#while looking directly at the intruder

[enigmaris]

A continuation of this post:

There is a teenager in the Watchtower.

Scratch that, there is a teenager that Bruce doesn't know in the Watchtower. The boy, maybe around Tim's age, is wearing worn blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes that had seen better days.

He is wearing no mask, no suit of armor, with no weapons on him. He's just sitting in one of the seats in their larger meeting room, quite literally twiddling his thumbs. He hadn't noticed Batman standing in the doorway.

Behind him, he heard Clark coming round the corner, Bruce lifted up a gloved hand which made the man stop.

"What is it, Bats?"

Bruce sent the man a look before motioning to the boy, who had definitely noticed them now.

He waved at them.

"Who is that? Don't you normally require all your new kids wear costumes up here?" Clark asked.

"Unknown." Bruce said before giving his friend a look. "He's not mine."

Why does everyone assume it's his kid? Just because this boy has dark hair and blue eyes does not mean he belongs to Bruce. Clark has nearly the same looks as Bruce, and he had two kids, why couldn't this one be one of his?

"He's not mine either!" Clark said before frowning. "Not that I know of."

Bruce lifted up an eyebrow, knowing his friend could see it beneath his cowl. Clark rolled his eyes.

"Let's be honest if he was one of mine, you would know before I would."

Bruce grunted and turned back to the teenager. The kid was clearly listening in on them while looking away from them. Bruce watched as he tapped on the table in front of him, making little staccato noises of anxiety.

"Why are we waiting out here?" Barry asked, appearing right in a blur of red and yellow right as he did. Clark pointed at the unknown in the meeting room. Barry grinned widely beneath his own cowl, making the rubbery material crinkle.

"Batsy! Another one? You sly dog, where'd you find this one?"

"He's not mine." Bruce growled, Barry actually froze for a moment, shock slowing him down to normal speed for a moment.

"Nice joke, Bats. If he's not yours, then whose is he?"

Bruce clenched his jaw, Barry looked between the two of them, head flipping rapidly until he realized it wasn't a joke. In the corner of his eye, he could see that the unknown was openly staring at them with a smile forming on his face.

"We are in space." Barry hissed. "How'd a random kid get in here?"

"Excuse me?"

Behind the three hero pile up, Arthur arrived. The King looked less than pleased at having his way impeded.

"I come to these bi-monthly meetings due to their importance. I have an entire kingdom to manage, so if we could all move?"

"Bats has a new kid!" Barry nearly shouted.

"He's not mine!" Bruce growled while Arthur looked up and over Barry to see the unknown.

"Do we have a security breach?" Arthur asked.

"He's not yours yet!" Barry said at the same time, lifting up a finger and pointing it right at Bruce's face.

"We don't know who it is or how they got here." Clark said. "He doesn't seem hostile."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Superman." Arthur said , pursing his lips. Bruce turned to see that the boy had now waved in greeting at Arthur and Barry. Barry waved back.

"Are we having a hallway party or something?" Captain Marvel asked. "A party sounds waaaay more fun than a meeting, no offense Batman."

"We have an intruder, Captain." Arthur said pointing directly at the kid.

The kid's eyes widened and he looked behind himself before pointing at his own chest in surprise.

"He doesn't seem like an intruder?" Marvel said with a frown. "What if he's lost?"

"The watchtower is a secure facility, people don't get here by accident." Bruce said.

"I dunno, Batman." Marvel shrugged. "We have aliens, magicians, and time travelers on our team. He could be lost."

Bruce refused to admit the genial man had a point, the unknown could be from anywhere or anywhen. From further down the hallway, John and Diana appeared, walking together. Diana was holding a glass filled with one of Barry's chocolate protein shakes. John nodded in greeting at the group.

"We have an intruder Wonder Woman." Arthur said.

Diana looked through the crowd before shaking her head.

"Nonsense. He has permission to be here. Come, we should sit for the meeting."

Diana muscled her way through the crowd, still carrying the glass. She walked directly over to the unknown. The boy perked up, smiling widely as Diana held out the glass for him

"Thanks, i was getting hungry." The boy said before taking a large gulp of the shake, Diana smiled down at the boy, resting her hand in his dark hair.

"Woah. Plot twist." Barry whispered.

"Come on, let's get to the bottom of this." Clark said walking into the room, following the path Diana took.

The rest of the League followed suit, taking their assigned seats around the table. Bruce wasn't surprised to see that the unknown was sitting in an extra chair right next to Diana.

"To start the meeting." Diana said onc everyone was seated. "I do have some news to share."

"Yeah, I sure hope so." Marvel said in that strange, joking tone he used as if he were quoting something, not that Bruce had ever been able to recognize the quotes.

"I would like to introduce the Justice League to my son, Daniel of Themyscira." Diana said, putting her arm around the unknown and squeezing him to her side.

"Hi." Daniel said, waving at the group, his cheeks a bit red.

Immediately, there was an uproar from most everyone in the League. Questions and shouts of confusion, shock, and denial. Diana only allowed the noise for a few moments before she slammed her fist onto the table hard enough to crack it.

"Enough!" She shouted, quickly quelling the group. "I will not allow my decision to bring my son here be questioned."

She glared at them fiercely, still holding Daniel to her side. The boy had ducked down a bit with the shouting but was now looking up at Diana with adoration.

"This entire team, aside from Captain Marvel, has brought their young charges to the League." Diana continued, looking at each of them. "Superman has brought up two Superboys, Aquaman introduced to us Aqualad, Flash has both Impulse and Kid Flash, Martian Manhunter came to us with Miss Martian. I do not believe we even have time to list all of Batman's brood."

Barry had the audacity to snort at Diana's last point. That actually eased the tension and people relaxed. Diana leaned back into her seat.

"I would think that my team of many years would trust my judgment in bringing my son here. I assure you he is well into his training and more than competent. I will allow you all to ask your questions now."

Bruce cleared his throat near silently and spoke up first.

"What does he know?"

Diana didn't look impressed at his question. Daniel looked at her face before frowning at Bruce, clearly following his mother's lead.

"I have spoken at length about the League and how we work together. I assure you that i have not revealed any identities shared in confidence with me." Diana's tone made it clear she was offended that Bruce would accuse her of revealing their identities. He barely kept from wincing.

"Uhm. How did he... come to be?" Clark asked, clearly not wanting to ask any truly intimate details.

"In the way all children do." Diana said, giving Clark a look of his own.

That answer was not very helpful given that Diana was formed from clay by her mother. Had she taken a pottery class when he wasn't looking? Unless the boy was much older than he appeared, there was no way Diana had hidden a pregnancy from them 15 or so years ago.

"Why haven't we heard of him before now?" Arthur asked.

"Daniel was training with Pandora, one of the elders of Themyscira, she sent him here when he learnt all she had to teach. He joined me in the world of man only a few months ago." Diana answered simply.

"Uh. Excuse my ignorance." Barry said in a tone that made it clear he was about to say something very ignorant indeed. "But I thought your family only had women in it?"

This time Daniel answered, looking nervous.

"I'm. I'm trans actually." he answered, while rubbing his arm nervously.

"Which is completely fine and something that will not leave this room." Diana said, her voice comforting towards her son while her eyes promised hellfire to the heroes in the room.

Everyone made noises of agreement until Daniel relaxed, going back to smiling.

"Excuse me Wonder Woman, will Daniel be wanting to join any of the other, younger teams?" Captain Marvel asked, sounding excited at the idea.

Which of course he would, he was still acting Den Mother for Young Justice and loving it.

"That is up to him. For now I would like to keep him to myself for a while longer, but once he is further trained by myself I think it would be a splendid opportunity."

"Yes!" Daniel agreed before clearing his throat. "I mean, that'd be cool or whatever."

"We can discuss it in the future." Bruce allowed, knowing that it would probably happen sooner than Diana would want knowing how both the Teen Titans and Young Justice were. Danny nodded eagerly at that.

"Finish your food." Diana told Daniel before looking back up at the rest of the team. "Are there any more questions?"

"Does Daniel have any health requirements or powers we need to be aware of?" John asked. "Or is his physiology the same as your own?"

"His powers are vastly different from my own. It is one of the reasons Pandora had taken on his training in the beginning." Diana answered easily. "The facilities and resources we have here should work well for him in case of injury."

The knowledge that Daniel's powers were so different from Diana's that she didn't feel comfortable training him herself was worrisome. Amazons, as far as he knew, had relatively similar powersets. Although he had not heard of Pandora before, perhaps she was specialized?

"I do have, what's it called? An enhanced metabolism. Most stuff here doesn't work on me."

"Don't worry son. We have plenty of medications designed with metas in mind." Clark told Danny. "If it works on me and your mom, it willl work for you."

"Cool."

"What all can you do?" Captain Marvel asked.

Daniel turned to look at Diana who nodded. The boy then looked back at them and started listing his powers.

"I can fly. Not as fast as mom's invisible jet but pretty fast. I'm super strong. I can turn invisible and intangible."

"Intangible?" Clark asked.

"It is an ability similar to Martian Manhunter's density shifting." Diana clarified. "The mechanisms are different."

Magical, most likely, instead of John's more science based power. Bruce would have to come up with more contingencies to compensate for that.

"Yeah intangibility is pretty cool." Daniel told them. "Althought when i first got it, it was pretty scary. I kept falling through stuff. I was almost afraid I'd start falling through the whole planet by accident. I totally have it under control now though."

"I would be interested in comparing our abilities, Daniel." John said, nodding his head towards him. The boy beam excitedly.

"Yeah!"

"Not in the Watchtower." Diana warned, voice stern.

Yes, that was probably sensible. Danny agreed with his mother, and John clarified that he would be happy to meet up planetside at their convenience.

"Are those all of your abilities?" Barry asked, Daniel shook his head.

"No there are a bunch more. But I'm not supposed to use them for a while."

"Why?"

"My son is powerful, but he has relied on his powers far too much in the past." Diana said, sounding porud enough to make her son blush. "Right now, I am training his melee abilities, we have agreed to a temporary pause until he has met my standards."

"It's been super tough. Mom's making me practice with her sword all the time." Danny added on.

"My mother will be sending on your own weapon soon." Diana soothed. "Hephestes does not like to be rushed."

"I know mom."

Diana reached up and ruffled her son's hair. Daniel leaned into the affection with a smile.

"Are there any further questions?" Diana asked, when no one had anything immediately she nodded. "Good. Is there any further business? If not, I would like to take my son home for a proper meal."

Everyone looked at each other. Bruce had wanted to discuss some of his findings, but with Diana's reveal, it hardly seemed important any longer. Bruce was going to need to do a lot of research and planning. He wondered if he should get Tim involved or if he should hold off. The League agreed to end the meeting early, Diana stood.

"Come Daniel. We should get to the jet."

Daniel scrambled up and followed his mother out of the meeting room, his worn sneakers squeaking a bit on the flooring. The rest of the League sat in silence for a moment taking in what Diana had told them.

Wonder Woman had a child. A child with powers beyond her own.

Daniel popped back into the room before anyone could speak.

"Gosh, I am sorry I almost forgot. Mr. Batman, I have something for you."

Daniel walked right over to Bruce, who stared at him from underneath the cowl. The boy was not nearly as confident as his mother when it came to his glare. He cringed a bit, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, silver and green flash drive. He placed it on the table and stepped back.

"What is that?"

"Mom told me you like to make contingencies for everyone. In case they go crazy or whatever. So..." The boy motioned to the drive with his hand. "I mean, it'd be weird if i made my own plans, but like, you could do it. That has all my powers and weaknesses and stuff."

Bruce grabbed the flash drive and the boy looked pleased.

"Okay! I gotta go. It was awesome meeting you guys!"

Daniel turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Bruce looked down at the flash drive, doing his best to hide his shock. No one has ever just handed him a list of their weaknesses before.

"I dunno Bats, are you sure he's not yours?" Barry asked.

[eufezco]

A FRESH START 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis — after leaving wakanda, bucky starts to rediscover who he is while living with you, slowly bulding a new life. his dispair deepens and you offer him a fresh start with a simple act: cutting his hair.

angst. fluff

—you have to stop thinking that every time something good is happening to you it's because something worse is on the way. that´s not a way to live, buck —. you said softly, your voice steady but with a hint of concern.

bucky shook his head, running a hand over his face as a sign of desperation. if only he could remember what life felt like before hydra took him, before all those wasted years. after so long he was still trying to figure it out, still trying to find a version of himself that didn’t feel like a stranger. trying to get used to his new life in the city, far from the peace he had known in wakanda. all these sudden changes only made him more confused and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to adjust, it was that he didn’t know how.

it had been a almost a year since bucky had moved in with you, since you had defeated thanos and steve had left. when the dora milaje declared him ready to live a normal life, bucky stood there, unsure of what that even meant. he had no place to go. louisiana crossed his mind for a moment, sam had always extended an open invitation but the thought of intruding on sam’s family life stopped him, and steve was gone, something he chose not to think much about, so for the first time in over a century, bucky was truly on his own.

except he wasn’t. you were there.

when you found out he needed a place, you didn’t think about it twice. he resisted at first. ayo told him you were the right person to star building his new life. you trust her, you trust her more than you admit. that is where you begin. trust. she is the right person to help you build this new life, james.

and he couldn't remember what you two had shared before hydra took him, before everything fell apart but there was a pull. by the things steve told him, you three were best friends once, inseparable. he spoke of nights you spent laughing, of how he’d head home early, leaving you and bucky behind, knowing that bucky would arrive later, with a big smile on his lips. steve chuckled when he mentioned your lipstick, smeared on bucky’s mouth when he finally made it back. you never wiped it off, you wore it like a badge of honor.

bucky tried to imagine it, those moments of joy but the memories never came. but he could still feel it. he felt it that day in wakanda, when you arrived with steve and natasha to fight thanos. you smiled at him, just a brief moment in the chaos, but it stayed with him. there was something so familiar about that smile, something warm and he felt it too every time you visited him or sent him what had once been his favorite sweets, little reminders of a life he no longer remembered but somehow still carried with him.

so, he showed up at your door a few days later, a bag hung over his shoulder and a sad look in his eyes. he didn't try to argue this time. —you sure about this?

you didn’t hesitate. —absolutely.

living with bucky was easy. he was quiet, he didn't need much space. after months, he started making it his place too, little by little. he left his shoes by the door beside yours, the book he picked up from one of your shelves appeared on the coffee table, his leather jacket draped over the back of a chair.

—it's not that easy —. he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

you watched him. —i know it’s not, —you said softly, stepping closer to him. —but you don’t have to do it all at once. no one expects that from you.

he shook his head again. —feels like they do, —he said, his blue eyes looking directly into yours. you could see the sadness and the guilt of the moments he couldn’t take back. —feels like every time i mess up, it’s just proof that i don’t belong here. as if this life was not made for me —his voice was low, barely more than a murmur. —what if the only thing i'm good at is killing?

you took a deep breath. it was hard to hear him say that, to see the man you’d known before hydra, who was your best friend and the love of your life, now drowning in self-doubt and guilt. —you’re more than what they made you.

—am i? because that’s all i’ve ever done. all i know how to do.

—but it’s not who you are, it’s what they forced you to be. the fact that you’re even asking this? that you’re fighting to be someone better? that’s proof enough that that wasn't you at all.

he closed his eyes tightly and ran his hands through the long strands of his hair. for a moment, you just stood there, watching him. you wanted to pull him back from whatever dark place his thoughts had taken him, but you hesitated, ayo told you to do so, to let him space to feel this, to fight against it, even if it hurt.

—i can still feel him inside my head, i can hear his thoughts. he's not gone.

bucky’s fingers suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair with a little more force. his breathing grew faster, his hands shook and his eyes squeezed shut. you couldn't see how deep his pain was and not do anything to stop him from hurting himself.

you stepped closer. —bucky, hey… —your hands sneaked into his hair, softly pulling his grip from his scalp. his hands were trembling, and for a moment, there was resistance in him like he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of the only thing he could hold onto. but your touch was soft, familiar and something shifted, almost imperceptible, but you could feel the tension in him loosen.

—the bucky i knew isn’t gone. he’s still in there. i see him every time you fight for something good, every time you try to make amends, every time you care about the people around you, about me.

his shoulders fell, and his head hung low, he didn’t want you to see him like this, weak and broken. but you had seen him in his darkest moments as the winter soldier and you had experienced thanos taking him away from you with the blip. the years without him had been a painful, you thought you lost him forever. yet there he was, standing before you, alive, and you weren’t about to let him go again.

your hands gently moved to push the back of his head, guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. he was still a bit unsure about how to handle this type of physical contact, used to years of torture, where touch always meant pain, control, or something to fear. now you held him close to your body, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

—why don’t i cut your hair?

—cut my hair?

—yeah, it´ll help you to see yourself in a different way. a fresh start.

bucky pulled back a little, he wasn’t sure if you were joking. —you think cutting my hair will fix everything?

you smiled softly, you wished it could be that easy. —no, —you admitted. —but ayo told your new life will be built on small things.

bucky sighed.

the idea of letting go parts of himself that tied him to the winter soldier felt like a whole world. first, it was his metal arm, the one with the red star, when tony ripped it off of him, bucky felt relieved, like tony was cutting one of the heads of the hydra to end the monster. in wakanda, he learned to live using only his flesh-and-blood arm until they gave him a new one which he only intended to use for good.

and now you were asking to cut his hair.

—ayo did say that, didn’t she? —he murmured, almost to himself.

—she’s a smart woman and besides, it’s just a haircut. if you hate it, it’ll grow back.

a small smile appeared in his lips. —if it ends up bad, i’m blaming you.

you took a chair from the kitchen to the bathroom and he sat down in front of the mirror. bucky stared at his reflection as he pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. he didn't like mirrors, he avoided them as much as he could. he didn't like the person staring back at him, he didn't know who that man was and now sitting on that chair there was no escape.

there was a difference this time. next to one of the things he most hated to look at—his reflection—was one of the things he liked the most to look at—you.

his blue eyes moved from his reflection to yours. you stood behind him and ran your hands gently through his hair. he felt that familiar tickle in his stomach, the one he first felt almost a century ago and that, even after all the years, it hadn't gone away.

he felt it every morning when you entered the kitchen, hair a mess from sleep, mumbling a soft “good morning” to him. he felt it when he came home in the evenings and dinner was ready and you were sitting at the table, waiting for him. he felt it most when you would fell asleep on the couch and he had to carry you to your bed, careful not to wake you. and you'd ask him in your sleep to stay, and he'd freeze, he wanted to say yes, he wanted to stay. but he couldn’t risk it, his nightmares were still too real. so bucky would gently place you in your bed, making sure you were well tucked in, and whisper, i’ll be in my room, if you need anything.

—are you ready? —you asked him, bringing him back from his thoughts. you already had the scissors in your hand and bucky shifted in the chair at the sight of them. —it'll be okay, buck.

—feels like more than just a haircut.

you nodded, understanding. —well, that's what we wanted, isn't it?

bucky swallowed and nodded.

