he could burst — you can take as many space as you want, can make a home in him if you wish to. 

he takes and keeps on taking, until he has to pull away or he might devour you.

“was that okay?” he is cradling your face in the palms of his hands, was it too much?

“it was good” you’re breathless. “very good.”

“it was good for me too” he chuckles and brings your forehead to rest against his. to be close. you shut your eyes to try to come down from the high, focusing on breathing him in while he breathes you out. “so pretty.” he whispers agaisnt your lashes, his lips kissing your eyelids.

“god, what do i do with you” his hands move to hug your waist and he buries his face in your stomach. he needs to be closer, though being close isn’t enough when he just wants to merge into you. to make a dwelling place in your bones. you tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp and it feels like home already. 

“i want to be with you, suguru” you tug gently on the hair on the nape of his neck to make him look up at you. you then lower your tone, whispering your next words into the air as if you were too scared to say them. you belonged to him but was it too much to ask him to belong to you? “i want you.”

he kisses up the expanse of your forearm. “you have me, baby. you had me from the moment i saw you.”

[daisyblog]

Shattered Hearts

Our Story Masterlist Summary: The argument that led to Harry and YN going on a break.

Warning: panic attack, shouting, swearing, arguing, angry!harry, angry!yn, smoking

Walking through the dark and lonely door was hard. YN had been practically living in Doncaster for the last few weeks, helping her grandparents with the older twins and being there as extra support for Lottie and Felicite.

Being surrounded by her family and being their support meant YN had a distraction from her own feelings. She didn’t have time to think about herself because she was too focused on her sisters. Her Nan had told her to go back home for a few days to be just YN.

If she was being honest, she didn’t want to. Being by herself meant she felt more, thought more and cried more.

For the first few days YN was back in London, she managed to keep busy. She had a few work deadlines to complete and walking Teddy as much as she could was a good distraction as she walked around the Heath with her earphones in.

She was missing Harry terribly whilst he was tour. Being in different time zones and his schedule being so chaotic meant they hardly spoke and if they did it was quick conversation before Harry was rushed off the phone.

Life had become so different for YN. She felt like her days were the same, the same routine everyday. She was just existing whilst the world carried on around her.

YN could feel the heavy feeling in her chest all day, but she had done her best to try and ignore it. Keeping herself distracted helped, but it was only a matter of time before the panic struck.

The feeling began in her chest; the tightness felt intense as she sat on the edge of the king sized bed. YN closed her eyes, praying the feeling would go away.

Her heartbeat thumped with no rhythm as she desperately gasped for breath, struggling to catch it has it left her body.

As YN sat on the edge of the bed, she opened her eyes only to see the room spin. The dizziness sparked her eyes to blink in worry. Her hand came up to hold her head, making no difference as her body continued to fight.

“Harry”.

“Harry”.

“Harry”.

The only person she thought could help right now. But no matter how many times she repeated his name, he didn’t come. How could he? He was a flight away.

It wasn’t the first panic attack she’d had, so she knew eventually it would end but waiting for that moment was torture.

Somehow in her fuzzy mind, she remembered the 333 grounding rule that Harry had helped her with many times before.

Identify 3 objects: book, wardrobe, mirror

Identify 3 sounds: the traffic outside, the tv downstairs, Teddy chewing at his toy

Move 3 body parts: head, foot, hand

Breathing gently and calmly, she began to feel her body and mind relax as she came down from her panic. She still felt uneasy but being able to breathe freely was something she took advantage of.

Blindly moving her hand around the duvet next to her, she found her phone. YN quickly found the one name she needed right now. Harry.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

No answer.

YN’s panic had turned into anger as she needed to feel relief from something. She sat in thought as she waited for her mind to find that fix. She was about to give up, when she remembered Louis always kept a spare pack of cigarettes in the guest bedroom in case he ever stayed.

Her feet trudged along the landing to the guest bedroom. Every draw was searched until her eyes landed on the box she had been looking for. Taking a white stick from its home and placing it between her lips felt unfamiliar but YN wasted no time lighting the end of the cigarette with the lighter.

She breathed in, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs as she let out a shaky breath. And for once, she sat in a room full of smoke trying to blow all her problems away.

---

Harry thought it was unusual for YN not to reply to any of his texts or phone calls but arriving home from tour for a couple of days, told him everything he needed to know.

