#GIVE HER A LIL BEER BELLY TOO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kriz-fics · 1 year

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The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen: Dreams and Revels

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 14.2K

CW: Explicit sexual content (masturbation, M) / blink and you'll miss it: mentions of dub/noncon behavior / Period Typical Attitudes

Being the Magister’s son, Eren finds, does nothing to acclimate him better to this kind of attention. The feast is well underway, though, and the storm of his discomfort has already passed. The worst of it, anyway; he really can do without the occasional gust.

“Here’s to the future lord consort!” a man-at-arms slurs, Anatoly by name, you whisper to Eren with the merest hint of laughter in your voice. He is a great tub of a man with a wine-keg belly and a big bushy auburn beard. It is a wonder the table can bear his weight.

He speaks too soon, as it is; Eren can hear the table creak alarmingly as the man raises his tankard to the dais above the salt, slopping beer all over his hand and the board beneath him. “You had best serve the ‘lil lady well, milord, woman’s like her deserves nuthin’ less’n the best fuck o’ her life!” he roars, blissfully unmindful of the snail shells and bits of bread his fellows are pelting at him as he stands with one foot on the buttered garlic snails. “May your sword stand tall ’n proud ‘n ne’er bend in battle!”

The storm rages anew. Never had Eren wanted to melt into the floor and disappear as much as he did then. Beside him on his right, you let out a tinkling laugh as Anatoly is helped down from the table, staggering and slumping, his face so red it is hard to tell where his beard ends and where his flesh begins. To add salt to Eren’s mortified wounds, the rest of the hall pound their cups on the tabletops, shouting, “Hear, hear!” The familiar first notes of ‘Lusty Boys to Lissome Girls’ begin to play as the musicians strike up a new tune to further compound his shame.

You can well laugh, Eren thinks a little sullenly. You are too trained never to give anything away, never to falter nor show your discomfort no matter the incitement. Knowing you, though, the titter is genuine. A new weapon has been handed you, of course you will be well-pleased; you are sure to use this against him once you resume your new game of flirtation. He both dreads and welcomes the prospect, contrary boy that he is.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he had a courtier’s face, if only to keep his dignity intact. He does not even know what kind of face he is making. A highly amusing one, apparently, to judge by your expression. And your sister’s.

“Best hone your sword well, future brother of mine,” Lydia sings after a bite of dormouse. “You wouldn’t want it to bend after the first stroke. Sister should have some joy of you, at least.”

“I don’t see how my sword is any of your business,” Eren snaps back hotly, flushing even more at the unabashed snort of laughter that escapes you as you reach for your goblet of wine and nearly spill the contents, your mirth making your body rock back into your seat. “How is your little bedmate? I hope you haven’t killed him off already.” He knows, even as he says it, how pathetic that rejoinder is. He has never thought himself a lackwit (he likes to think he is at least reasonably witty) but, gods, does he feel like one now.

Lydia smirks at him from her place on the other side of her sister, clearly in accord with his disparaging self-assessment. “Oh, he’s alive and well, brother dearest, have no fear. I keep him in a small glass bowl for now but I’ll commission a bigger tank for my rooms, to keep him in comfort. He goes by Renren now, I’ll have you know,” she grins at him, the little imp.

“Peace, Sister, you’ve had your fun, now leave my betrothed be. You’ve tormented him enough,” you chide, seemingly taking pity on him at last. Lydia gives him one last puckish smirk before returning to her meal.

Eren graces you with a smile. With his gratefulness comes chagrin, though. He cannot help feeling unmanned. Is he truly so slow-witted that you should have to resort to defending him from your own sister? Can he not even keep it together long enough to turn a phrase, parry Lydia’s words with his own sharper set?

He stamps the feeling down as best he can. He has always prided himself on staying away from the broader courtiers’ circles, away from the frivolity, the lies, the masks. Such webs as they spin with their words put him off, so above them he flies where they cannot touch him. Now he finds himself hopelessly entangled, by a mite no less, a slip of a girl not even half the match of the slimiest sycophants at court, turned round and round until his better faculties left him.

And in front of the woman who he would be equal to. He does not want nor need more reminding of how far removed he is from you, a young woman quickly shaping up to be a courtier as masterly as any of them. Much as he wants to be your equal, though, doing so will have him don a mask, and he will sooner not.

“Let’s go elsewhere,” you murmur to him, the very moment your father stands from his seat on Eren’s left.

“Where to?” Eren whispers back, watching the Lord Rhyzkov stride down to the trestle tables below the salt so he can speak and mingle with his men. Just as Father would do.