—why don't you close your eyes? i'll let you know when i'm done.

with a deep breath, he did as you said. your lips curved into a small smile even though he could no longer see you. you were aware of all the progress he had made. you knew he trusted you with his heart because on no other occasion he would willingly keep his eyes closed with someone standing behind him, scissors in hand and when your hands rested on his shoulders, he hadn’t flinched at the contact.

—okay, i'll start.

with his eyes closed it was much easier to feel the delicacy with which you treated him. the way your fingers combed through his scalp and then the sound of the scissors, followed by the sensation of the strands falling and taking with them the weight he had carried for so long. and you talked, about anything that crossed your mid so he did not feel that he was in danger or he had to be alert at any time.

—maybe we could get a cat, —you said. —i think it’d be nice. do you think you’d be a good cat parent?

—maybe —. he said after a pause. —i definitely prefer a cat to a dog.

you switched to the clippers, you left the hair at the top of his head a little longer, while the rest of it was cut shorter. a very chic haircut for someone born in 1917. you carefully checked that his hair was even and then you styled it with your fingers.

—okay, i'm done, you can open your eyes.

bucky hesitated for a moment, then opened his eyes. your breath caught in surprise as you watched him take in the sight of himself. it was like having the bucky you once knew staring right at you through the mirror. his features were the same, just a bit more more defined and mature.

he felt the same relief as when tony ripped off the metal arm that hydra embedded in his body, like a part of him that had once been used against him, now freed. he turned his head slowly to both sides to get a better look and to be honest, he liked his new look. physically, he could see the resemblance to the man in the photos you had shown him, the young soldier who smiled to you, in love.

—how do you feel? i think it suits you —. you asked gently.

bucky nodded. —i like it —. he caught your gaze in the mirror. the eye contact was so intense that you had to look away. you cleared your throat, hoping to ease the tension, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

—alright, come on, —you tapped his shoulder for him to stand up. — i'm going to sweep your hair off the floor.

bucky got up from the chair and turned his head to look at you, not through the mirror this time, but directly, and the sudden closeness made your breath hitch. —thank you for doing this.

—you don't need to thank me, buck. i'm glad it turned out well, it was my first time doing it.

—you sure about that? —he asked—it doesn’t feel like it was your first time.

you laughed, still avoiding his gaze. —guess we got lucky, then.

there was a silence; you were both too close, but not close enough yet. bucky’s eyes moved to your lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your heart race. you could both feel the tension, an invisible string pulling you toward each other, daring one of you to close the gap. you didn’t want to take the first step, you didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t ready for, the last thing you wanted was to break the fragile trust he’d built with you.

you opened your mouth to say something but he talked first.

—can i kiss you? —his voice was low, almost shy.

you were surprised because you didn't expected him to ask so directly, but consent was so important to him. he spent too many years under someone else’s control, forced into actions that weren’t his own, and now he was determined never to cross those lines. it wasn’t just about asking to kiss you, it was about making sure that you were comfortable, that you wanted this just as much as he did.

—yeah, —you whispered —you can.

bucky stepped closer, his flesh-and-blood hand reaching to cup your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you leaned into him instead, your lips finally meeting his.

he felt strange. he had wanted to kiss you for what felt like forever, and now that he had, he wasn’t sure what to do next. his mind raced, trying to remember how this was supposed to go. he forgot about kissing, forgot about the rhythm of it, the give and take. his hand slipped from your cheek to fall awkwardly at his side as he pulled away from your lips just enough just to say:

—i don't... i don't remember how to do this.

—it's okay. you're doing just fine. there’s no right or wrong way. just… follow me.

this time, when your lips met, you moved slowly, guiding him. his tension disappeared as he mirrored your movements, his right hand returned to your cheek, the other, his metal one, moved to hold your hips. it wasn’t perfect, the movements of his lips were still hesitant, but there was something honest about the way he kissed you.

as he kissed you, bucky became more aware of his body and where his hands were and realized that his metal hand was resting lightly on your waist. he pulled the hand away quickly. —i'm sorry, i didn't mean to...

you shook your head, one of your hands flew to the back of his neck to connect your lips while your other one grabbed his vibranium arm and guided his hand to where it was before. as the kiss deepened, you felt him relax, stop worrying about whether he was doing it right or wrong, about the touch of his cold hand on your skin, and he just kissed you.

you hummed before parting ways. his cheeks were flushed, his lips were a bit swollen and glossy, his breathing a little uneven and you couldn't help a little laugh from escaping your lips.

—okay, now you're just laughing at me.

—you're so cute, buck.

[259kmvn]

shy

– scaramouche spends some time with his shy partner | scaramouche x f!reader, soft smut, fluff

the atmosphere in the room is nothing close to obscene. it is light, gentle, playful- one will only find two lovers innocently indulging in their desires. yet, with their kisses and caresses, even an angel would avert its eyes so as to not intrude.

you look up at scaramouche, who has you lying naked on the bed amidst a silk blanket that veils fractions of your body. he sees only your eyes as your forearm drapes over your face in profound embarrassment.

"we've gone through this, y/n," he demands, a soft smile contrasting his twitching eyebrows, "don't cover your face."

you shake your head underneath your arm. this isn't your first time being naked with him. you've done this many a times with your lover, yet each time your heart still flutters at the sight of his lean body.

his lean body. your partner is toned. a hazy line runs down the middle of his tummy, decorating a torso with a waist so small an hourglass would be jealous. his skin was neither too hairy nor bare, and you know that from the past times he's gone waist to waist with you. 'it's almost like cotton', you've thought once before, while his body rubbed against yours in a loving heat of motion.

the memory makes you blush and squirm.

scaramouche chuckles, a teasing lilt in his voice- "what are you thinking about, hmm?"

your eyes met his in a pleading gaze. "nothing," you whisper. and in another sentence, "please..." you beg.

the breath he lets out is shaky and it tickles the arm that hides your lips. he plants a kiss before shifting it from your face to your side. "please, hmm?" his tone is slow, "please what?" there's a genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he doesn't know what you want. but he does. he's done this so many times you could say he's become an expert of your desires. and yet he asks.

you're stubborn, however. with one hand pinned down by your lover, you use the other to gently pinch the skin of his shoulder. "you already know." your pout makes him think that you'll sulk if he pushes on further. part of him wants to see that happen. part of him, specifically the lower part, just wants to feel you already.

"you're lucky i do." and his lips meet yours. once, twice, thrice- slowly increasing in intensity. he weaves his voice into his kisses, humming against your lips. smoothly, he travels down. he kisses your jaw, then your neck, and he spends a lot of time working your neck. it takes a few wet seconds for you to notice his tongue sneaking past his lips to taste your skin.

scaramouche continues down your body and his hands roam about you- steadily losing patience as he approaches your thighs. the breath he lets out is warm, open-mouthed, and shaky. you're wet.

he greets your slit with a peck before sliding his finger up it. and, to tease you, he looks directly into your eyes as he licks it. and when you hastily turn away, he chuckles. "you're too pretty for me, y/n."

the way your body reacts to his words, his fingers and his tongue betrays the shy red of your cheeks- jerking, squirming, shivering. and just as he laps up the juices in between your thighs, he laps up the sight he's beholding of you.

"fuck," his voice is a mumble against your clit, "you're so fucking pretty." and against your will, you moan. he continues. sucking, kitten-licking, breathing in your heat.

your hand finds purchase on his hair- and you find in you the strength to resist pulling it. you just need to touch him. that's all. "scara-", you whimper, and he growls in response. his hand that held your thigh rests on top of your newly placed hand. you feel his tongue swipe up your slit as he guides you deeper into his hair- fingers intertwining with his soft strands.

when he feels you're comfortable where your hand is, he orders- "pull." you pause. hesitating on behalf of your shameful will. he plunges himself deeper into your heat, as if to override your will with desire- mouth open as his tongue thrusts into you. again he orders, "pull."

so you pull. the moan that he lets out is almost impure, shrouded by the sound of your flesh. "again," he orders, though his voice resembles more of a grunt. you pull again. his hips immediately buck into the bed in a falter. a few more licks, and he sits up, breathing heavily- just as heavily as you are. "i can't hold back anymore." he strokes himself and brings his waist closer to yours.

"y/n." you look up. his hand is gentle, shivering, when it cups your cheek. it smears wetness on your skin. "tell me what you want." you shake your head.

for a moment his heart stops. "you don't want..?" his hand withdraws from your face. sensing his fear, you say, "no, scara, i do," and your voice is gentle, "i just.. don't wanna say it." you bite your lip. his relieved sigh is followed by the return of his hand on your face, fingers warm and wet. "why not?" he decides to tease.

you pause, then decide to tease back. a sheepish, playful smile tugs at your lips, "because i'm too shy."

he pulls back entirely at this, head falling back so he can look up and ask god what he did to deserve this. "hah... fuck." he can't deny the wide smile on his face, "fuck," and he comes down to suckle on your neck. body against body, but not yet connected. "fuck," he mumbles into your skin, "i'm the happiest," a kiss, "fucking," a lick, "man in the world."

with his lips still attached to your neck, he guides himself against your slit. you share a shiver as his member slickly slides up and down the opening. "y/n," he gazes at you past your jaw. brings himself closer to your ear. a whisper- "i need you to tell me to put it in."

he sees your eyes widen, eyebrows turning up and still, he's rubbing himself against you. the both of you know- you need more.

"pl-please," you whisper, turning away from him. your soft voice goes softer, "put it in."

you feel the tip push in.

"look at me and say it."

you take the deepest breath you could take in such a situation and turn towards him. you expected him to be tense- just as needy as you are, perhaps, impatiently waiting for you to say the words.

but when your eyes meet, he's smirking. head tilted to the side as if to tell you that he can wait for hours (though the truth couldn't be farther from that). you can't hold back anymore. fuck it.

"scara, please... put it in, please," your lips quiver after delivering the pathetic plea.

"as you wish." and you're stretched with the full length of scaramouche's member. you moan in relief, and so does he, but the both of you are still tense. knots in your cores tight and waiting to unravel. "ready?" he asks, and you nod meekly. hoping he doesn't torture you any more.

a hand caresses your hair, "good girl." he starts moving. the motions are familiar. he's fluid, as he always is, gentle throughout yet firm when he reaches a deep spot inside you. but something feels different. not physically- his soft skin and silk sheets are all too familiar. but mentally. emotionally.

as he thrusts inside you, breaths hard and focused, you realise that it's the impact of actually mustering up the words to request your lover to fuck you. you've earned this. you've earned the grip of his hands on your hips as he moves vigorously inside you. you've earned the string of "fuck"s that mimic the rate of which he enters you. you've earned the build-up of tension, as both of you squirm and buck against each other, chasing your climaxes.

"y/n, fuck!" he calls out, leaning down to kiss you, "i'm close."

you nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders. "me too." breaths getting heavier.

his thrusts, from methodical, become haphazard. he's no longer fluid but rather fervently chasing his high- both of your highs.

"scara- scara, scara, 'm cummin- hah-" your eyes squeeze shut. if you can't see him, he can't see you, right?

it's not the first time he's witnessed you climax, but he can't get enough of how sweet and honey-like you sound; unrestricted by your self-proclaimed shyness that he also can't get enough of. how you avoid his gaze but become all the more vulnerable by closing your eyes. he can't help but moan.

with one last thrust he cums, sensitive to the way you tighten around him and cum as well. his weight falls entirely on you as he collapses, chest and ribs rising and falling together in your needs to catch your breaths.

he plants a kiss on your collarbone and sighs.

the waning of your lust gives way for your mind to regain control, and you comprehend the nakedness and the proximity of your partner to you. immediately you gasp and look away, covering your face as if that changes the fact that his exposed skin is kissing your exposed skin.

he chuckles, and you feel it resonate in your chest. your turned head exposes a part of your neck he hasn't kissed, and he kisses it- imprinting his smile onto your skin.

"how are you still this shy," his warm breath smears against you, "after everything we've done together?"

when you don't reply, he lifts himself up to see your runaway gaze.

"or did you forget how you begged me to put-" you yelp, smothering his sentence with a pillow, "my pshhhmmshfhfmh-!"

in a fit of laughter, he wrestles with you and your feather-filled weapon, tossing it out of reach. he pulls your waist from below and traps you in his arms. deep breaths. you're grinning, and so is he. you both release a long sigh.

"let's stay like this a while, hmm?"

[erule]

Teenage dream | b.r.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x reader 

Summary: you’re in love with Bob, but he doesn’t know that and this is tearing you apart. Until one day, he tells you to ask him what you’ve been eager to know.

Warnings: angst, fluff, friends to lovers trope, making out (reader and Bob are both 18+ here), Thunderbolts* spoilers ahead

Word count: 1.7K+

A/N: hi guys! I’m back with a ff with Bob Reynolds, because I just loved his so much in the movie (and Lewis too ofc!!). Feedback is always appreciated by a writer! I hope you enjoy it 🌙

Main Masterlist

MCU Masterlist

Somehow, you’ve always known that. Since the first time he entered in the room, you’ve felt something, a sort of an energy or a vibe. Yelena looked at you, because she got it even before you could even comprehend what was happening inside of you. It was like a teenage dream that would come to reality. Bob said hello to everybody and your eyes lingered on his face more than you would do with a stranger. You knew what he did, but you didn’t really care about it. You weren’t scared. After years of working with the Avengers, you knew the risks. 

It was even funnier, when Bucky asked you, door closed behind you, if you were sneaking out with him. You gulped, embarrassed, but also giggled at the thought. You wished you would, but no, that wasn’t you. He was having some kind of affair with somebody else. You shrugged, then you went away in order to go back to your room, but you found Yelena next to your door. 

“He did it, didn’t he?” She asked and you nodded. Yelena sighed, tired. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I told him you weren’t doing anything with Bob, but he wanted to know it directly from you. Did it hurt you?”

“Not quite as when I saw Bob kissing Sarah,” you answered. Sarah was the classic girl next door: simple, cute and nice. You had nothing against her, really, but you weren’t glad to see her with your beloved Bob. Oh, you sounded so riddiculous!

You sighed, while preparing yourself to get into the shower. Yelena gave you a T-shirt for later. 

“I can only imagine,” Yelena said, while sitting on your bed. “If I could do something about it, like smashing his face into the wall or…”

“Unfortunately, you can’t,” you replied with a smile. “Still, I love you for that”.

“No, I don’t like all of these emotions. I’m gonna get out from here. See you at dinner, babe,” she said and you waved at her.

Sometimes, you thought that she was your only friend beside of Bob. How do you really talk to your friend about you being in love with them? You got into the shower in order to go to dinner very fast. You changed your clothes, then you did your hair. You were wearing your shoes, when somebody knocked at the door. 

“Hey,” a sweet voice said and you recognized it immediately.

“Hi,” you replied and your heart began to race.

“I… uhm… know, from Walker, that Bucky wanted to talk to you about something urgent today. Is everything alright?” He asked and you didn’t really know how to answer. You remained silent for a couple of seconds, so he shaked his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I was just worried about you. Bucky can be very unpleasant, sometimes”.

“Sometimes?” You joked and he smiled.

“Multiple times”.

“Anyway, thank you for your concern, but it was nothing serious”.

Then, he gulped, nodding, his shoulder on the door jamb and his fingers intertwined. You looked at him, your lips parted as if you were about to ask him a question, but you didn’t. He seemed to as well, though.

“I’ve missed this,” he said. 

“What?”

“This,” he repeated, pointing at him and you with a finger. “Us. Being friends, making jokes. Whatever we were before”.

“Before what?”

“Before I got with Sarah,” he said and you gulped, trying to hide your sense of guilt. Your feelings.

“We’re still friends,” you stated and it was true.

“I know,” he replied, then he walked towards you and you started to feel uncomfortable. 

“Please, don’t,” you said. You couldn’t handle it anymore. 

He stopped.

“I know that there’s something off here, Y/N. Just tell me,” he said and you felt terrible. He was really trying to have his friend back, but you couldn’t even admit that you were in love with him with yourself, let alone with him! You bit your bottom lip. Who knows what Void would have seen, if only he could. Maybe your secret dreams about him or the lowest point of your life, when you followed him to see why he would always go to the cafè in front of the compound. You were ashamed of yourself. He couldn’t touch you, otherwise he would have found out everything.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” you found the courage to say, but he sighed.

“Y/N, if I did anything to offend you, I’m sorry,” he said. “You know that I wouldn’t hurt a fly, come on”.

You tried to hold back the tears.

“People can’t know anything”.

“True,” he said, while getting slowly closer to you. Your skin began to get hotter very fast, as if his only presence could make you feel warmer. “But they’re not my friends”.

“I don’t want to know your personal life’s secrets”.

“Something’s telling me you do,” he said with the ghost of a smirk on his pale face. You tilted your head. “You could live with the doubt forever or… you could just ask”. You gulped. “Ask me”.

You released the breath you were apparently holding. When you were just a teenager, you used to fantasize about a lot of fictional and real guys as if it was some kind of game, but now, all of this didn’t seem like a game to you anymore. He was real, in front of you, asking you to make him a question. So you did. 

“Why not me?”

You knew why he chose her, it wasn’t a stupid challenge between two people being in love with the same guy. It was about you and him, this time. It was about being the second chance again.

His eyes flickered. For a moment, he wasn’t Bob anymore. He was Void and Void knew how to break into your heart like nobody else. You wondered if you made the right call.

“Because it was easier,” he answered. You were confused. Easier to be with somebody less demanding than you? Easier than breaking a friendship? “Easier to fake that I didn’t care about you as much as I do,” he said, as if he could read your mind. “Everytime I look at you during a mission, I hope that our enemies don’t get how much I love you. Everytime I see you walking into the compound, I ask myself if Bucky or Yelena or anybody else knows that I’m wrapped around your finger. And every damn time that something bad happens, I fear that it happened to you and that I wasn’t there to protect you”.

The tears were rolling on your cheeks at that point.

“It’s unfair”.

“What? That you didn’t tell me that you were in love with me?” He asked.

“That you’d rather sneak around with anybody but me”.

“You’re being mean,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“And you’re breaking my heart”.

He looked at you as if you just broke the ice into his eyes and now he was bleeding on the outside. His eyes were glossy and circled in red.

“Well, then it’s a good thing that you did the same with mine, I guess”.

That was the moment in which your heart shattered into pieces.

***

Yelena was very focused while listening to your argument with Bob, but once you were finished, she rolled on the bed, exhausted. A corner of your lips turned up in half a smile. 

“You’re unbelievable!” You exclaimed, but she threw a pillow at you.

“Am I? You’re the one who fought with the love of her life over a stupid thing!”

The skin of your face started to burn.

“He’s not… He’s not the love of my life”.

“Babe, come on, he is. And he has been for as long as I can remember. Probably, you were dreaming about him when you were still a teenager”.

You sighed. It was like she could read you. That was probably why you felt something already when he just entered into the room and he light it up like it was the easiest thing to do on the planet. At that point, you couldn’t even lie anymore: you were desperately in love with him.

“You think that he was right all along?”