He opened the front door and the silence hit him. The house was always full of noise, whether that was YN blaring music or clumsily trying to move something from one room to another.

Being greeted by a loud silence raised concern. Harry quickly left his suitcase by the front door, desperately trying to find YN. His search didn’t take long as he found YN spread out on the sofa, smoke surrounding her as she brought the white stick up to her mouth. Teddy’s pleading eyes found Harry from his place in his dog bed.

“Oh look who finally turned up”. Her tone caught Harry by surprise. It was bitter with a tad of sarcasm.

“Babe?”. He was confused. YN would usually be running into his arms, excited to see him. “Why are you smoking?”.

YN scoffed, a humorous laugh leaving her lips. “Of course you’d only focus on me smoking”. She brought the cigarette back up to her mouth before blowing the smoke back out, her eyes not leaving Harry’s, daring him to say more.

“What-What’s going on?”. Harry nibbled on his bottom lip in rhythm to his heartbeat that was pounding against his chest.

YN shrugged her shoulders in stubbornness, pushing the cigarette out against the small glass tray. “You tell me!”.

Harry frowned in confusion, his fingers scratching at his forehead. “Well, I come home thinking I was going to have a lovely welcome and…and here we are having some sort of silent argument…and out of no where you’re smoking”.

“Where were you on Friday night after your show?”. YN asked, confidence heavy in her voice.

“I was out with Jeff, Mitch and a few others from the band and crew”. Harry explained, still standing near the doorway. “Why? What shit have you read this time?”.

YN could hear the annoyance in Harry’s voice, which riled her even more. “I phoned you…you didn’t answer…I thought maybe you were busy or whatever…but when I saw photos of you at the club that night, your phone was in your hand majority of the night…but you didn’t phone me back until the next afternoon”.

Harry threw his hands up in frustration. “For fuck sake YN…you’re in a mood with me over not answering a fucking phonecall…do you not know how fucking ridiculous that is!”.

“I needed you Harry!”. YN shouted out in anger.

“You always fucking need me…you don’t know how hard it is on tour…performing most nights, straight to the studio…early mornings and late nights…someone always needing me for something…you just don’t understand, it’s so fucking hard sometimes”. YN was stunned, almost lost for words at Harry’s outburst.

There was silence between them until YN broke it. “You’re right…I don’t know how hard it is to be doing your job…but I do know what it’s like to have to sit with my little sisters until they fall asleep because they miss Mum…I do know what it’s like to listen to my baby brother and sister ask where their Mummy is…I do know what it’s like to listen to my grandparents crying through the wall thinking nobody can hear them because they miss their daughter…I do know what it’s like to have to step up into that role and try my best to keep them all happy and safe, because that’s what my Mum would have wanted”.

Harry’s gaze stared at the floor as he listened to YN. But what scared him the most was the fact that she didn’t speak with anger, frustration or annoyance, her voice was gentle.

“So yeah…I’m fucking sorry I can’t relate to your perfect pop star life at the moment”. YN watched as Harry stared at her with hurt.

“I’m sorry”. Harry’s voice whispered.

YN knew the next few words were going to cause more upset, but she felt this was the only way that her and Harry were going to deal with their emotions right now. “I think we should go on a break”.

Harry’s head shot up quicker than YN thought it would. “No!”. He shook his head a few times in disbelief. “No…no…we can’t”. The tears picked at the corner of his eyes.

“As much as this kills me…it’s for the best right now…you said it yourself, tours stressful and demanding…and I’m needed back home right now”. YN felt her own tears form in her eyes. “It’s not like the long distance is working, we don’t even talk everyday anymore”.

Harry felt like he was feeling all the emotions right now. He was sad, upset and angry, but the anger took over. “Fine…I’ll go to Gems and stay…but I think it’s silly to break up over me not answering a stupid fucking call!”.

YN closed her eyes in defeat because Harry couldn’t see the bigger picture that they were both going through difficult situations right now. She didn’t want him to feel guilty, she knew he was upset and angry, but that ‘stupid fucking call’ was a cry for help.

She watched as he grabbed his suitcase that sat by the front door. “I called because I was having a panic attack…and you’re the only person that can make me feel safe during them”.

Harry knew he should have said something, ran back to YN and wrapped her in his arms. But with the heated argument and the emotions surrounding them, Harry continued to walk through the door with guilt. Leaving two shattered hearts.

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