You nod to the tall arched entryway of the Great Hall’s terrace, off to the side of the spacious chamber. “The night air would do us good.”

For a moment, Eren takes the measure of you, takes in your smile, which seems to be the precursor to an even wider one, to be given to him once you are well away from prying eyes. A smile held back but not a courtier’s smile - this is all you and not the mask of Rhyzkova.

Perhaps it isn’t a matter of putting on a mask. Perhaps it is simply a matter of restraint.

His gaze slides down the smooth, naked expanse of your back as he trails your progress, admiring the gleam of the chain of diamonds and rose quartzes that traces the dip of your spine as you hail and kiss your lady mother’s cheek further down the table, on your way towards the balcony. He can be restrained. He will be your equal yet.

All at once, the gods see fit to test that restraint. The sway to your hips as you walk, that proud, confident stride that he has come to love so well is even deadlier in this dress - a charovma, he knows now, the southron halter dress that near made him groan aloud the first he saw you this night before the feast.

He had never felt so cunt-struck and so irritated in his life.

“Do you really want me to… break decorum that badly?” Eren had blurted as you sauntered down the empty corridor of the guest wing toward him, holding a crown of silvered laurel leaves studded with emeralds.

“Whatever do you mean?” you blinked up at him, innocent as the purest of maids. A maid you were, and pure, but innocent you were not.

Minx.

It passed as a simple sleeveless vevda at the front, this dress of peach silk with its white lace paneling and belt of diamonds and rose quartzes. Would that it really was a vevda. Oh, how he wished it was a vevda. And it seemed such a safe dress, much safer than that sheer alabaster wisp of a chelya you wore earlier that day. Your breasts were not like to spill out of this one, at least (a fact he both rejoiced and regretted).

The back wreaked torment enough. He could not have asked for better fodder for his torrid fantasies. The charovma left your entire back bare, from shoulders to waist, now he knew what you looked like naked from behind. No longer would he be reduced to trying to conjure up images of your nakedness from what little had been given him. Well, not truly. But it was one thing, one sight more that was allowed him. Until the wedding night. Not even a day had passed in his stay at Arsechkala and already he had seen more of your beautiful body than he had in your year-long betrothal and friendship.

Still, he could not help feeling… baited.

He had narrowed his eyes at your impeccably artless face. “Don’t toy with me, my lady. Must you always dress like… this?” he gestured at your form gracelessly, made inarticulate by the strength of his turmoil.

The innocence left your face as the imp took over. “I always dress like this at home. I’m sorry if it offends you so, my lord, but you had best get used to it for you will be seeing more of the like.”

And more of me, your smirk seemed to say. It was then that he knew without a doubt: it was no happenstance, that you had your back turned to him when he exited his chambers. You had wanted him to see, and masked your ploy under the guise of examining the tapestry of the first Yelena Rhyzkova hanging on one of the walls down the hall.

Yelena Rhyzkova’s heir had lifted the wreath in her hands and pressed it down on Eren’s head before he could react to her preceding statement.

“Handsome,” you said, tweaking a couple of leaves by his right ear and eyeing the whole arrangement, pleased. “How do you like the fit?”

He glared at you a moment more before answering, “I like it well enough, it’s not uncomfortable.” He was no stranger to the sensation of metal leaves encircling his skull. Being the son of the eminent Magister entitled him to wear the hallowed wreath, reserved for southron guests of the highest acclaim to match their noble hosts. His noble hostess had foregone one for a simple chain of silver and rose quartz, artfully arranged over the elegant plaited knot of her hair.

“Good to see you haven’t forgotten where the podonza should be placed,” you went on, plucking at the white garment he had worn over his vevda of indigo damask with its elbow-length sleeves, belted at the waist by a chain of diamonds. The podonza was a garment of the well-to-do, a long sheet of cloth worn over the vevda (and the tube dress povevda, sometimes the chelya), wrapped about the body beneath the right arm by the right hip and fastened at the left shoulder by pins or brooches. Podonzaya were often fringed, with decorative scrollwork for the simpler palette, with gemstones for those of a more opulent bent. Eren was in no way opulent, yet the podonza he donned was dripping with diamonds to match his belt, like icicles hanging down the eaves of some snow-crusted roof.

“Told you that, did he?” Of course he would. Armin took entirely too much pleasure in telling you tales best left untold. Preferably when Eren was out of the picture. “In my defense, I’m a Midlander. How in all the levels of hell was I supposed to know which shoulder this contraption should be draped over?”