Yelena got up from the bed and shaked your hand.

“Y/N, have you met us? We’re the new Avengers: we go on missions, we try to save the world while we also make stupid jokes about dying in a cool way. Yeah, he’s pretty much right”.

You sat down on the bed.

“I ruined everything, didn’t I?” You asked her, while your hands are on your face.

“Maybe not,” she said and you could feel that she was smiling. 

You get up immediately from the bed, as if you could feel his presence. It’s like a dream coming true. He’s standing again with an arm on the door jamb, hands in the pockets and a curl of his hair on his forehead. He had never looked more beautiful, if that was possible.

Yelena left the room with a smile on her face.

“Hi,” you said, incredibly guilty.

“Hi”, he replied. Even his voice was like drinking cold water during a hot Summer day. It was refreshing for your ears. His face, on the other hand, was a breath of fresh air. He really was the man you’ve been looking for you whole life. You even dreamt about him when he was still a character in your head. “What you said the other day… it really hurt me”.

“Bob, I’m so…”

“No,” he interrupted you. “Let me finish. Honestly, I could have handled it in a better way. I also wasn’t fair to Sarah, you were right, so I broke up with her immediately after our argument”.

You were at a loss for words. 

He walked closer to you. His fingertips caressed your cheek and he was looking at you as if you were the sun and he was desperate to warm up. You felt electricity running through your veins, some tiny shots that were jumping from your back to your neck. He used his thumb to part your lips gently. Your eyes were burning because of the tears behind them. Please, let this moment never come to an end, you thought. Then, he placed his lips on yours and you lost every control over your nerves. Your hands felt the urge to tighten around his hair and your lips became hot and swollen after a short time of kissing. It was like the whole world has disappeared into his embrace. Every fantasy you had when you were little had now become a reality. You couldn’t even believe it. Every dream of yours was now there, in front of you. And they were all worth the wait.  

[ghstyles]

Inevitable | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 7.9k

Summary: Harry is struggling to differentiate between a partnership and an ownership

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The smell of garlic and tomatoes filled the air, mingling with the quiet bubbling of sauce on the stove. Y/N stood barefoot in the tiny kitchen of her apartment, stirring the pot of pasta while humming something off-key. The place was small, barely enough room for two people to move around without bumping into each other, but somehow, Harry didn’t mind.

He leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, watching her with a strange kind of focus. Not calculating. Not suspicious. Just…curious. Like he was still trying to figure out how she made this feel normal.

“How much longer?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

He checked his watch even though he already knew. “Two more minutes.”

She gave an approving nod and went back to stirring. “You’re weirdly good at timing stuff.”

Harry smirked. “Occupational habit.”

She didn’t ask what occupation. She never did, not directly. That was one of the things he liked about her. She didn’t force pieces out of him before he was ready to give them.

There was something different about nights like this. No weapons. No bodyguards. No phones buzzing with encrypted messages. Just her in a loose T-shirt and shorts, hair tied up, hands stained faintly red from the sauce she’d insisted on making from scratch.

He stepped behind her, resting a hand lightly on her waist as he peered over her shoulder into the pot. “You sure this isn’t going to poison me?”

She elbowed him gently. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t use marinara.”

His laugh was low, real, and surprised even him a little. It echoed off her narrow kitchen walls, like something unfamiliar trying to find its place.

She turned, looked up at him with those bright, honest eyes, and smiled.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said, tiptoeing to press a kiss to his cheek before padding away.

Harry stayed where he was, hand still hovering in the air from where she’d touched him. He stared at the empty space she left behind, the quiet warmth still clinging to his skin before taking over the stirring.

This was different.

And for once, he wasn’t sure if that scared him or made him want more.

His thoughts were interrupted by her screams 

Harry's entire body tensed at the sound, instinct taking over before conscious thought. In one fluid motion, he dropped the wooden spoon, pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans, and was moving toward the bathroom.

The door was unlocked, although he'd have kicked it down if it wasn't, and he pushed it open with his shoulder, weapon raised and ready. His eyes scanned for threats, body positioned to shield Y/N from whatever danger had caused her to scream.

"What is it?" His voice, deadly calm, yet the one that made grown men tremble. His eyes continued sweeping the small bathroom, looking for an intruder, a threat, anything that would explain her terror.

The bathroom appeared empty except for Y/N. Nothing seemed out of place. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry. But Harry knew better than most that danger could hide in plain sight.

"Angel, talk to me. What happened?" His grip on the gun didn't loosen, his body remaining between her and the door, ready to eliminate whatever had frightened her.

“Harry!” She says, clutching the back of hs shirt, “there’s a huge spider over there” she points to under the sink

Harry's entire demeanor shifts in an instant. The lethal tension in his body doesn't quite leave, but his expression changes to one of disbelief. He stares at Y/N for a beat, then looks toward the sink where she's pointing.

There is indeed a spider there. Not particularly large by his standards, but clearly enough to terrify her.

He slowly lowers his gun, tucking it back into his waistband with deliberate movements. When he turns to face her, his expression is a dangerous mixture of relief and irritation.

“A spider.” His voice is flat. “You screamed like someone was murdering you...because of a fucking spider?”

Y/N lifts her chin, acting a lot calmer than she felt. “It jumped, Harry. It had intent.”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. The adrenaline is still pumping through his system, his body primed for violence that isn’t necessary.

“Christ, Y/N. I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tensing. “Don’t scream like that unless someone’s trying to hurt you. I nearly shot first and asked questions later.”

Her expression softens, guilt flickering behind her eyes. “Sorry...I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just…spiders. They’re unpredictable.”

Despite his harsh words, he turns back toward the sink, grabbing a piece of toilet paper. “Where is the little bastard? Under here?”

He crouches down, muttering under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking spiders causing more problems than the Italians.”

Y/N stands a safe distance back, arms crossed. “For the record, I would’ve handled it myself if it wasn’t plotting my assassination.”

“Assasination” he scoffs under his breath

She pouts, “don’t make fun of me. I could have died” she says dramatically.

Harry glances over his shoulder at Y/N's dramatic pose, one eyebrow raised as he reaches under the sink.

"Died? From this?" He emerges with the tiny spider trapped in the tissue, holding it up for her to see. "This little thing? It's smaller than my fucking thumbnail."

Y/N's eyes widen at the sight of the spider, even safely contained in tissue. She takes another step back.

"It was huge from where I was standing! And it moved so fast. Don't bring it closer to me, Harry!"

Harry's lips twitch, fighting back what might almost be a smile. He stands, purposely taking a step toward her with the tissue-wrapped spider.

"What's wrong, angel? Thought you were dying a minute ago. Want to say goodbye to your would-be killer?"

"Harry Styles, I swear to God—" Y/N backs up until she hits the wall, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "If you come any closer with that thing, you're…sleeping on the couch for a week!" 

Seriously? They didn't even live together. But that was all her fear filled brain could conjure. 

He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that doesn't match the surprisingly playful glint in his eyes. He moves to the toilet and flushes the spider away.

"Empty threats, princess. We both know you can't sleep without me." He washes his hands thoroughly before turning back to her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed. "Besides, my couch costs more than most people's cars. Wouldn't exactly be a punishment."

Y/N rolls her eyes, her heartbeat finally returning to normal now that the spider is gone.

"My hero," she says sarcastically. "Saving me from the terrifying arachnid menace."

Harry pushes off from the sink, closing the distance between them in two strides. He places one hand on the wall beside her head, effectively caging her in.

"Next time you scream like that, it better be because you're in real danger..." his voice drops lower as he leans in "...or because I'm making you come so hard you can't help yourself."

“Harry!” She says, shoving him back. Her cheeks flush. “I’m pretty sure our dinner is burning”

He doesn't budge when she shoves him, solid as a wall. His eyes darken at the sight of her flushed cheeks, clearly enjoying her reaction. He leans in closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"Let it burn," he murmurs, lips brushing against her skin. "I'm suddenly in the mood for something else."

The scent of something scorching finally registers, and Y/N ducks under his arm, escaping his cage.

"The pasta, Harry!" She hurries toward the kitchen, her bare feet padding quickly across the floor.

Harry follows at a more leisurely pace, watching her rush to save their dinner with amused interest. By the time he reaches the kitchen, Y/N is already turning off the burner, waving away the smoke rising from the pot.

"Shit," she mutters, looking at the blackened bottom of the sauce. "It's ruined."

Harry leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, observing her disappointment with a mixture of amusement and something softer he'd never admit to feeling.

"I told you to let it burn," he says, voice low and teasing. "But now we have no dinner and I'm still hungry."

He pushes off from the doorframe, stalking toward her with predatory grace.

"We could order in," Y/N suggests, still fanning at the smoke, not noticing his approach until he's right behind her.

"Or," Harry says, strong hands settling on her hips, spinning her to face him, "I could just eat you instead."

Before she can protest, he lifts her easily, setting her on the counter beside the ruined dinner, positioning himself between her legs.

"What do you say, angel? Still worried about the fucking pasta?"

Y/N blinks at him, her fingers clutching the edge of the countertop tightly. Two months into their relationship, she still wasn't fully accustomed to Harry’s intensity. She’d been confident, teasing, self-assured, even a little cocky.when they first met, holding her ground against his sharp gaze and sharper words. But being with him, really with him, and catching glimpses of the ruthless man beneath the gentle hands and teasing smiles…it made her pulse race and stomach tighten with nervous anticipation.

Not nervous in a bad way. Never in a bad way.

Maybe, she realized, it wasn’t just seeing the real him that unsettled her. Maybe it was that, the longer she spent with him, the more her own mask slipped. The confident front she’d worn to impress him at the beginning was gradually replaced with something softer, something more genuine. Vulnerable. Real.

She swallowed softly, meeting his dark gaze through lowered lashes. "I was really looking forward to it," she admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry studies her face, reading her nervousness with practiced ease. Something in his expression shifts, not softening exactly, but recalibrating. His hands remain on her hips, but his grip loosens slightly.

"You really wanted the pasta that badly?" he asks, his voice dropping its seductive edge, replaced with genuine curiosity. "Why?"

Y/N looks down, fingers still gripping the counter edge.

"I just..." she hesitates, looking almost embarrassed. "I wanted to make you dinner. A real dinner. I thought it would be nice."

Harry's thumb traces small circles on her hip, a rare gesture of reassurance. His other hand moves to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You were cooking for me," he states rather than asks, his expression unreadable.

Y/N nods, looking vulnerable in a way that would make Harry want to destroy anyone else who showed such weakness. But with her, it stirs something different.

"No one's cooked for me since..." he stops, jaw tightening as if catching himself revealing too much. "It doesn't matter."

He steps back, creating space between them, and runs a hand through his hair.

"Get your coat," he says abruptly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"What? Why?" Y/N asks, confused by the sudden shift.

"Because I'm taking you out." Harry reaches for his keys on the counter. "If my girl wants dinner, she gets dinner."

My girl. 

The words echo softly in his own mind, startling him with their sincerity. They feel foreign yet oddly comforting, slipping naturally past his defenses and settling deep into his chest. He’s never been possessive like this before. Protective, yes, territorial even, but never with this quiet, intimate kind of claim. Calling her his made his chest tighten, emotion stirring inside him that he wasn't entirely ready to acknowledge.

But the feeling was there, undeniable and real.

He helps her down from the counter, his touch gentler than most would believe him capable of.

"But Harry, it's late and—"

"There's a place across town. Owner owes me." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "They'll open for us."

The unspoken truth hangs in the air.  Harry could get anything he wanted in this city with a single phone call, that doors would open and people would scramble to please him out of fear or debt or both.

"Get your coat," he repeats, softer this time. "I want to watch you eat something that isn't fucking burnt."

“And whose fault is it that it’s burnt?” She smiles, pecking his cheek before making her way to her room to change really quickly

Harry watches her walk away, his eyes tracking her movements with possessive attention. When she's out of sight, he pulls out his phone, making a brief call. His voice shifts to something colder, more commanding than what he uses with Y/N.

"Thomas. I need the restaurant open in twenty. Just one table." He pauses, listening. "I don't give a fuck what time it is. Make it happen."

He ends the call just as Y/N returns, now wearing a simple dress that hugs her curves. Harry's eyes darken appreciatively as he takes her in.

"That was quick," he comments, reaching for her coat before she can grab it herself. He holds it open for her to slip into. It was a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture from a man who had ordered three hits last week.

"I didn't want to keep you waiting," Y/N replies, sliding her arms into the coat sleeves. "You get grumpy when you're hungry."

"I get grumpy when I don't get what I want," he corrects her, his hands lingering on her shoulders after adjusting her coat. "And right now, I want to feed you."

He guides her toward the door with a hand on the small of her back, grabbing his car keys.

"You know," Y/N says as they step into the hallway, "normal boyfriends just order pizza when dinner gets ruined."

Harry locks the door behind them, his expression amused.

"When have I ever given you the impression that I'm normal?" He leads her toward the elevator, his hand never leaving her back. "Besides, last one kept staring at you," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "That's why we don't order pizza anymore."

Y/N's eyes widen slightly. "Harry...what did you do to that delivery boy?"

The elevator doors close, and Harry's reflection smirks in the mirrored wall.

"Nothing permanent," is all he says, pressing the button for the lobby level. "Just made sure he found a new route."

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The restaurant is empty except for them, just as Harry demanded. The lighting is dim, the atmosphere intimate, with a single table set in the center of the room. The owner himself has been serving them, his hands trembling slightly whenever Harry's gaze falls on him.

Harry is cutting into his steak when he notices Y/N's attention fixed on her phone under the table, her brow furrowed in concentration. He pauses mid-cut, watching her for a moment before reaching across and plucking the device from her hands in one swift movement.

"What's so fucking important that—" He stops, looking at the screen, his expression shifting from annoyance to disbelief as he reads aloud: "'Fatal spider bites per year in the United States.'"

Y/N reaches for her phone, cheeks flushing. "Give it back!"

Harry holds it just out of her reach, scrolling through the search results with his thumb, his lips twitching dangerously.

"Seven deaths," he reads, looking up at her with barely contained amusement. "Seven people out of three hundred and thirty million. You're literally more likely to be killed by a fucking cow."

He slides the phone back across the table, watching as she snatches it up defensively.

"I was just checking," she mutters, putting the phone away in her purse.

"Checking if your dramatic performance in the bathroom was justified?" Harry takes a sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving her face. "It wasn't, by the way."

Y/N narrows her eyes at him. "You don't know what that spider was thinking. It could have been venomous."

"Angel," Harry leans forward, lowering his voice despite them being alone, "I've seen men with guns try to kill me with less conviction than you had about that spider."

The owner approaches nervously to refill their wine glasses. Harry barely acknowledges him with a glance, but it's enough to send the man scurrying away again.

"If you're so worried about dying," Harry continues once they're alone, cutting another piece of his steak, "you should reconsider who you're having dinner with. That spider's got nothing on me."

Y/N takes a bite of her pasta, properly cooked this time, and points her fork at him. "At least you warn me before you bite."

Harry's expression darkens with heat, a slow smile spreading across his face that makes the owner, watching from across the room, visibly shudder.

"Is that a request, sweetheart?"

“No!” She says quickly, flush creeping up her neck. “Just an observation. And…behave. We’re in public”

Harry's gaze travels from her flushed neck back to her eyes, lingering deliberately on her lips in between. The predatory smile doesn't fade.

"Public?" He gestures around the empty restaurant with his knife. "Do you see anyone else here? Thomas cleared out his entire staff except for himself, and he knows better than to look our way unless I call him over."

As if on cue, the owner's eyes dart away when Y/N glances in his direction. The man busies himself polishing already clean glasses behind the bar, clearly trying to become invisible.

Harry sets down his knife and reaches across the table, his fingers capturing her wrist. His thumb strokes over her pulse point, feeling it quicken under his touch.

"I could bend you over this table right now," he says, voice low and matter-of-fact, "and no one would say a fucking word about it."

Y/N tries to pull her hand away, but his grip tightens just enough to hold her in place.

"Harry!" she hisses, looking mortified. "That's—you can't just—"

"Can't I?" His thumb continues its maddening circles on her wrist. "This entire block belongs to me, angel. I can do whatever I want."

He releases her wrist suddenly, picking up his utensils again as if nothing happened.

"But I won't," he adds, cutting another piece of steak. "Not because we're in public, but because I'd rather take my time with you later."

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before adding: "Besides, you haven't finished your pasta. And after all the drama about cooking dinner, it would be a shame to waste this one too."

Y/N stares at him, caught between relief, embarrassment, and something darker she doesn't want to examine too closely. The thrill that runs through her at his words.

"You're impossible," she finally says, picking up her fork again.

"No," Harry corrects, pointing his knife at her. "I'm inevitable, sweetheart. There's a difference."

He signals for more wine, and Thomas appears instantly at their table, pouring with shaking hands.

“Thank you” Y/N looks over to Thomas and offers a warm smile that hopefully balances out Harry’s whole intimidation act. 

Thomas freezes mid-pour, clearly startled by Y/N's kindness. His eyes flick nervously to Harry, as if seeking permission to acknowledge her directly. When Harry doesn't immediately object, the owner manages a trembling smile in return.

"Y-you're welcome, miss," he says quietly, his accent thickening with anxiety. "Is everything to your liking?"

Before Y/N can answer, Harry's hand shoots out, gripping Thomas's wrist with enough force to make the man wince. The wine bottle tilts dangerously, a drop spilling onto the white tablecloth.

"You're here to serve, not chat," Harry says, his voice deceptively soft but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Pour the wine and fuck off."

Thomas nods frantically, finishing the pour with trembling hands before backing away. Y/N waits until he's out of earshot before turning to Harry with a disapproving look.

"That was unnecessary," she says, folding her napkin in her lap. "He was just being polite."

Harry takes a slow sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.

"He was staring at you."

"He was not," Y/N protests. "And even if he was, that's no reason to terrify the poor man. He's just doing his job."

Harry sets down his glass, his expression unchanged but something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

"His job is to serve food and keep his eyes on the fucking floor. Not to smile at what's mine."

Y/N's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

"I am not a 'what,' Harry. I'm a person. And you don't own me."

The restaurant seems to grow quieter, if that's possible. Harry goes still in that particular way that makes even his most hardened men nervous. The calm before a storm.

"Don't I?" he asks softly, leaning forward slightly. "Tell me, angel, whose car do you drive every day? Whose credit card is tucked in your purse right now? Whose clothes do you wear when you fall asleep?"

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, her jaw tightening.

"That doesn't mean you own me," she finally says, her voice quieter but no less determined. "It means you take care of me. There's a difference."

Something shifts in Harry's expression. The barest hint of surprise, quickly masked. He studies her for a long moment before his lips curve into a small, dangerous smile.

"Taking care of what's mine," he corrects, picking up his fork again. "But we can call it whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart."

He glances toward Thomas, who's trying to disappear into the shadows of the bar.

"Eat your pasta before it gets cold. Again."

“No,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I won’t.”

She leans back in her chair, tension radiating off her in waves, eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. Her expression is guarded, a subtle tremor running beneath the strength she’s trying hard to project. It’s obvious she’s upset, hurt even, and she isn’t making any effort to hide it from him.

Harry's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. The restaurant seems to drop several degrees in temperature as he slowly sets it down, the metal clinking against fine china with deliberate precision. He watches her closely, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. He isn't accustomed to this kind of open resistance from her, not like this. Usually playful, usually teasing, their arguments until now have been surface-level, nothing deeper. But this, this silent challenge, this quiet anger, is new. It pushes at boundaries neither of them have fully tested yet, pulling them both into unfamiliar territory.

His face is unnervingly calm, but his eyes have gone cold. Its the same expression his men have learned to fear. He studies Y/N like she's a puzzle he can't quite figure out, or perhaps a problem requiring elimination.

"No?" he repeats, the single word carrying weight far beyond its simplicity.

Across the restaurant, Thomas has gone completely still, like prey sensing a predator. Even the soft classical music playing in the background seems to fade.

Harry leans forward, forearms resting on the table, his voice dropping to that dangerous quiet that usually precedes violence.

"Let me be very clear about something, Y/N. No one says no to me. Not my men, not my enemies, and certainly not the woman warming my bed."

Y/N swallows but doesn't back down, though her crossed arms now look more protective than defiant.

"Well, I just did," she says, her voice impressively steady despite the fear flickering in her eyes. "I won't eat while you're treating me like a possession instead of a partner. And I won't sit here while you terrorize innocent people just because you can."

Harry's jaw tightens, a muscle twitching. For several long seconds, he says nothing, the silence stretching taut between them.

When he finally speaks, his voice is dangerously soft. "Two months with me, and suddenly you think you know how this works?"

He reaches for his whiskey, taking a deliberate sip before continuing.

"You walked into my world with your eyes wide open, angel. You knew exactly who I was. What I am." His gaze is unflinching. "Did you think I'd change? Become soft because you spread your legs for me?"

The cruel words hang in the air. Y/N flinches as if struck, tears welling in her eyes. She pushes her chair back, standing abruptly.

"Take me home," she says, voice thick with unshed tears. "Now."

Harry remains seated, looking up at her with an expression that gives nothing away.

"Sit down."

"No," she repeats, more firmly this time despite the tremor in her voice. "Either take me home or I'll call a cab."

Something dangerous flashes in Harry's eyes. A glimpse of the violence that's always simmering beneath the surface.

"You walk out that door without me, sweetheart, and you better keep walking. All the way out of my city."

It's not just a threat–It's a promise.

They stare each other down for a charged, unbearable moment, silence crackling between them like an impending storm. Y/N lifts her chin, gathering every bit of courage she has left.

“I won't let you speak to me this way," she says, voice shaking yet fierce, breaking the silence like glass shattering. "I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done for me.”

She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, forcing back tears born from hurt and fury. When she drops her hands, there’s resolve in her expression, her gaze unsteady but determined, as she turns sharply on her heel, walking away from him and toward the door without looking back.

Harry watches her walk away, his expression carved from stone. For a moment, it seems as though he'll let her go. That whatever had built between them over the past three months will end here, in this empty restaurant with her retreating back.

Thomas, still frozen by the bar, doesn't dare breathe as Harry slowly rises from his chair. The movement is deliberate, predatory. He tosses his napkin onto the table and follows Y/N, his pace unhurried but purposeful.

He catches her just as her hand reaches for the door, his fingers wrapping around her upper arm. Not painful, but firm enough to stop her.

"Look at me," he demands, his voice low.

Y/N keeps her face turned away, tears still threatening to spill despite her efforts to contain them.

Harry's other hand comes up to grip her chin, turning her face toward him with surprising gentleness considering the storm in his eyes.

"I said, look at me."

She meets his gaze then, defiant despite her tears. For a long moment, they stare at each other, a battle of wills where they both know he could overpower her physically, but somehow, she's managing to challenge him anyway.

Something shifts in Harry's expression, not exactly softening, but recalibrating. His thumb brushes across her cheek, catching a tear before it can fall.

"You're the only person alive who could walk away from me like that," he says quietly, his voice rough with an emotion he can't quite name. "The only one I'd follow."

He releases her chin but keeps his hold on her arm, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I don't know how to be what you want," he admits, the words clearly costing him. "This—" he gestures between them "—isn't something I've done before."

Y/N swallows, her anger still evident but mingled with something else now.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are, Harry. I'm asking you to respect who I am."

Harry's jaw tightens, his eyes searching her face as if looking for weakness, for deception. He finds neither.

"My car" he finally says, but his tone has changed—it's still commanding, but lacks the earlier cruelty. "We'll finish this conversation at home."

He leads her to the door they originally came through, his hand moving to the small of her back. A possessive gesture, but one that feels more protective than controlling now.

As they pass Thomas, Harry pauses, his voice carrying clearly in the silent restaurant.

"The bill's been settled. If I hear a single word about tonight from anyone, I'll burn this place to the ground with you in it."

It's a reminder to Y/N as much as to Thomas that while he might bend for her, Harry Styles remains exactly who he's always been.

Harry still holds the car door open for her, the silence between them heavy and oppressive. She climbs in without meeting his gaze, her movements sharp and guarded. Settling into the seat, she crosses her arms tightly across her chest and turns slightly away, angling her body toward the window as if placing an invisible barrier between them.

Harry closes the door gently, too gently for the violence still simmering under his carefully maintained composure, and walks around the car, sliding into the driver's seat without a word. The tension in the small space feels suffocating, thick enough to choke on. 

The sleek black Audi cuts through the night, its engine a low, powerful growl that matches the tension inside. Harry drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his knuckles white with tension. His eyes remain fixed on the road ahead, but his awareness of Y/N is palpable.

The silence between them is heavy, charged with unspoken words and the aftermath of their first real confrontation. Street lights flash across Harry's face in rhythmic intervals, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline, clenched tight with restraint.

After several minutes of suffocating silence, Harry speaks, his voice low but controlled.

"You know what I do," he says, not a question but a statement of fact. "You know who I am. What did you expect?"

Y/N continues staring out the passenger window, watching the city blur past. For a moment, it seems she might not answer.

"I expected to be treated with respect," she finally says, her voice quiet but firm. "Not like another one of your possessions."

Harry's grip on the wheel tightens, his knuckles going even whiter.

"Respect," he repeats, as if testing the word. "The men who respect me do so because they fear me. Is that what you want, Y/N? To fear me?"

He takes a sharp turn, the car's tires squealing slightly on the asphalt. When Y/N still doesn't look at him, something in his composure fractures.

"Answer me," he demands, the command in his voice impossible to ignore.

Y/N finally turns to face him, her eyes still reddened from earlier tears but her gaze steady.

"No, I don't want to fear you. And I don't. But that doesn't mean I'll let you treat me like you treated Thomas tonight. Or like you own me because you pay for things."

Harry's jaw works as he processes her words. They stop at a red light, and he turns to look at her fully, his green eyes intense in the dim car interior.

"Then what do you want from me?" There's genuine confusion beneath the frustration in his voice—a man who understands power and control suddenly faced with something he can't dominate or buy.

The light turns green, forcing him to return his attention to the road.

Y/N uncrosses her arms, her posture softening slightly.

"I want a relationship, Harry. Not a transaction. Not ownership. A partnership."

Harry scoffs, though there's less heat in it than before.

"Partnership," he mutters, shaking his head slightly. "I don't have partners, sweetheart. I have subordinates."

"Then what am I to you?" Y/N challenges, turning more fully toward him now. "Just another subordinate who happens to share your bed?"

The question hangs between them as Harry pulls up to her apartment building, parking with practiced precision. He turns off the engine but makes no move to exit the car, his hands still gripping the wheel as if it might ground him.

"You're..." he begins, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Such a rare occurrence for a man who commands with such certainty. "You're different."

It's not the answer she wanted, but it might be the most honest one he's capable of giving right now.

Y/N turns to face him fully now, her eyes shimmering with hurt in the dim light of the car. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she's developed whenever she's upset.

"Then what the fuck was that back there?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly. "If I'm so different, why would you say that to me? About...about 'spreading my legs' for you?"

"That hurt, Harry. More than I thought you could hurt me," she admits quietly, vulnerability evident in every line of her body. "Is that really all I am to you? Just another conquest who happens to last longer than a night?"

The words hang between them, her usual wit and sarcasm stripped away, leaving only the raw hurt of a girl who's fallen for someone far more dangerous and complex than she ever anticipated.

Harry stares straight ahead through the windshield, his profile sharp and unreadable in the shadows. The muscle in his jaw works as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. For a man who makes decisions that end lives without hesitation, he seems suddenly uncertain.

When he finally turns to look at her, a glimpse of vulnerability so brief it might have been imagined flickers across his face.

"I said it to hurt you," he admits, his voice low and rough. "Because you challenged me. In front of someone who works for me."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration.

"No one does that. Ever." His eyes hold hers, intense and searching. "But you did. And I..." he hesitates, as if the words physically pain him "...I reacted badly."

It's not quite an apology as Harry Styles doesn't apologize, but it's as close as he's likely to come.

Y/N blinks rapidly, her throat tightening painfully around a fresh wave of tears. "I wasn't trying to challenge you, Harry. I just wanted you to treat me like a human being. Like someone who actually matters to you."

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against her cheek with surprising gentleness, tracing the path her tears had taken earlier.

"You're not a conquest, Y/N." His thumb brushes over her lower lip, his eyes following the movement. "If that's all you were, you wouldn't be here now. You'd be a memory. A pleasant one, maybe, but nothing more."

She exhales shakily, looking down as fresh tears cling to her eyelashes. "Then don't treat me like I'm disposable. I can't...I can't feel this much for someone who makes me feel worthless in the next breath."

His hand slides to cup the back of her neck, applying the slightest pressure, not forcing, but guiding her closer.

"I know. The truth is," he continues, voice dropping lower, "I don't know what the fuck you are to me. I just know I want you in my bed every night. I want to hear you laugh at your own stupid jokes. I want to kill anyone who makes you cry."

His gaze intensifies, something dangerous and possessive flaring in his eyes.

"Including myself, apparently," he adds with a mirthless laugh. "Which is a fucking problem I never anticipated."

He leans closer, their faces now inches apart.

"So no, you're not just someone who 'spreads her legs' for me. You're..." he searches for words that don't come easily to a man like him "...you're the exception to every rule I've ever had."

His hand tightens slightly on her neck, his next words almost a warning:

"And that scares the shit out of me."

She sniffles, “and what rules were those?” She whispers, not pulling back, which to Harry was a good sign. 

Harry's eyes search hers, something vulnerable and almost uncertain flickering behind his usual intensity. His thumb traces small circles against the nape of her neck, a soothing gesture that seems instinctive rather than calculated.

"Never let anyone close enough to become a weakness," he says, his voice a low rumble between them. "Never care about anyone more than you care about power. Never apologize."

His lips quirk in a humorless smile.

"Never follow anyone who walks away from you. Never explain yourself." His fingers tangle gently in her hair. "Never let someone see the parts of you that aren't...useful."

He draws a breath, his chest rising and falling with it. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher, more honest than she's ever heard it.

"I've built everything I have on those rules. Every bit of power, every ounce of respect. And then you walked into my life with those soft eyes and that mouth that doesn't know when to stay shut..."

His forehead touches hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

"And suddenly, I'm breaking every one of them."

Y/N lets out a shaky breath, her fingers hesitantly finding their way to his wrist, holding onto him like he's something delicate. Something precious she doesn't want to damage further. "Maybe you don't need those rules anymore," she whispers softly, her voice fragile but filled with quiet conviction. "Maybe some things are stronger than control."

His hand slides from her neck to cup her cheek, his touch gentler than a man with blood on his hands should be capable of.

"I don't know how to do this, Y/N," he admits, the confession clearly costing him. "I know how to own things. I know how to control people. I don't know how to..."

He struggles with the word, as if it's foreign to his tongue.

"...care for someone without trying to possess them."

Her eyes soften, tears welling again but not from hurt, not this time.

His eyes lock with hers, intense and searching.

"But I'm trying. For you, I'm fucking trying."

It's as close to a declaration as a man like Harry Styles can make. It’s an admission of vulnerability that would get him killed in his world if anyone else heard it.

She brings a hand to his face, cupping his jaw, “and I understand that, but trying doesn’t involve purposefully trying to hurt me. I need you to understand that”

Harry goes still under her touch, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire for her gentle contact and discomfort at being confronted with his own behavior. He doesn't pull away, though, allowing her hand to remain on his face.

"I understand that," he says after a moment, his voice low and controlled. "I just don't like it."

He turns his face slightly, his lips brushing against her palm in a gesture that's almost tender.

"When I'm challenged, I eliminate the threat. It's instinct." His eyes find hers again, intense and unwavering. "But you're not a threat to be eliminated. You're..."

He struggles again, a man whose vocabulary has plenty of words for violence but few for tenderness.

"You matter," he finally says simply. "And I don't want to hurt you. Even when you piss me off. Even when you challenge me in front of others."

His hand covers hers on his face, pressing it more firmly against his skin as if anchoring himself.

"I can't promise I'll never say something cruel again," he tells her honestly. "I am who I am, Y/N. But I can promise to try not to hurt you deliberately. Not like tonight."

He leans in, his forehead touching hers again, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

"Just don't walk away from me like that again. I don't know how to handle it." The admission costs him, she can tell by the tension in his jaw. "And I can't guarantee what I'll do if you try."

"I need you to understand that," he echoes her words back to her, his grip tightening slightly on her hand.

She nods, “I do. But I also can’t promise that I won’t walk away again if you repeat what happened tonight. Got it? I won’t let you speak to me like that again” She says, not backing down, looking into his eyes and hoping he could meet her halfway.

Harry holds her gaze, a battle of wills playing out in the confined space of the car. The silence stretches between them, tense with possibility. Finally, his lips curve into something not quite a smile but more an acknowledgment of her courage.

"You've got more balls than half my crew," he says, a reluctant admiration in his tone. "Standing your ground with me like this."

His thumb traces her lower lip, his eyes following the movement.

"Fine. I won't speak to you like that again." The concession comes with a condition, his voice hardening slightly. "But you need to understand something too, angel. In public, especially around my men or anyone connected to my business, you can't challenge me openly. Not if you want to stay in my world."

He shifts closer, his presence filling the car with controlled intensity.

"It's not just about my pride. It's about survival. If they see weakness in me, if they think you can control me..." he doesn't finish the thought, doesn't need to.

Y/N considers his words, understanding dawning in her eyes. She hadn't fully considered the implications of her actions within his dangerous world.

"I understand that," she says finally. "I won't undermine you in front of your men. But that restaurant was empty except for Thomas, and you were being cruel to him for no reason."

Harry's expression darkens slightly.

"Thomas isn't just some innocent restaurant owner. He launders money for me. He's in my debt up to his eyeballs." His jaw tightens. "And he was looking at you like he was starving and you were a fucking meal."

"He was not," Y/N protests, though with less conviction now. "He was just being nice."

"Men like that aren't 'nice' to women who look like you without wanting something," Harry says flatly. "Especially not women they know belong to me."

Y/N bristles slightly at his choice of words.

"I don't 'belong' to you, Harry," she reminds him, but her tone is gentler than before. "That's the whole point of this conversation."

Harry's eyes flash with something dangerous, but he controls it, his hand sliding to cup the back of her neck again.

"You're mine," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. "That doesn't change. What changes is how I treat what's mine."

He pulls her closer, his lips a breath away from hers.

"I'll try to be...better. For you. But don't expect me to become someone I'm not." His eyes hold hers, intense and unwavering. "I'm still the same man who puts bullets in people who cross me. The same man who built an empire on blood and fear. That doesn't change just because I care about you."

Y/N swallows, the reality of who and what he is hanging between them.

"I don't want you to be someone else," she says softly. "I just want you to be your best self with me."

Harry's expression shifts, something almost vulnerable flickering across his face before it's gone.

"I'll try," he promises, the words simple but meaning more coming from him than flowery declarations would from another man. "Now come home with me."

It's both a command and a request—the most balance he can offer between who he is and who she needs him to be.

She smiles, “Did you just call my ‘shitty apartment’ home?”

Harry's lips twitch, the tension between them breaking slightly at her teasing. His hand slides from her neck to her cheek, thumb brushing across her lower lip.

"I said 'come home with me,' not 'let's go to your home,'" he corrects, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always makes her pulse quicken. "Your shitty apartment is where you keep your textbooks and that ridiculous collection of stuffed animals."

He leans closer, his breath warm against her ear.

"Home is where I fuck you until you forget every reason you were mad at me," he murmurs, his hand sliding to her thigh, fingers tracing slow patterns over the fabric of her dress. "My bed. My place."

Y/N shivers slightly at his touch, but manages to maintain her composure, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Bold of you to assume I want you anywhere near me tonight after what you said," she challenges, though there's less heat in it now, more of their usual banter returning.

Harry pulls back just enough to look at her, his green eyes darkening with desire and something more possessive.

"You're still mad," he acknowledges, his hand not moving from her thigh. "That's fair. But we both know anger looks good on you, angel. Makes your eyes shine, your cheeks flush..."

His fingers inch higher on her thigh, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Makes you wet too," he adds, voice dropping lower. "Doesn't it?"

Y/N flushes, torn between desire and the lingering hurt from earlier.

"You can't just say something awful and then expect sex to fix it," she says, though her body betrays her with a slight shift toward his touch.

Harry's expression grows more serious, his hand stilling on her thigh.

"I don't expect sex to fix it," he says, surprising her with his honesty. "I expect time to fix it. But I want you in my bed tonight, even if all we do is sleep."

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers again in that oddly intimate gesture.

"I sleep better with you there," he admits quietly, the confession clearly difficult for him. "And I've got an important meeting tomorrow. Need a clear head."

It's as close as he'll come to saying he needs her, not just wants her, but needs her presence.

Y/N studies his face, seeing the sincerity beneath the desire.

"Fine," she relents with a small smile. "But only because your sheets are nicer than mine."

Harry's answering smile is slow and knowing.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, angel." He starts the car again, his hand remaining on her thigh as he pulls away from the curb. "Or not sleep, depending on how forgiving you're feeling by the time we get there."

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @harrydeary

[ochacoca]

EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED

♫ now playing - everything has changed by taylor swift

bakugou x reader

word count: 1,605 words

IN WHICH the school festival makes your childhood friend see you in a different light

y/n was surprised at how quickly it took to convince katsuki to join her and the rest of the class. usually, the blond goblin would whine and complain if she tried dragging him anywhere and would flat out refuse. it was almost pointless to even waste her breath trying to ask, but he barely even put up a fight.

“how much damn time does it take you to get ready?” a gruff voice called out from behind her. y/n let out a short yelp, turning around to see the intruder that made himself into her room. katsuki was sat on the bed, elbows on his knees as he stared at her with an unimpressed gaze.

she huffed at the audacity of him. “god! have you ever heard of knocking?! you made me mess up my eyeliner..” y/n whined, lightly whipping the part that trickled against her eyelid.

“i DID knock! you just didn't hear it with this lame music you got on.” he argued back with her and got up from his place on her bed to turn off her radio. “seriously, why do you have this thing blasting?”

y/n rolled her eyes as she continued to get herself ready. “well sorry... let a girl do her makeup in peace.”

katsuki rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the 5 minute span he'd been in her room. he knelt down beside her and put his face directly against hers, making eye contact with her through the mirror. “we're gonna be late y'know? to the event YOU helped plan.”

“you didn't even wanna go!” she argued back with him.

“and YOU made me,” he said while pointing an accusatory finger at her. “so let's go waste time at this stupid festival than waiting for your slow ass.”

“it all came together so perfectly!” ochaco exclaimed, spinning around as she took in the nicely decorated festival. the group had been planning this event for quite some time, so seeing it all unfold just how they imagined took some weight off their shoulders.

the street was filled with stalls and different games, decorated with a number of balloons and lights strung across.

“i know, right?!” mina agreed as the bright light made her eyes look like stars.

denki, already distracted, was the first one to run off. shouting incoherent words of excitement as a couple others followed closely behind him.

shortly after the class had arrived, they quickly dispersed to do their own thing. izuku was pulling off todoroki to the goldfish scooping stall, sero and kirishima sprinted to the haunted house, mina and jirou went to the ring toss game, ochaco and tsuyu were eyeing the mochi stand, and the rest did god knows what.

which left y/n and katsuki together in the bustling street.

“so…” she started. “whatcha wanna do?”

katsuki shrugged as he took in the sight. the lights were making his head hurt and the loud noises were irritating him. if it's to make her happy, i guess.. he thought. “i dunno. what can we do?”

she glanced around, taking in every spot before listing off their options. “well, there's a lot of stuff we can do. we go play the water gun game, ring toss, yo-yo tsuri..” she elongated everything she listed, counting each activity on her finger.

y/n barely took a breath as she continued her ranting. “oh, and the food! i’m starving! they have takoyaki, dango, yakisoba..”

katsuki opened his mouth to reply, but failed to get a single word in as she gasped and belted—

“candied fruit!”

and ran off to the stall with a trail of dust following her.

he blinked, frozen in place from how quickly she bolted off and how far she'd gotten in just 2 seconds. “what the hell‐ wait up!” he huffed then started following the path she took, grumbling watered down insults to her.

by the time katsuki caught up with her, the street vendor was already handing her the candied fruit. her eyes gleamed as she took it in her hand and gave the person her money.

“i didn't know if you were gonna like it so i got one for both of us.” she explained then held up the caramalized strawberry up to his lips. “try it.”

looking at the fruit with an unimpressed glance, katsuki bit down, the sugar cracking between his teeth and melting into a smooth caramel. he jerked his head back with a look of disdain as he harshly swallowed.

“ugh..” he grumbled. “way too sweet.”

“really?” y/n questioned, titling her head as she eyed the skewer. with no hesitation, she takes a bite, from the exact same place katsuki had bitten it from.

he froze.

the way she chewed it so innocently after showed that she was completly oblivious to what she had just did.

what the-

that was basically a-

what the fuck?

he felt an intense heat rising up his face, his eyes blown out wide and an unfamiliar knot tightening his chest as he struggled to form a sentence. “it is pretty sweet.. still good though!” she said as she continued to eat it.

katsuki was still trying to process what happened when y/n took a longing gaze at his face, her eyes flickering to his lips. “you have sugar all over your face.”

“hah?”

“i said you have sugar all over your face.”

she stuck out her thumb, reaching up and gently wiping the corner of his mouth. he barely even had time to react before she licked the crystals off her finger.

what the fuck

katsuki felt paralyzed, and the heat that already overtook his face inflamed his whole body. the warmth of her touch still lingered on his skin, sending his heart racing to a pace he couldn't control.

is this what it felt like? is this the feeling that those stupid rom-coms y/n made him watch were talking about? the one that those shitty love songs she listened to sang of?

but before he could grasp whatever the hell he was feeling—

“suki, the lantern releasing is starting! let's go!” she exclaimed happily, lightly taking his wrist and dragging him through the crowd of people.

usually when y/n would grab onto him, katsuki would throw a fuss and demand her to let him go just for her not to listen. y/n's fingers were tied so firmly yet so gently around his wrist as she dragged him to the lanterns.

but the feeling in his chest was so different this time. it wasn't annoyance but… admiration? he wasn't seeing the chubby cheeked 5 year old he knew before, the one who constantly had a scraped knee from the playground, or the girl who was missing almost all her baby teeth, the adult ones just barely growing in.

no, he was seeing her.

the glow of the golden lights reflected off the waters as hundreds of lanterns floated away towards the night sky. the festival was full of life; laughter was coming from every direction and small chatter of the people surrounding them filled katsuki's ears. but due to his recent discovery of his feelings, it felt like he and y/n were the only ones there.

y/n laid on her stomach as she lightly traced the brush over her lantern, still deciding on what she wanted to write on it. katsuki finished his ages ago, slightly tilting it so she wouldn't be able to see what he had written. “would you hurry up? everyone's leaving already.” he grumbled impatiently.

she rolled her eyes and looked at katsuki with a frown on her face. “hold on, would you? i'm almost done.”

katsuki involuntarily drank in all of her features. the luminosity of the candles hugged every crevice of her face, making her look ten times alluring than she already does.

as y/n focused on her writing, there was a certain piece of hair on that kept going into her eye. she continued to move it behind her ear frustratingly. maybe if he moved it out of her face, just carefully—

“done!” she said cheerfully, and katsuki quickly retracted his hand before she could notice.

“finally,” he sighed. “let's get it over with.”

the pair grabbed their lanterns and made their way to the edge of the lake. most of the lanterns had already floated away, but there were still a couple of people who were just sending away their lanterns. “see? we aren't the only people here. i didn't take that long.”

katsuki let out a light scoff and fought an inner battle to keep the growing smile off his face. “whatever. you ready?” he asked as he lit the small candle inside the lantern, leaning over and lighting hers up too.

they released them, and the lanterns slowly drift off in the distance. they lightly wobbled in the air before eventually catching the rhythm of the wind and rising up, making their way to join the countless other wishes that had been sent off that night.

“i hope my wish comes true.” her gazed was stuck on the way the lanterns floated around, looking like bigs stars in the sky travelling on their way to become part of the universe.

but katsuki's gaze wasn't on the sky, nor on the fireworks that shot up far in the distance. it was on her.

“yeah,” he agreed “me too.”

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms

A/N: sometimes your guys' blog don't pop up when i press @ so if it doesn't notify you I'M SORRY

TAGLIST: @babycheech @bangersplusmash @kalulakunundrum @sypnasis @forkfullofsugar @miaeluvrr @themultifandomgirl @charlotterosea13 @boojaynaqueen @slutforsturniolo @supernerdycookietrashblrr @wonubby @00heartless @zaiban2989 @ita606 @saturna03 @toriiee @g-cf2020 @plutoxxxworld @idolcncert @zombiitchslife @katsuisbaby @secretlilli @un-limit-edd @lilac-heartz @iridescencefae @emmab3mma @supremeleader24 @speedydonutbailiffclod

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna Part 3

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6.5, 7

masterlist

Uncle!Sukuna who doesn't talk to you for another 2 weeks after leaving your house that morning. He isn't avoiding you, of course. He sees you, when you take Choso to school or when you leave to go to the store. He just doesn't have any reason to start a conversation with you. Some days, part of him wanted to talk to you even without a reason.

That's why when Yuji starts complaining about wanting to go see his new friends across the street, he only hesitates for a moment to give the 'brat' what he wants. You make him feel stuff he isn't used to feeling, and he isn't particularly thrilled about that. But he can deny all he wants, he wants to talk to you again. So for that reason, as well as him not wanting to seem like a coward for getting 'nervous' around a pretty woman, he take Yuji over to your house once more, this time in the day time.

Uncle!Sukuna who knocks on your door, politely, just as you're starting dinner. Because of that, Choso opens it. The blank expression on the kids face lights up when he sees Yuji, and Yuji lights up too. Sukuna doesn't even get a word in before Choso is pulling Yuji into the house, the younger boy happily following along.

Uncle!Sukuna who shakes his head, hiding his amusement with feigned annoyance. He lets himself in, shutting your front door as you peak around the corner to see who had arrived.

Uncle!Sukuna who ignores the feeling he gets in his chest when you smile at him, greeting him with a polite hello. He returns it with a nod before explaining that Yuji wanted to play with your son.

Uncle!Sukuna who is surprised, but internally pleased, when you invite him and Yuji to stay for dinner. He immediately says sure, not doing that whole 'i don't wanna intrude' bs. Food was food, but free food was better. Especially since he wasn't the best cook, meaning Yuji and him often ate take-out or very basic meals that got pretty boring after a little.

Uncle!Sukuna who follows you to your kitchen, making himself at home while you get back to it. He finds himself enjoying the moment, the small talk (which he usually hates), the questions about himself.

Uncle!Sukuna who doesn't complain when you ask him to fetch the boys once you're done cooking. He was a decent enough person to figure he could at least do that, considering he just sat there the whole time while you made the meal.

He finds them in Choso's room, barely knocking on the kids open door before he mumbles out 'dinner's ready.', walking away almost directly after. Even then, he still heard the sound of excitement from the boys as they realized they would get to share dinner together and play more. He's, thankfully, able to hide the amused smirk that takes over his lips before he joins you back in the kitchen.

Uncle!Sukuna who actually try's to make conversation throughout the dinner. He doesn't talk much, sure, but he does find himself enjoying getting to know you. He learns that you're the Vice principle of the nearby Elementary school, the same one Yuji will be starting soon. He learns that you've lived here since you had Choso (no mentions of his father or anything), that you volunteer twice a month at a local homeless shelter, and that you don't drink alcohol. He even asks Choso a few questions about himself, albeit awkwardly.

Uncle!Sukuna who helps you clean up after all the plates are cleared and the boys run off again, even when you insist he didn't need to. He doesn't even reply to your words, just silently collecting the dishes and taking them to your sink, starting to wash them.

It flusters you how natural he looks in your kitchen, doing something as basic and domestic as dishes.

Uncle!Sukuna who has to carry a knocked-out Yuji home after him and Choso had fallen asleep on your couch. He helps carry Choso to bed first, though, gaining a smile from you that makes his heart pump a little faster.

He might need to see a doctor about that.

Uncle!Sukuna who, the night before Yuji's first day at school, has a long night at work. he ends up sleeping through his alarm and being late to drop Yuji off. When he goes stomping into Yuji's room, only to find the boy already awake and ready, he figures the brat didn't wake him on purpose.

Uncle!Sukuna who rushes to get dressed and out the door, uncharacteristically panicked to get Yuji to school before he misses too much on his first day. On the ride over, he can't help but muse over how different Yuji has made him in such a short time. The old Sukuna wouldn't have given two shits about Yuji being late, hell he probably would have just let the kid skip all together. But now, this new version of himself, cared about Yuji's education, cared that he got along with other kids and made some friends, cared that he enjoyed it. Old Sukuna would have laughed in New Sukunas face at how he was acting.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically drags Yuji into the school building, having to check him in at the front office since he was tardy. He sees how the young woman at the front desk blushes when he arrives, fluttering her eyes at him in, what he assumes is, an attempt to be flirty.

Uncle!Sukuna who's attention immediately fixates on you when you walk into the office. In his panic to get Yuji here, he had forgotten you were the vice principle.

it had been about a week since the dinner, which was the last time he saw you. He didn't realize how much he had missed your pretty smile until he saw it again when you noticed him.

Uncle!Sukuna who huffs when Yuji breaks from his grip to run to you, hugging your legs tightly and giving you a large grin.

Uncle!Sukuna who wouldn't ever admit the feeling he gets when he sees you hug and greet Yuji back, with just as much excitement on your pretty face.

Uncle!Sukuna who doesn't get a chance to talk to you there in the morning, but does when it comes time for pick up. He gets there a little early (though would never admit why), and chats a bit while waiting for the release bell to ring. During the conversation, he subtly brings up carpooling together, saying that it might save gas, and ensure he actually woke up in time to get Yuji to school and stuff. He says it as if it was a sudden idea, and more for convenience then anything.

Uncle!Sukuna who will never tell you that he had actually been thinking about it all day, and only wanted to carpool with you in order to spend more time together.

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

not proofread. let me know what you think :)

[starstrike]

Mithrun's desire as an SA analogue

TW discussion of SA and detailed breakdown of aesthetics evoking SA. The way I discuss this is vivid in a way that may be triggering, though there is no discussion of actual sexual assault. Just survivor's responses to it.

People relate to Mithrun and see his condition as an analogue for a few different things, like brain injury or depression. And I think all of them are there. But I also see Mithrun's story as an SA analogue, and Ryoko Kui intentionally evokes those aesthetics. I think it's a part of Mithrun's character that a lot of people miss, but I very much consider it text. This is partially inspired by @heird99's post on what makes this scene so disturbing; so check out their post, too :)

So to start off with, the demon invades Mithrun's bed, specifically. There's even a canopy around it, which specifically evokes this idea of personal intrusion; the barrier is being pulled apart without consent or warning. The way the hand reaches towards Mithrun's body from outside of the panel division makes it almost look like the goat stroking over his body. It's an especially creepy visual detail; similarly, the goat's right hand parts into the side of the panel as well. It's literally like it's tearing the page apart; but gently. So gently.

Mithrun is in bed. It is his bed that the demon is intruding on. He's in a position of intimacy. The woman behind him is a facsimile of his "beloved" that he left behind; the woman who, in reality, chose Mithrun's brother. He is in bed with his fantasy lover, who is leaning over him. While this scene isn't explicitly sexual, it is intimate. And it is being invaded. The goat lifts Mithrun gently, who is confused, but not yet struggling.

The erotics of consumption and violence in Ryoko Kui's work(remember that the word 'erotic' can have many different meanings, please) are a... notable part of some of her illustrations. I would say she blurs the lines between all forms of desire: personal, sexual, gustatory and carnal, in her illustrations in order to emphasize the pure desire she wants to work with and evoke to serve her themes. Kui deploys sexual imagery in a lot of places in Dungeon Meshi, and this is one of them.

In this case, horrifically. The goat's assault begins with drooling, licking, and nuzzling. The goat could be enjoying and "playing with" its food. But it can also be interpreted as it "preparing" Mithrun with its tongue as it begins to literally breach Mithrun's body. The goat also invades directly through his clothing; that adds another level of disturbing to me. There's nothing Mithrun can do in this moment of violation. Mithrun is fighting, but he is fighting weakly, trying to grip on and push away when he has no ability or option to. All he can do is beg the goat to stop. And it doesn't care. This all evokes sexual assault.

The sixth panel demonstrates a somewhat sexual position, with Mithrun's thighs spread around the goat's hunched over body. In the next, the goat pulls and holds apart Mithrun's thighs as he nuzzles into him. The way the clothing bunches up looks a bit as if it has been pushed up. It has pinned Mithrun down onto the bed, into Mithrun's soft furs and pillows. It takes a place made to be supernaturally warm and comfortable, and violates it. It's utterly and intimately horrifying. To me, this sequence of positions directly evokes a rape scene. I think Kui did this very explicitly. These references to sexual invasion are part of what makes this scene so disturbing; albeit, to many viewers, subconsciously.

This is also the moment the goat takes Mithrun's eye. Other than this, the goat seems exceptionally strong, but also... gentle. It holds Mithrun's body tightly, but moves it around slowly. It doesn't need to hurt Mithrun physically. But in that moment, it takes Mithrun's eye. Blood seeps from a wound while an orifice that should not be pierced is penetrated. This moment, the ooze of blood in one place specifically, also evokes rape. That single bit of physical gore is a very powerful bit of imagery to me.

Finally; it is Mithrun's desire that is eaten. After his assault, Mithrun can find no pleasure in things that he once did. He is fully disassociated from his emotions. This is a common response to trauma, especially in the case of SA. It's not uncommon for people to never, or take a long time to, enjoy sex in the same way again; or at all. They might feel like their rapist has robbed them of a desire and pleasure they once had. I think this makes Mithrun's lack of desire a partial analogue for the trauma of sexual assault.

Mithrun's desire for revenge was, supposedly, all that remained. Anger at his assaulter, anger at every being that was like it; though, perhaps not anger. Devotion, in a way. To his cause. I don't know. But the immediate desire to seek revenge is another response to SA. But on to Mithrun's true feelings on the matter.

This is... So incredibly tragic. Mithrun feels used up. Like his best parts have been taken away. Like he's being... tossed aside. This certainly parallels the way assault victims can feel after being left by an abuser. Or the way assault victims feel they might be "ruined" forever for other partners. These are common sentiments for survivors to carry, and need to overcome. In the text, it's almost like Mithrun feels the only being who can desire him is a demon who might "finish devouring" him. That that's his only use. It's worth noting that Mithrun trusted the demon. Mithrun's world was built by the demon, and Mithrun, in that way, was cared for by the demon. I think this reinforces Mithrun's place as a victim.

There's also something to be said about Mithrun as a victim of his own possessive romantic and sexual desire. The mirror shows him his beloved just dining with his brother, and it infuriates him. He doesn't know if the vision is real, nor if she has really chosen his brother as a romantic partner. The goat then creates a whole fantasy world where she loves him. As Mithrun's dungeon deteriorates, she is the only person that continues to exist. Mithrun continues to have control over her. And that is the strongest desire the demon is eating, isn't it? There's something interesting there, but I don't know what to say about it.

In conclusion, I think Mithrun's story is an explicit analogue for sexual assault-- though, certainly, among other things! The way the scene plays out and is composed explicitly references sexual violation and invasion of the body. His condition mirrors common trauma responses to sexual violence. And, at the end, he finally realizes he can recover.

Let's end on a happy Mithrun, after taking the first step on his journey to recovery :) You aren't vegetable scraps Mithrun. But even if you were-- every single thing in this world has value. Even vegetable scraps.

[stolenviolet]

I saw in your baby death au story explanation that Harry can't sleep alone unless he has the doors open (correct me if I'm wrong). If I'm correct, does that mean Voldemort and Harry sleep in the same bed sometimes? And if not, how did Voldmort notice the specifics something like that?

Ah, good question!

He can sleep alone, but not very well (the door being open helps a bit but overall he just needs someone there with him). Even when he got his own room at the Dursley's, he had Hedwig to keep him company.

And like I said, there's no 'sleeping' together for quite a while, so how DID Voldemort notice?

The short answer:

They live in the same house (an agreement that was reached by the two of them, more for convenience sake, as they raise Thomas) so it would be odd if Voldemort hadn't noticed it eventually.

The long answer:

During the first two or three years of living under the same roof, Harry never slept anywhere besides the nursey. At first, Voldemort chalked it up as some sort of paternal instinct to protect Thomas. (most likely from Voldemort himself) However, while retiring to his own chambers in the evening, he always found it curious that Harry would leave the door slightly cracked.

'Would it not make more sense to have the door closed?,' he thought, 'The sound of it opening would surely be enough to wake him if someone were to enter the room...'

He shook his head, 'Perhaps the boy was clever enough to cast the appropriate spells to do so instead.'

He tested this theory once by walking into the room late one night and standing directly by the crib. Annoyingly, Harry never did stir from his slumber on the chaise lounge he had claimed in lieu of an actual bed. Both him and the baby remained fast asleep, completely unaware of the powerful wizard looming in the darkness so close by.

Voldemort honestly didn't know whether to be insulted (as he was clearly not viewed as a threat) or disappointed in the fact that there were, indeed, no protection or alarm spells in the room.

A problem he quickly remedied himself for the sake of the spawn's well-being, as it appears his 'Ma' would not be roused if an intruder were to somehow break past the home's already impressive wards.

And so Harry continued to sleep in the same room as his son, with the door slightly ajar, until Thomas was old enough to have his own bed.

This is when Voldemort began to notice that Harry did not take well to sleeping alone at night.

He would often find the 'boy-who-lived' looking quite dead on his feet, with heavy bags under his eyes, constantly drifting in and out of conversations.

After a good two or so weeks of this, Voldemort had finally had enough and decided to confronted him. Unsurprisingly, he was quickly brushed off, and the subject was changed almost immediately. No matter how many times he tried, he was always met with the same sort of response.

'Why do you even care?'

'Yes, I'm getting enough sleep. Stop asking, it's weird.'

'So what if I get nightmares, your probably the cause of most of them anyway!'

'I'm fine! Don't you have an animal or person or-or something to go torture other than me? Just-...just leave me alone...'

Needless to say, this was getting him no where and apart from drugging the boy with a sleeping draught every night, Voldemort was almost at his wits end.

That was unit one morning Harry came down from his room for breakfast looking fairly well-rested with a chipper-than-normal attitude.

Voldemort was puzzled.

What had changed? Did he just have one good night without anything haunting his dreams? Surely that was bound to happen at some point, but it was unlikely to be a regular occurrence.

However, weeks ticked by and Harry's eyes seemed brighter and his mood rapidly began to improve. He even started to engage in somewhat pleasant small talk when the two found themselves alone for more then five minutes at a time.

It was all very welcome and highly suspicious.

So, being the curious man that he was, Voldemort decided it was once again time to lurk about in the middle of the night for the cause of this sudden change in behavior.

And what he found, as he stood in the threshold of Harry's room, took him by surprise.

There, on the plush four poster bed coiled up next to his sleeping prophesized enemy, was Nagini.

Sensing his presence, she raised her large head to regard her master, who remained fixed in the doorway.

'Master's mate was in dire need of comfort. Nagini has decided she will be the one to provide it.'

Voldemort did not correct her, too busy trying to determine what exactly he was feeling in that moment to give her a proper response.

'...He is also very warm and a far better cuddler than master.'

That snapped him out of his thoughts long enough for him to huff out a quick, 'Don't be rude, Nagini.' To which she replied with a series of hisses that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

He sighed, and foolishly hoped she didn't notice the darkening of his cheeks.

'Very well, you may continue to provide...comfort. Thank you, my Nagini.'

She nodded once and went back to resting her head next to Harry's on his pillow.

He stayed in the doorway a while longer, observing the last two pieces of his soul huddled close to one another, before finally turning to walk silently back to his own room.

--

Nagini: you suck at cuddling and you're a terrible mate.

Voldemort:

--

Thanks for the ask, anon! ❤️

[homicidal-mother]

[Tendrils]

-

OC x F!Reader

-

Warnings: MDNI, Tentacle Penetration, Oviposition, Vague Bondage, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink

-

Summary: You agreed to be bred by your monster lover.

-

“Good girl.”

He purred the words against the back of your neck, not allowing you to move even an inch as black tendrils inch up your legs, exploring your soft flesh… He's taken his time with you, valuing your comfort and keeping you in the best position. The black tendrils stroke along your opening, some sort of green ooze leaking from its tip before carefully prodding… You knew what you signed up for when you agreed to let him breed you, yet it still surprised you. The slick squishy thing pops inside, lewd noises instantly filling the room, feeling sloppy and kinda gross - dirty - as it pumps in and out.

“Just relax for me…”

He's careful in knowing you are only human, his smooth tentacles and everything aren't exactly what your body would be used to taking… He praises you lovingly as he hits all the good spots, tendril curling and wiggling deep inside you, pumping more ooze directly against your cervix.

“Beautiful… I'm so lucky to have you.”

An odd tingling kicks up inside you, your moans like music to his ears. He grins before the tendril wriggles deeper, able to intrude into your womb, your hips instinctively try to twitch away as he touches spots no one should be able to.

“Shhh… I know. Doin' so good.”

More tentacles loop around your body, holding you still so he can move back a little, admiring your naked form - ass up and pussy stuffed with a tentacle, the other tendrils begin to toy with your clit, rubbing slow then fast just to feel your insides tighten and hips buck uselessly, a tentacle around your waist holding you mostly still. You can still feel the wriggling in your womb, the foreign stimulation has you going all dumb, that knot forming in your tummy.

“M’gonna fill you up… You'll be such a good mommy. So pretty and perfect… Carrying my eggs.”

He coos while leaning back over you, hands on your tummy now, letting you bury your face into the plush silk sheets on his bed. He groans as he works you to your climax first, feeling you peak around his tendril, getting to watch you gasp and shake… Then the eggs start to come, small and soft with a jelly texture, you don't get to see them unfortunately but you do get to feel them popping into your womb, each one creating a little traveling bulge down his tentacle before slipping into you, another sensation to get used to as they settle inside you, tentacle occasionally shifting around to adjust the little eggs before pumping more, you whimpering while your beloved huffs and lets out relieved moans… He's been holding back for so long, so many built up eggs, he knew he wanted to give them to you but wanted to wait until he thought you were ready before even entertaining the idea of asking…. Now your tummy is getting all heavy with the little things. He feels how full you're getting and forces his tentacle to stop, slowly retracting it as you whine from the oversensitivity…

“I know it feels strange - I'm sorry.”

Out of the heat of the moment he looks apologetic, tentacles releasing you letting you turn your tired body over, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

“Don't do that… I wanted this too… What - What do the eggs look like?”

His smile - soft and lovestruck.

“Bright green… They also glow a little, so if you see a bit of light beneath your skin at night - don't worry - you’re not radioactive."

[pillow-anime-talk]

Good evening I’d like Poseidon RoR and a fem reader. With a fem reader asking prompt 53 to Hades RoR.

# tags: scenario; current married relationship and kinda fwb; romance; pwp; goddess!reader; nsfw

warnings: mention of sex and sexual activities, size kink, threesome (m/f/m), double fuck, overstimulation, praising, boobs play

includes: female reader ft. poseidon & hades {ror}

author’s note: last but not least! thank you very much :)

53. “Wanna join?”

Your body moved fluidly while shiny eyes adoringly gazing at the man opposite you; both hands gripping tightly onto his muscular shoulders. Poseidon’s hands were placed on your firm butt cheeks, and your pussy was loudly hitting his wet cock every time you bounced on him.

Your huge bedroom was heavily steamed by your breaths, and the only sound spreading around the room was your long moan and the gasps of your husband, the god of the seas, oceans and all bodies of water adored by the Greeks. Lost in the blue of his eyes, you couldn’t stop another loud sigh that escaped from between your lips swollen from kissing. The eternally cold and gloomy Poseidon seemed to be more alive next to you; hence a slight smile appeared on his face as soon as his gaze was caught by your breasts and a drop of sweat running down your sternum.

“You should become a goddess of debauchery.” He whispered directly into your ear, tightening his fingers on your skin, and you only giggled, changing the pace of your movements to a much slower one. “Such a good whore.”

“You like it, don’t you, Poseidon, my love?” You replied with a slight madness in your eye, to which your husband only snorted with laughter. A quick moment later, you felt your body rise and drift in the air, and then your back touched the sheets on the bed. Before you could catch your breath, the lord of water began to fuck you like there was no tomorrow. Your mouth screamed the man’s name faster before your brain thought about it, and you automatically tightened your hands on your husband’s skin. You felt the orgasm approaching and taking over your body. However, before you gave yourself over to the carnal pleasure, your head fell to the right side towards the door. It was on their threshold that through your hazy vision you noticed a tall figure with a male silhouette.

Poseidon certainly sensed the presence of the intruder, but his zero shame allowed him to continue fucking your sore pussy and nibbling on your left, next right, nipple. After releasing another moan from between his lips, the figure began to take on sharper shapes. After a few longer seconds, you realized that the figure standing in the entrance to the bedroom was Poseidon’s older brother – king Hades. He was dressed in his typical black outfit, silver jewelry with the addition of obsidian, and his hairstyle was impeccably done. Before you spoke, Hades rolled his eyes. “Your behavior are about to cause a flood in Halheim.” He said disconsolately, although you both knew that the sight that greeted him was not at all unattractive or annoying. Leaving aside the issues of his brother over your body, your tired figure, predatory look and saliva leaking from the corner of your mouth were one of the most beautiful views Hades had seen in a long time, leaving the world of the dead. You couldn’t pass him by indifferently, knowing how lonely your brother-in-law was; he rarely visited his younger brothers or other Greek gods, he was rather focused on himself and his duties.

“... Wanna join?” You asked in a confident tone, knowing perfectly well that your husband wouldn’t refuse you anything. You could ask him for a star from the sky, and he would get you three of them, knowing perfectly well that they would beautifully decorate your cleavage and ears. You could say that you don’t like kale, and he would get rid of it in the entire kingdom, apologizing to you for this oversight. You could also invite his brother to your bedroom, and he would eagerly await how Hades would take care of your pretty plump mouth and sweet clit.

There was no need to wait long for an answer to your question; on the way to the huge marital bed, Hades got rid of his coat, pants, shoes and shirt. His cock seemed to be the hardest thing in the world, and when your body was thrown again, you could swear that you would cum on your husband’s stomach. This time you were riding Poseidon, and Hades stopped behind your back. While your partner was playing with your nipples one more time, the older man kissed your left shoulder. You felt his dick touch your back, and his hair tickled your skin and forehead.

“You’re quite brave, Y/N.” He said quietly, and you shivered at the sound of his voice and breath on your body. You felt his gaze surround you with an invisible aura.

“After all, I am the wife of Poseidon, the king of every ocean.” You answered, looking down at the aforementioned.

“From today on, also the lover of the lord of death and the dead.” Hades corrected you, simultaneously entering your other, tight hole from behind. The size filling you made you cry out, tightly gripping your husband’s waist. You had never felt such overwhelming energy on your own and in your body. “You are an amazing goddess of sky, Y/N.”

“… She knows about it, Hades... You better fuck her good, brother. I don’t want my queen to be dissatisfied.” Your conversation was interrupted by the blond god, who was measuring his siblings with a cold gaze.

“Don’t worry about that, Poseidon. She will certainly be very pleased.” He bit your earlobe, causing your whole body to tremble.

[1d1195]

Green Skies, Pink Grass

~2.6k words

From me: Going with another one shot for Monday. This very much jumps into the middle of a storyline that I'll never write but just wanted to post something small in between Most updates.

Warnings: jealousy, enemies(?) to lovers

Summary: It is very obvious Harry gets enjoyment out of irritating her. But not when she can't take it anymore.

“Excuse me,” she approached like she owned the table. She slid right between Harry and the girl that was talking to him. She stood at the corner of the square table made for four. But there were only two, Harry and the girl that had every right to be sitting at one of the right angles so they could be closer together.

For nearly the entire night, she watched another girl touch Harry’s arm and flirt with her eyes as they spoke. All while he leaned close and whispered God knows what. Who knew what secrets he was telling her. The stuff that she dreamed of knowing and not just figuring out from her friends or him taunting her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rebecca,” she stated and looked around her intruding body so she could peek at Harry. This was ridiculous. She was talking to him and there was no reason for her to have intruded like that and get in between Harry and him. Everyone knew they didn’t like each other. Of all the people that could have taken his attention from her it couldn’t have been the girl that wanted to wring his neck.

Her backside was directly in front of Harry’s vision. He paid nearly no mind to the intrusion—almost like he expected it. In fact, he took the moment to sip his drink because while he wasn’t proud of it, he was extremely grateful for the reaction it caused from her. All night he felt her stare from across the restaurant. Her gaze bored into him. It was painful how long it took to come to this in his opinion. Now he couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do next. She didn’t even flinch as she approached; her sure-footed steps had her heels clicking across the floor with a power that made Harry’s body warm over. The confidence she had was so sexy. The only thing that could have made the current interaction better than having her perfect ass right in front of his face, would have been being able to see her pretty, angry face as she glared at the girl he was chatting with. “Can I help you?” Becca asked.

Harry smirked, grateful neither one of them could see him because he was very much looking forward to this.

“Yeah, umm…” she swallowed that swagger and confidence suddenly wavering.

Harry wasn’t hers. Not by a long shot. They argued about almost everything there was to argue about. They had opposite movie tastes. He never took her suggestion for making dinner recipes better. His driving directions to get somewhere the fastest were always different than hers. She swore he would argue the sky was green if given half the chance. They weren’t that close, but Niall was her favorite coworker and quite possibly her best friend. But that meant she had to spend an infinite amount of time with his best friend, Harry.

She could have taken all his misgivings in stride, honestly. Tt wouldn’t have been that bad nor hard to have. She liked a bit of a challenge in her life. If Harry hadn’t looked down on her the first time that they met, they might not have been on this frustrating path of annoying one another.

It was no secret that Harry was one of the most gorgeous men she had ever met. His handshake was warm and firm but that was as far as his warmth went—at least when it came to her. She wasn’t oblivious to the way his voice sounded when he talked about his mum, sister, or niece. He donated to a ton of charities and was constantly helping his friends.

It was just her.

He was cold and standoffish the day they met. It hurt. Mainly because Niall told her that she would love him, and she was excited to make a new friend. How often did someone in their late twenties make new friends?

But after their introduction and awkward silences while Niall tried to get them chatting about their similarities instead of their differences, she overheard him whispering to Niall in the kitchen while they got plates and drinks for the pizza they ordered. Only catching some of the words that included dislike, irritating, and know-it-all. She prided herself on being kind, never making anyone feel inferior, but Harry made it seem like a fault and didn’t see her that way at all.

Harry wondered where she was possibly going to go with her irritation at Becca. Only moments before the evening began, she wanted to strangle him. He could see it in her eyes and knew she truly thought about wrapping her hands around his throat because he made some comment about her not getting fucked properly in front of Niall. He smiled impishly at her as the rage filled her eyes. It made her eye twitch in that cute way of hers. The way that made him want to keep pissing her off so it would continue twitching. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch just next to her eye and hope that it would make her crazier but also so he could ease that tension all the same.

But it was clear she was lost here. There was no follow through for this moment and seeing Miss Prim & Proper discombobulated was one of Harry’s favorite kinds of sights. But even still, she didn’t deserve to be this lost. It wasn’t her fault the little envious monster took hold of her without a way out of the situation.

“Hey love,” he hummed quietly, pressed a hand on her lower back. She stepped away like he shocked her—or stabbed her. Her eyes were wild as she glanced at Harry briefly. He smiled, his lips straining a little too much to keep him from smiling mischievously—just like before they entered the restaurant. That little quirk that made her eye start to twitch just the same as well.

 That stupid dimple, that knowing look. She wanted to strangle him again.

He knew what she was feeling all too well. Fortunately, it hadn’t happened tonight, but he knew the irksome feeling that heated his stomach and chest when anyone bought her a drink or complimented her smile while he was in earshot.

It was a beautiful smile, but it made him sick to hear other people say it to her and not him.

“Do you have something to say or what? I was talking to Harry.”

Perhaps the alcohol she had ingested was cause for the bravery that resulted in her walking across the restaurant and planning to tell the girl off. But what was she supposed to say? Harry wasn’t hers. There was nothing she could say that would deter Rebecca from spending time with him. Nothing to stop Harry from spending time with Rebecca.

It seemed Harry noticed she was floundering but for once he didn’t make fun of her nor antagonize her further. Instead, without warning, there was a warm hand on the small of her back. “Kitten,” he hummed. His voice was low, directly in her ear, and full of caution. “Let’s go,” he pressed his fingers into her back in effort to get her away from the table. “Sorry, Becca, I gotta go,” he grabbed his drink, tossing the remaining sip back and settling it back on the table.

She said nothing, glaring at her feet with heated cheeks. While the woman who had taken Harry’s attention but wasn’t going to keep it smiled bitterly. “You’re really going to leave? Just because she interrupted?” Harry ignored her, rolled his eyes but not even the girl he had his hands on could see it.

Harry’s lack of response made her burn with anger more and she wished she knew why she went over to interrupt them. Harry was behind her, his body so close to hers she thought a piece of paper couldn’t fit between them. “Wow can’t even fight back—”

She started to move back for Rebecca, but Harry yanked her closer to him. Not even a molecule of air could have fit between them, before she could even take a full step. His arm was wrapped around the front of her stomach, his lips went directly to her earlobe. “M’here, kitten. She’s not worth y’time,” he assured her. “Walk,” he ordered quietly. Normally, she would fight back and tell him not to order her around. But the alcohol in her system simultaneously subdued her anger toward Harry and amplified it toward everyone else. So she walked.

She could hear the way Rebecca laughed calling her pathetic loudly to anyone that walked by. Harry snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly each time he heard one of Rebecca’s taunts and the following pull of her muscles to turn around to continue her chat with her.

Once they were out of the restaurant, he continued to usher her up the road away from the offensive restaurant. There was a cool chill in the air that hadn’t been there when they entered the venue. Confident she wouldn’t make a break for it and return to give Becca a piece of her mind, Harry released her briefly.

In an instant, he pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist again. He gave her a warm squeeze then walked beside her; his other hand stuffed in his pocket. They didn't speak as they walked. After a block and a half, she bit the inside of her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry hadn't ever heard an apology directed at him from her mouth. "Am I dead?" He murmured.

She sighed. "I don't know what came over me," she admitted.

Harry knew. He knew because he knew exactly how she was feeling. "Yeah," he nodded.

More silence followed and they just kept walking. The shoes she was wearing weren’t really conducive to a city walk but she was willing to have a blister on each toe and her heel if it meant Harry’s warm arm and a jacket that smelled like him was going to be wrapped around her. “Did you like her?” She asked.

Harry smirked. “She was fine.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he chuckled. “She was fine, but I’d’ve much preferred you sitting next t’me all night.”

“But you don’t like me.”

Harry snorted. “Honestly, right now, I don’t. Think I could throw y’into traffic for such a remark. What are y’talking ‘bout, love? M’obsessed with you,” he rolled his eyes.

“Obsessed?”

“Obsessed.”

Her heart fluttered. She stopped walking. Mainly because her feet hurt, but also because she was floored that he admitted such a thing. After all the time she spent wondering why he taunted her and made her want to strangle him. Her voice shook as she asked her next question. Because it was mean spirited of him. “Is this a trick? Like that time Niall was setting me up on a date and you convinced me I got the date wrong, and I sat at the coffee shop for hours before—”

Harry chuckled at the memory. Proud of his handy work and grateful she didn’t go on a date with that prick (who was actually a really nice guy that probably deserved her more than Harry did). “No, s’not a trick.”

She was staring at him like he had ten heads and honestly there was nothing better than seeing her little eye twitch. “You like me?” She asked.

“Very much, kitten,” he nodded and stuffed both hands in his pockets while she processed this.

“Can we sit? These shoes are killing me,” she frowned. Harry followed her to the bench out in front of a closed café. He reached for her feet and unclipped the strap from one ankle then the other.

“You really like me?” She asked again while Harry untied his dress shoes. Harry had this thing about always wearing two pairs of socks. It alleviated blisters, of his own dress shoes and there had been countless times Gemma hated her own high heels after a long night at a family wedding. He slid off the top pair and put them on her feet without fanfare.

“I really like you,” he assured her.

“But you...” She frowned, her stomach aching at the kindness he was showing her. Finally. The nice thing about the cute little sock thing he was doing? She had never seen him do it for anyone else. This was a treat for her as far as she knew. He retied his shoes and settled her feet back to the sidewalk. He held her shoes beside him on the bench.

“I what?” His smile was adorable, mischievous as always, dimple appearing cutely in his left cheek, but it didn’t make her eye twitch and even though he missed it, he liked her soft expression, analyzing him more.

“You said I was a know-it-all. And... irritating.”

“You are irritating,” she glared at him so cutely, he wanted to take a picture of her and make it his phone background and print it on a poster to hang on the ceiling above his bed. “When did I call y’irritating?”

“When you met me. You said you disliked me."

He tilted his head. “Do y’mean at Niall’s?” She nodded. He was clearly processing that and tried to think back. She was finally quiet, while he thought. Didn't try to further their discussion because part of her thought she would turn it into an argument just by accident. “Is that why y’always keep me a foot away from you? Why y’never let me get a word in? Why y’argue with everything I say? Swear y’would tell me the grass is pink jus’ t’argue,” She didn’t dare dignify that with a response. Or that she felt the same way. Harry tugged her legs back up and shifted her so she draped across his lap. His arm around her back while her bum warmed his thigh. He brought his hand slowly up her leg, over the socks he had put on her that looked ridiculous with her dress. His fingers skimmed over her knee and up her thigh while his eyelids hooded his gaze as he followed the path of his hand. He tickled her skin, his fingers circling her wrist in her own lap before he brought it to his shoulder. Then he brought his fingers to her face, cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’m going t’kiss y’now,” he murmured. “Because m’not going t’explain how ridiculous y’are for thinking the first time I met you I called you irritating, or that I disliked you...or thought you were a know-it-all.”

She blushed. “Oh...” she swallowed feeling woozy Harry's face was so close to hers. He smelled so good. He looked so good.

“Don’t y’think it was much more likely I called Niall an irritating know-it-all that I would fall so hard for you and I disliked how right he was?” She remained silent, dropped her gaze again, until Harry tilted her chin up once more. “You are irritating,” he murmured his mouth a breath away from hers. He could feel the warmth of her lips pulling an invisible string to his. Like he had already touched them without touching them. “But I love when y’irritate me,” he assured her and closed that final breath between their lips.

The sky could be green. The grass could be pink. Harry was done arguing with her about it.

--

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[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Sebek Zigvolt - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Cafeteria]

Sebek: …Mm, today's lunch was delicious, as always. That should hold me through the afternoon. Now, for dessert…

Azul: Sebek-san. May I take this seat beside you? I cannot seem to find any other available seat.

Sebek: Azul-senpai, huh. I care not. I am just about to finish eating, anyway.

Azul: Well, thank you. Oh, by the way, I heard tomorrow is your birthday, is it not?

Azul: Is there anything you desire? No matter how difficult it may be, I will make a special order to acquire it for you.

Sebek: No, thanks. Who knows what you'll require from me as compensation. And how do you even know my birthdate in the first place!?

Sebek: As I expected, I absolutely can't let my guard down around you Octavinelle folk. I see your whole reason to sit next to me was to shill your services, too.

Azul: Of course not! Sitting next to you was pure coincidence. However, if you ever feel the need, you may call upon me whenever you wish.

Sebek: I promise you, there won't ever be a time I feel that need! Excuse me.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Hallway]

Sebek: …Hm, NO SIGNS OF ABNORMAL ACTIVITY IN THIS AREA!!

Sebek: Seeing that nefarious intruders could sneak into the dorm at any time without our knowledge...

Sebek: As Malleus-sama's retainer, I cannot neglect doing my rounds of the dormitory.

[Silver appears and speaks]

Sebek: Ah, Silver. So, there were no problems on the western side, I see. …You made sure to look in every nook and cranny, yes?

Sebek: You're always zoning out, after all. I can't help but worry about you overlooking something.

[Silver speaks]

Sebek: Hm? You're saying you didn't fall asleep during your patrol?

Sebek: SAYS THE GUY WHO WAS SLEEPING UP A STORM DURING EQUESTRIAN PRACTICE!! DON'T BE TAKING IT EASY DURING YOUR ROUNDS AS WELL!!

Sebek: I will head towards the northern area for my patrol. You should go take care of the southern area with the utmost care. …DO NOT FALL ASLEEP!!

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

Sebek: Now then… I've finished my rounds, and taken my shower.

Sebek: A proper knight must also build the proper knowledge. Time to work on my studies in my room!

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

Sebek: Now that I've finished my homework, I should review my magical history classwork. While I may have a good grasp of what happened and where…

Sebek: When it comes to reading the textbook, I find it difficult to put together the chronological events as well what directly caused them.

Sebek: I should re-compile the notes I took during class and attempt to re-organize everything.

[Roommates chatter]

Sebek: You lot are too noisy! Why are you all huddled together and groaning?

[Roommate A speaks]

Sebek: There's an Enigmics question that none of you can solve?

Sebek: I won't be able to focus if you all keep on groaning like that. Here, show it to me…. Oh, it's this problem?

[Roommate A speaks]

Sebek: Heh, what, you can't even solve an easy question like this? If you were paying attention to class, this would be a snap to figure out.

Sebek: At this rate, you're being a disappointment to your status as Diasomnia student under the domain of Malleus-sama.

Sebek: Fine, fine, here. I'll show you how it's done. You should be thanking me on bended knee.

[Roommate B speaks]

Sebek: …Hm? I'm full of myself? Haah, the one being instructed doesn't have the right to complain!

Sebek: First, you'll use this formula. Then you'll take the number derived from that and plug it into this formula… And this is the answer!

[Roommate A speaks]

Sebek: Seems like you've finally understood. You should hold yourself to a higher standard as a student from Diasomnia and focus better on your studies.

[Roommate B speaks]

Sebek: …You're thankful, but I'm still rudely full of myself? Well then, what should I make of your attitudes towards me, despite teaching you!?

Sebek: I've finished reviewing my lessons and preparing for tomorrow's classes. All that's left is to answer this.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body

Sebek: I am attending the same school as Malleus-sama and living in the same dormitory. There's only one thing I could possibly want in this circumstance.

Sebek: "I'D LIKE TO BE PLACED IN THE ROOM NEXT TO MALLEUS-SAMA."

Sebek: As his retainer, I am here to protect Malleus-sama and I strive to be of use to him at all times…

Sebek: So if I were to have the room next to his, I could immediately be at his side were anything to happen! I could also greet him first in the morning!

Sebek: I wouldn't care the condition of the room, so long as it was next to his. "Please make this a reality as soon as possible," I'll add.

Sebek: That's it for the survey. Time to prepare for bed…

Sebek: I think I'll pick up my novel where I last left off. I did end up having to stop at a very interesting point…

[flips page]

Sebek: So that advisor shows up here, do they? It’s true that that position would have existed during this era… Well, this is a fascinating interpretation of their interactions.

Sebek: This author is definitely a good read. Their stories are faithful adaptions of historical events, and yet their interpretation always surprises me with a different perspective.

Sebek: Their writing style is dynamic which suits the profound nature of history. I can't help but to be sucked in.

Sebek: If they continue along these historical events, there should be a massive famine after this. Now, how will the protagonist deal with that, I wonder…?

Sebek: I would like to continue reading, but it is time to sleep. I'll leave the next part to read tomorrow.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

[RIIIIIIIING!!!!]

Sebek: Nnngh… It's morning already…

Sebek: Urgh, I'm still sleepy… And it's somewhat chilly. Everyone else is still asleep, so maybe I can stay like this for a little longer…

Sebek: …NO, I SHAN'T!! GET IT TOGETHER!!! I WILL AWAKEN!!!!!

Sebek: It is absolutely preposterous to blame my lack of self-discipline and be tempted by a comfortable bed.

Sebek: As Malleus-sama's loyal subject, I cannot allow myself to look slovenly. Right, to the washroom!

[Diasomnia Dorm – Washroom]

[splash]

Sebek: …Whew, that's refreshing.

Sebek: I'll use my moisturizer, as usual. It's frustrating how my skin dries out almost immediately without it.

Sebek: Now, next is my hair. I'll take a dab of the pomade and spread it thin across my palms…

Sebek: Stroking from front to back, use a comb to help spread the pomade evenly through the hair.

Sebek: Hrn… My hair isn't listening whatsoever. I was able to reduce the severity of my bedhead ever since I started wearing my nightcap…

Sebek: However it seems nothing can be done about my hair texture. It springs up on its own every time I think I've set it in place.

Sebek: Urgh, this blasted bedhead! Do as you're told and lie down flat!

Sebek: It sprung up again…! But I will not ever surrender. I will triumph and present a perfectly styled head of hair!

Sebek: Alright… It's staying up perfectly!

Sebek: It wouldn't do to appear before Malleus-sama without properly setting my hair.

Sebek: Now, I have to cleanly was all the pomade off my hands with soap.

Sebek: All that is left is sunscreen, and moisturizing lip cream… That should be good enough.

Sebek: Wait, hold on. I recall Lilia-sama saying as a bodyguard, I should take proper care of my hands as well.

Sebek: Today is my birthday, so what good timing. I'll use this opportunity to gladly open up the hand cream that I received.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

Sebek: Hm? I could smell something nice as soon as I opened the lid… Oh, this hand cream is scented!

Sebek: It seems like the fragrance is a combination of citrus and of the forest… This scent is nice and refreshing.

Sebek: I've used ointments here and there, but is the first time I've ever used scented hand cream… Oh, everywhere I apply it is starting to give off an amazing scent.

Sebek: [sniff] …I am getting the feeling that this may be too refined for me. I wonder if this doesn't suit me…?

Sebek: No, Lilia-sama himself gave it to me. I'll use it with pride!

[Main Street]

[Azul spots Sebek chatting with another student]

Azul: Sebek-san, good morning.

Sebek: Azul-senpai, hm. What a coincidence to meet again so soon after yesterday.

Azul: Indeed. By the way… You seem to be giving off a more mature look today.

Azul: Ah, perhaps it is due to that fragrance of yours. It gives off the fresh scent of a forest. What a lovely scent.

Sebek: Right, I used a new hand cream. I thought it may not have suited me, however…

Azul: Oh no, it suits you very well. I believe it is a wonderful choice as you take another step closer to adulthood.

Sebek: Is that so? …Then all is good.

Azul: Happy birthday, Sebek-san. I do hope you enjoy yourself today.

Sebek: Hm, I suppose I should at least thank you, especially since I received some unexpectedly kind wishes from you.

Requested by Anonymous.

[caracalla-dondus]

You asked so I deliver! This is just an idea that popped in my head maybe it would help you write. Please change it up as you like

Maybe a new servant who heard about the fearful emperors but she is shocked to see Caracalla being so cute while feeding dondus. He thinks she’s curious about his monkey and decides to show her how to feed and let dondus. Clueless Caracalla would be so cute :)

Sorry for taking so long to write this but thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it :)

Unexpected Encounter

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla/Servant!reader

Summary: A new servant has an unexpected encounter with Caracalla and his pet Dondus.

Dividers by: cafekitsune

Author's Note: To anyone else who has sent me a request and I haven't fulfilled it yet, hopefully soon I will have them written <3

The new servant had only been in the service of the emperors for a few weeks, but she had been warned the moment she arrived: "Never speak unless spoken to. Never look the emperors directly in the eye. Never linger in places you do not belong. And above all, stay out of Emperor Caracalla’s way if you value your life and wellbeing."

She had heard the stories of course. She’s sure everyone has. The young rulers were known for their indulgence in revelry, their temperamental moods, and their thirst for bloodshed. Caracalla in particular was said to be the most unpredictable. One moment laughing and joyous, the next demanding someone’s death over something harmless and trivial. Geta was at least said to be a bit more composed than his brother. But the servant had no desire of finding out herself how alike or different the emperors were to each other.

But one night, she was walking through the halls on an errand when she turned a corner and found herself in the same vicinity as one of them.

For a moment, her heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. She must have wandered too far. She had made a mistake.

Caracalla was sitting on the cold marble floor, his tunic slightly rumpled, his red hair an uncombed mess. But he did not look upset, or angry, nor was he relishing someone else’s demise. Instead he was entirely focused on something small and fuzzy perched on his knee. Dondus, the little monkey she had only ever heard about in passing from other servants.

The infamous pet monkey that the emperor dressed in fine clothes and tiny gold ornaments. The monkey that, according to gossip, was perhaps the only living thing Caracalla truly loved, maybe even more than his own brother.

And here was the notorious Emperor Caracalla gently handing pieces of fruits and nuts to his beloved pet. The sight was odd. It felt almost absurd to see the much feared emperor being so tender. She watched as the monkey’s little hands eagerly reached for the snacks.

She went to silently remove herself from his presence before he noticed her but much to her dread she had accidentally knocked into something.

Caracalla’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto her.

The servant froze.

For an agonizing moment she was certain she had made a grave mistake. She had intruded on something private. She had interrupted the emperor’s time with his pet. Would he punish her? Would he have her thrown to the gladiators for sport? Her mind raced with every horror story she had heard.

But then to her utter bewilderment, Caracalla’s lips quirked into something that could only be described as playful. His expression far from the terrifying emperor she had envisioned. His lips curled into a lopsided smile, almost boyish in its amusement.

"Well?" he said. "Are you just going to stare?"

The servant's heart pounded. She should apologize. She should bow and retreat immediately. But her eyes flickered to the monkey, watching as it took a piece of fruit from Caracalla's fingers, its tiny mouth nibbling eagerly.

She must have hesitated too long, because Caracalla tilted his head. "Do you want to feed him?"

Her breath hitched. She could not say no. She did not want to say yes. But she nodded her head nonetheless. What other choice did she have?

He grinned. Grinned. A real, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way she had never imagined possible.

"Come here then," he said, motioning her forward.

Her feet wouldn’t move at first. It was insane to step closer to Emperor Caracalla, the man everyone feared. But there was something in the way he looked at her. Not with malice, not with suspicion, but with amusement, as though he found the situation genuinely entertaining.

Slowly, cautiously, she took a few steps forward.

"Good," he said, satisfied. "Now kneel."

Her knees nearly gave out as she obeyed, sinking onto the marble floor beside him.

He grabbed her wrist. Gently, to her surprise, and pressed a small piece of fruit into her palm. She hated herself for noticing how soft and warm his hand was.

"Hold it like this," he instructed. "Dondus is picky. He won’t eat from just anyone."

The monkey tilted its little head at her, his small beady eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. Caracalla chuckled. "Go on, he’s waiting" he urged.

With hesitant fingers, she extended the fruit. Dondus sniffed at her hand before yanking the piece from her fingers. The servant blinked, astonished by the ticklish sensation of tiny fingers and soft fur against her skin. The moment his tiny paws touched her, a giggle slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

Caracalla turned to look at her, eyes widening slightly. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

Not a cruel laugh, not a mocking one. Just… laughter. Light, joyful, utterly different from the man who ruled with mercurial moods.

"He likes you," Caracalla said, watching as Dondus nibbled happily. "You should feel honored. He can’t stand Geta."

The thought of Emperor Geta, a man she had only seen from a distance, being shunned by this tiny creature was unexpectedly funny. She tried to suppress her smile, but Caracalla noticed.

His grin widened. "You can pet him, if you want."

She hesitated. Touching the emperor’s pet felt too bold and too inappropriate. But Caracalla nudged her hand forward. "Here," he muttered.

With the lightest touch, she ran her fingers over Dondus’s tiny head. His fur was soft and warm, and he gave a little happy chirp.

Her chest filled with something warm.

"He’s softer than I thought," she admitted quietly.

Caracalla’s smirk softened. "Yes and spoiled." He reached out and ruffled Dondus’s  little ears. "He gets whatever he wants, don’t you Dondus?"

Dondus let out a tiny noise of approval, and Caracalla beamed. Beamed.

The servant stared.

This wasn’t the cruel emperor from the whispers. This wasn’t the bloodthirsty ruler demanding people to fight to the death for his amusement.

This was someone else. Someone she didn’t expect. Someone who spoke to a monkey as if it were his closest friend. Someone who could laugh, who could smile softly.

Dondus nuzzled his little head back into her hand, desiring more affection.

Caracalla chuckled at scene. "He truly likes you." There was a hint of delight in his voice, as if he had just uncovered some grand secret. "Most people are too afraid to get close. But you…" He studied her with curious, assessing eyes before flashing another grin. "You're not afraid of my Dondus and he can tell."

She wasn't sure what to say. She had been afraid, not of Dondus, but of him. But now sitting here on the cold marble floor, watching the emperor gently stroke his monkey’s head and looking at her, a stranger, with such fondness, she saw something much more human in the man next to her.

It felt like stepping into a different world.

"Do you have a favorite animal?" Caracalla asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

The question confused her. He was asking her something? She had never imagined an emperor would be interested in what a simple servant liked.

She swallowed before answering, "I… I’ve always liked birds."

Caracalla seemed excited by her answer. "We’ll have to get you a pretty bird then. One that will sing you the most beautiful of songs!"

Her eyes widened, more confused than before and she couldn’t stop herself from giving the undignified response of: "...what?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. "It will be a gift. A reward for your bravery in facing the fearsome Dondus." He gestured grandly at the tiny creature, who was now climbing onto his shoulder, stuffing his mouth with fruit.

The servant had no idea how to respond. Surely he was joking. But it didn’t feel like an elaborate joke, not with the way he watched her with warmth and enthusiasm in his gaze. Perhaps she was a fool but it felt genuine.

But before she could say anything, a voice called from the hallway.

"Caracalla? What are you doing here?"

Emperor Geta’s voice.

Caracalla groaned, rolling his eyes. "Trying to get away from you," he called back.

The servant nearly choked on her breath. He speaks to his brother like that? She couldn't even imagine herself answering in such a way.

Geta rounded the corner, dressed far more properly than Caracalla, his expression exasperated. His eyes flicked to her, then to his brother, who was still lounging on the floor with his monkey.

"I’ve looked everywhere for you and yet here you are with Dondus again" Geta sighed.

Caracalla grinned, unfazed. "He’s more pleasant company than you."

Geta shook his head and muttered something under his breath. "Come on. We have places to be. And you," he added, glancing at the servant. "Forget whatever nonsense my brother has told you tonight."

The servant nodded quickly, her heart still racing.

Caracalla, meanwhile, leaned in near her and whispered conspiratorially. "Don’t listen to him. My brother is just jealous Dondus doesn’t like him."

Geta sighed loudly and walked away.

The servant hesitated, unsure whether she should leave as well, but Caracalla caught her wrist before she could rise.

His grip was light, but his voice was firm. "You’ll come feed Dondus again tomorrow, won’t you?"

She was taken aback. "You want me to?"

Caracalla’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Of course. He likes you. And so do I."

Before she could even process that, he let her go and stood, stretching. "Go on then. But don’t forget."

She hurried away, her heart pounding, her mind spinning.

She had met the fearsome Emperor Caracalla. And somehow he had turned out to be nothing like she expected.

[604to647]

Photocopies

2.2K / Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: You catch Javi off guard in the embassy photocopy room.

Warnings: Angst (sorry!), longing, some hurt (no comfort). Previous relationship, mention of past infidelity (or is it??). Mainly Javi's POV. Nicknames as usual (Pretty bird, baby).

A/N: This is a direct follow-up to Birthday Present, taking place S1/S2 Narcos, ~2 months after reader’s birthday; I don't think you need to read it but it gives some context. I'm sorry, there is no HEA for these two dummies yet, this is just another little one shot (not quite ready to commit to writing another long series!), but I hope those of you who remember them from Birthday Present will still enjoy seeing them again 🥹🥰

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Tagging @milla-frenchy who knows why 🥹😘

Mierda. 

Javier can see the consecutive flashes of the photocopier’s green scan light accompanied by the hum of the machine in repetitive use as he walks down the hall towards the U.S. Embassy’s main floor copier room.  It sounds like whoever’s occupying the photocopier is in the middle of a big job – he sighs with an air of unjustified frustration.  Such would be his luck when he’s already running late for his meeting with the CIA attaché. 

He rounds into the room chest first, ready to barrel over whichever unfortunate intern stands, however unintentionally, between DEA Agent Javier Pena and something he needs to hopefully get ahead of Escobar, when he’s stopped dead in his tracks.

It’s you.  You, with a thoughtful look on your face as you adorably chew your bottom lip while counting the sheets in your hand, surrounded by neat piles of paper covering every available flat surface in the copier room.

Mierda. 

Still preoccupied by your collating project, you haven’t looked up to notice that you’re no longer alone in the small, stifling room – out of consideration or cowardice, but most likely both, Javier loathes to disturb you.  He hasn’t spoken to you in nearly four months - he’ll be damned if the first time he does so causes you inconvenience.  He’s already done so much worse to you. 

Fuck it - those spooks can make do with one copy of his Satellite Repositioning request.  If the CIA needs a second copy so badly, let them come down and make it themselves, he convinces himself.  Javier steps back silently, slowly backing out of the room. 

“How many copies do you need?”

Stunned by the sweet lilt of your voice, Javier remains motionless.  He suspects that you don’t know it’s him, but rather you had felt another person’s presence in the room and your considerate nature simply offered what you intuitively knew was needed.  But to his surprise, your eyes meet his directly when he looks up; he searches them for any sign of distaste or distain now that you recognize him as your intruder, but sees nothing except sincerity.  Your hand is already outstretched, waiting for his form.

He should leave.  Say he changed his mind about needing copies.  Say he got lost in this building that he’s worked in for years.  Say something.

“Don’t want to interrupt you.  I’ll come back.”

You throw an easy, encouraging smile his way and wave your still reaching hand dismissively in graceful sweeps that only serve to remind Javier of how effortlessly charming you are; your voice an enchanting song with its lightness, “I’m going to be forever.  Come on, gimme.”  You wiggle your fingers playfully, beckoning Javier to give over his paper - not knowing you also call for his heart with this enticing gesture.

He can refuse you nothing, though you could never know that, and hands over his single sheet readily, “Just one please.”

You take his form and titter to yourself as you diligently set aside the stack you were organizing, careful not to lose your place before laying his paper face down on the glass to copy, “I’ll make you two, just in case.”

Though the sound of the copy machine whirling to life fills the room, the silence between the two people in it somehow rings louder.  Javier looks around awkwardly, his eyes taking in the goliath of paperwork that you were in the middle of taming – should he apologize for interrupting?  No, it would likely ring hollow to your ears; he’s committed worse transgressions for which he still owes you an apology.  But the lump in his throat compels him to engage you; he’s a man starved, ready to beg for any meager scraps of attention you’re willing to throw his way.

“I thought you had a secretary to do all this admin for you – is Renee away?”

You laugh and the sound chimes in Javier’s ear like a chorus of cathedral bells; he never thought he’d have the honour of drawing such music from you again.  “No, she’s here.  But when it’s big booklets for interdepartmental meetings, I just like to do it myself.”

Right - Javier knows this about you.  You take such prodigious care with everything, of everyone.  Any fool at the embassy, and there were many, could see you’re a powerhouse, work ethic and dedication unmatched, and completely deserving of the respect and praise you reap – he’s always been proud of you.

Handing him his two copies and original, you toss Javier another soft smile before turning back to your task.  Whatever this interlude was, whatever grace granted him a few moments of cordiality with you is gone now, and Javier takes the papers from you with a genuine, but melancholy, “Thanks.”  He heads out of the room, feeling somehow happier and yet just as lost as he has been these past few months.

“Javi?”

He’s stopped again, this time not just by your melodic voice, but the song of his shortened name on your lips – his own heart longs to sing back a response in duet.  Turning, he finds you already looking at him, the irises of your knowing eyes swirling with tenderness, 

“Thank you for my birthday present.”

How did you know?  Javier had been so confident in the stealth of his actions, he’s silence by the revelation that you know he left a gift on your desk two months ago.

“I wear them all the time,” you turn your elegant neck slightly to show Javi the silver hair clips, each adorned with a small, delicate bird, tucked prettily behind your ear.

He manages to choke out a confession, “I know.” 

He does know.  Like a lovesick magpie, Javi’s heart would leap every time he caught the flash of silver in your hair at the embassy: during the meetings you expertly lead that he had the privilege of attending, via quick glimpses of you as you hurried towards the breakroom with your colleagues for a much-needed cup of coffee, when he stole longing glances at you from the DEA’s offices down the hall from the windows that ran alongside your desk in Treasury.  Each time you wore them, it gave Javi a surge a pride (and some relief) to know that amidst all the pain he had caused, he could still bring you some joy.

You’re looking at him now, eyes shiny and full of emotion, “I love them – they’re so beautiful.  Thank you for having thought of me.”

Javi’s body carries him across the small room and into your waiting arms of its own accord. All the strength he strains to wield on a daily basis in order to stay away from you evaporating under that tender gaze he thought had been forever lost to him.

He holds you close but not too tight, unable to tear his eyes from the sweetness of your expression.  How could you still look at him with anything other than disappointment, hate?  Despite what he did, you remain good.  Kind.  Feeling.  You wash over him like an inevitable wave and Javi wants more than anything to drown in you again.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Baby.

Drinking in his soft utterance of the endearment, you earnestly study the man who was once yours.  Javi looks apprehensive and guarded, like he can’t quite settle into the tenderness of this moment – expecting at any second for you to shove him away, curse him.  Your heart aches to witness his anxiety – he’s still the man you knew, believed in: one whose bravado and tough exterior harbours a sensitive and deeply feeling heart, one who never thinks he deserves good things even when he extends himself for the sake of others.  You take Javi’s face into your hands, feeling the flex of his strong jaw beneath your palms as he inhales and swallows deeply at the loving gesture, still convinced this unexpected peace will be ripped from him.

“Do you miss me, Javi?”

How can he possibly answer but truthfully? Even if you weren’t looking at him so tenderly and with such vulnerability, Javi’s never been able to hide from you, lie to you. Insinuate falsities, yes. Mislead, perhaps. But outright lying? Never. How could the moon ever lie to the sun?

“Yes, pretty bird. Every day,” Javi closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours, sealing in the truth of his words.

He’s being selfish.  It’s selfish to want to pull out the knife that’s lodged permanently in his chest; the one he placed there himself when he broke your heart, to stab and remind him with every breath he takes of what he’s lost.  What he’s broken.

If he could remove the blade for even a moment, then for that moment he can be your Javi again.  The one you trusted to take care of your heart.  The one who was ever grateful that an angel like you saw something in him, something he thought had long been snuffed out by the savagery of the Columbian sicarios and the cruelty of Escobar.  The Javi you had patiently nurtured back to life with your compassion and gentle touch.  The one whose vow of love you never questioned; he hadn't thought himself capable of such devotion, but you had easily unlocked it from within him with your own.

Selfishness wins today.  Javi removes the knife and lets himself be that man again with a tentative press of his lips to yours.  Immediately, he’s overtaken by the honey of your kiss – every brush of your pretty pout reminds him of all his favourite kisses with you: soft, secret kisses in hidden corners at the office; hard and heavy make outs outside the embassy walls away from prying eyes; tender kisses of promises intended to be kept while on dates or just laying in bed; possessive, dangerous kisses used to muffle moans of pleasure not meant for the ears of any other; hungry and urgent kisses heralding toe-curling, earthshattering orgasms; and sweet kisses of affirmation after every declaration of I love you.

Javi kisses you to make up for every single kiss he’s missed since he kissed you last.  He kisses you like he has the forever with you he threw away so cruelly all those month ago.  He tightens his arms around you as you melt into his kiss, momentarily forgetting how to let you go again.  Your soft whimper of surrender into his mouth jolts him back to reality.  He doesn’t have forever with you.  You aren’t his, and you shouldn’t be his.  He’s been warned.

It’s time to put the knife back in and Javier knows it won’t just be his own heart he wounds when he does so.

“Baby, we can’t.”

“Javi…” The way you say his name now has none of the harmony that invited him in earlier; this is a plea.

“Pretty bird, I’m no good for you.  Look at you – you’re perfect and you have everything going for you.  Everything you are is beyond my wildest dreams – you’re destined for the kind of future that has no place in it for a guy like me.  You deserve someone who can give you the best things in life.  You deserve someone better than me.”

You’re shaking your head, ready to argue and Javier thinks, no – he knows you would prevail.  He’s come over to your side of every argument the two of you ever had - won over by your intelligence, your passion, or simply for the joy it brought him to give you anything you wanted.  He has to put a stop to this before your eloquence and kindness can disarm him, so he pushes the knife in further, “You deserve someone who can be loyal to you.”

Javier can physically feel the flow of air that rushes in to fill the space created between the two of you as you shrink away from him.

It’s as if he can see the cinema in your eyes replaying that horrible scene from four months earlier when you caught him bare chested and pants unbuttoned, with a half naked Vanessa on his couch.  And just like that, the ache of his betrayal is renewed and your hurt rolls off your frame in lines so thick Javier thinks he might be able to pluck them out of the air with his fingers.

He twists the knife, even though it kills him to do so, “I never got the chance to apologize for that. I’m sorry.”

You nod, otherwise unmoving - stilled by that old pain you thought you had buried dead threating to crawl up your tightening throat.

Javi’s shoulders hunch, drooping with a defeat of his own making, “Thank you for the copies.”

“You’re welcome, Agent.”

Agent.

And just like that he’s Agent again.  Not baby, Javi, or even Javier.  Just Agent.

This third time he goes to leave the copier room you don’t stop him and Javier is thankful; unable to trust himself should he look back at you, he doesn’t – Agent Pena sets his face to a grim scowl and stalks down the hallway away from the best thing that ever happened to him.  Grateful that you had the forethought to give him an extra copy of his form, Javier discards the top sheet before going into his meeting – it’s completely unusable: the words on the page blotted and blurred from tears he didn’t have the strength to prevent from falling, the ruined, damp paper evidence of his failures.

[killergee]

Here’s Part 2! Thanks to everyone who read the first part and commented! This could be read as a stand-alone as well, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Soshiro x Reader fanfic where after discovering your crush on him, he does everything in his power to get you to confess. It seems that he can't help himself when it comes to you.

P1 P2 P3

Tags list: @surprisemodafakas @yrxhyes

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

Okay, so playing stupid may not have been your best move. But your damn pride kept you from admitting to anything. Luckily, Hoshina seemed to drop the topic after your silence and switched to talking about getting ice cream. Much to your surprise, he's let you off the hook entirely and never spoke about the little incident again. However, that didn't mean he didn't tease you in a different way.

In all honesty, you don’t know how much more of his teasing and flirting you could take before you bashed your head against a wall. It’s like he’s doing everything in his power to make you admit to what you said or to address the elephant in the room. The elephant, of course, being your feelings towards him, which you obviously don’t have.

He's definitely changed since the incident. You couldn't forget how one time when you were patching him up as usual, he used your focus against you.

Treating him used to happen at a respectable distance, but since he knew how absorbed you always were when treating him, he took the opportunity to shift and spread his legs apart, slowly moving you to stand in between them. It wasn't until you felt his hands rest on your hips did you jolt back to awarness and finally notice how close he's brought you. When you tried to yell at him and take a step backward, he threw on a lazy grin and curled his hands, fisting them into the material of your uniform. His grip stung, but not enough to hurt. No, it was only enough to leave you with a hunger you oh so desperately tried to push down. Anchoring you in your place, you didn't know if he knew his effect on you. If he knew if he wanted to take you right there, you might just let him. The dark satisfaction that lurked in his mischievous eyes told you yes, but all he does is lie about how roughly you were treating him and whine at you to be more gentle. In your annoyance and frustration, you don't notice how he's been getting more injured lately.

After that, he became bolder and much more forward, testing more and more every day how far he could push you. He always seemed to find a way to make you touch him. To make it so that your sole focus was on him and only him. Tasks such as examining his suit to make sure there weren’t any faults became an almost daily occurrence. You knew he knew you didn’t know anything about how the suits worked, and yet, he’d tell you to touch the planes of his arms to make sure none of the ridges were poking out. Or he’d guide your hand himself, pretending to teach you what it was you should be looking for. The examination would end with him slyly saying “your turn” and you turning red and storming out of the room.

While he does his best to make you touch him, he puts the same amount of effort into touching you. A touch to your wrist when asking if you need any help with your paperwork. A hand on your waist to move around you when there’s plenty of space. A whisper in your ear as if telling you a secret, but he instead says something completely mundane. Or a casual arm around the back of your seat as if marking you as his. If not directly touching you, he'd still maneuver in a way to intrude into your space. Be it with a hand on the table behind you to keep you close and shielded from the eyes of others or by making sure the only seat available was the one next to his.

The constant touching and proximity left you feeling the burn of his touches for days after. The façade you’ve worked so hard to keep up cracks more and more every passing day.

The worst part of it all was the fact that he seemed so casual about it while you were internally combusting each time. Like the one time when you tried to move away from him, he asked, "y/n-kun, what's wrong?" And moved even closer in faux concern, failing to hide the smirk that lurked beneath his smile. "Ya don't look so good," he continued as he moved to graze your cheek before resting his palm on your forehead. "My, my, your face is so hot and red."

"I... uh-"

He chuckled, reveling in how you were struggling to form words. "Even your ears too," he whispered almost fondly as he continued his exploration of your face. With that, he tucked your hair behind your ear and kept his hand there, playfully tapping the tip of your ear. It was too intense for you. Too intimate. The way he was looking at you. The soft smile on his face. You felt his breath ghost over your lips and all of a sudden you're pushing him back and looking down at the floor. "P-p-probably overexertion, I'll be fine...please excuse me," you said hurriedly, leaving the situation. "Alright, see ya later," he sighed out, and if you thought you heard disappointment in his voice, then you would be right.  

But now is not the time to hope about whether or not he was dissapointed. You should get back to work before he-

“Are ya gonna keep staring or are we gonna keep working?” he asks, interrupting your thoughts. Fuck, he noticed. You didn't mean to think about him and all the shit he's done. But in this office, lit up only by the moonlight, you can't help but soften a little. The way the moonlight lights the side of his face is captivating. Not to mention his stupid habit of biting his lip is even more tantalizing than it used to be. It doesn't help that you two are sitting so close together that you can smell the faint scent of his intoxicating cologne. It also definitely doesn't help that your gaze ended up on him while you were lost in thought.

"Sorry,” you murmur, embarrassed, making sure to busy yourself with the file in front of you again.

"Ah, sorry, I forgot I’m quite distracting,” he teases with a smirk as he rests his head on his hand, giving you his full attention.

“Don’t know what you’re referring to,” you retort back a little too quickly. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, you were curious if he was still looking at you. With as much discretion as possible, you shift your gaze towards him, only to be met with his waiting eyes.   

Breathtaking is all you can think of as his eyes seem to glow in the light. Your fingers twitch slightly as you have the urge to move the hair threatening to cover his eyes. Of course, the ever-observant Hoshina notices. He always seems to notice everything about you.

"Struck by the desire to touch me?" 

"Yes, to throttle you, actually." 

He lets out a low whistle and a chuckle at your response, and you try to focus all your energy on your work. Tonight feels different from the other nights. Something about the atmosphere told you that you’d regret running away or saying something you didn’t mean. So instead, you fiddle with the edge of the paper like you always do when you want to calm down your nerves.

Hoshina places a hand on top of yours and stills you. He says, "stop that," but the fondness in his voice seeps through even to your unwilling ears. It could have been due to the exhaustion that your senses were dulled or perhaps the night made you crave his touch a little more. Whatever it was, you didn't move your hand. Slowly and hesitantly, as if scared he'll break whatever trance you were in, he begins to lace your hands together, one finger at a time. His slow pace gave you ample time to pull away. To tell him to back off. To turn him down like you usually did.

But you don't.

So he holds your hand within his, providing you a warmth you didn't know you longed for. Something about his grip makes you feel safe in a way only he ever could. It wasn't tight enough to make you feel trapped, and it wasn't loose enough to let you slip away. With only the sounds of the crickets outside and your beating hearts, you two remain frozen in time. You're trying to remain as calm as possible but as you're moments away from ripping your hand out of his and making a run for it, Hoshina startles you by dropping his head onto the table and resting it in the crook of his free arm. Despite his body angling itself away from you, his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. 

"W-what is wrong with you!?" You exclaim in embarassment, also turning to look away. With your free hand, you cover the lower half of your face. You didn’t want him to know you were blushing.

"Nothin' just really happy," he replies, his voice a bit muffled by his arm. "It's just better than I expected," he mumbles so quietly that you almost missed it.  

If only you had turned around to look at him. You wouldn’t have missed the bright blush that covered his neck.