“Your minders would’ve put it on you, properly, had you not been a stubborn little mule of a colt. Not that things have changed much. Still a mule, not so much a colt.” You had him there. Not that he would ever admit it, stubborn mule that he was. “The only time we should expect to see you with the podonza fastened on your right shoulder is on a bier at your funeral.” The levity on your face had vanished then, to be replaced by a dawning sense of disquiet. And fear. “Gods forbid that time come soon.”

He had scrambled to revive your cheer but you drew yourself up, shrugging off the dread as you would a stifling thick fur pelt, and took his hand in yours. As though only his touch could drive away your troubles. You left the guest wing thus, slipping back into your comfortable banter.

Eren stares at the back of you, led along as he had been in the guest wing. It is never a pleasant thing to see fear mar such beauty yet he finds it pleasant still. It is an honest sentiment on an honest face. Yours. Not Rhyzkova’s. You are learning. You will be rid of Rhyzkova in your more intimate moments, he can see that happy prospect now. He will have all of you. Your fears, your grief, your anger, your joy and cheer and laughter. Your truths.

He will have all of you.

Around you, the feast is steadily descending further and further into uncontained revelry, as is the nature of these things. A rowdy group has commenced playing a knife game; more than one man will leave short a finger or two, Eren wagers. Yet another lot is trying to outdrink each other, to the tune of their fellows’ rallying calls. One man is already out cold and lying sprawled atop the table, beer foam trickling down his mouth to soak into his beard. The last two are well at it, though not for much longer, Eren can tell. Those whose purses rest with the beardless ashen-haired boy will find them heavier by bout’s end. His older, supposedly more seasoned opponent is lagging, lifting his tankard to his lips as if it is filled with stones and not beer; the eyes visible above the mug’s rim are comically crossed.

A man with a spade-shaped beard snatches at a passing serving girl as you and Eren draw level with his table. Eren looks away as the man pulls the girl onto his lap and slips a hand up beneath her skirts. The crash of her dropped flagon echoes in Eren’s ears as he looks elsewhere, anywhere but at the woman in front of him.

The increasingly familiar aggravation surfaces from his depths once more. He is no shy and blushing maiden boy- well, a maiden boy he may be but shy and blushing he is not. Not until you, anyway. Somehow, you manage to make him regress and dither and fumble like a halfwit loon. He should be long past feeling embarrassed by the sight of randy debauchery. He had been (vocally) randy with you, he should not be dilly-dallying between virginal and sensual.

Now that he thinks on it, though, since when had he ever been embarrassed by lust? Never. He had seen more, seen them at it in the hallways during feasts, seen stableboys tumbling their wenches amidst piles of hay, seen people fuck and be fucked by countless others in the brothels. Not once had he ever shied away.

This girl is something else entirely.

He finds himself glaring at your beautifully supple back. You really ought to have let your hair down. Or worn a robe. Or a shawl, even a podonza. It wouldn’t cover everything but it would still cover something. “But charovmaya aren’t supposed to be worn with a podonza,” he recalls you telling him earlier, blinking that sham of an innocent blink at him.

Oh, how he wanted to kiss it off you.

He is learning more of southron women’s fashions than he cares for, to be sure. They are as revealing on other women as they are on his betrothed. Lydia and Lady Theresia are both clad in chelyakin. His future mother by marriage is elegant in black; tiny rubies dangle down the fringe of the deep crimson podonza she is wearing, adding to the lady’s overall sophisticated ensemble. As low-cut as the strap dress is, Eren deems it more compelling on her eldest. Lydia makes it look a deal more modest. She has dispensed with a podonza altogether, though she hardly needs one to cover herself. Her pink chelya at least has a scooped neckline, quite far removed from her mother’s deep vee.

He cannot understand how all of that inherent sensuality in southron fashions eluded him. He has never truly been susceptible to women’s charms, though, southron or otherwise. And yet he is susceptible, so susceptible to you.

What is it about you that draws him so?

Is it that sweet and pretty smile that is the delight of his eyes? Is it that gentle kindness he oft receives from you in his lesser moments? Is it that spirit, that passion, that fire that smolders within, the true you beneath the mask of Rhyzkova? Is it all of those at once and more?

The jewels sparkle bright against your naked skin, a sight reminiscent of the myriad women he has seen clad in only such. Not one of whom could have held his attention for more than a night.

It is not the garment but you.

The orange glow of lamplight washes over him as you pass through the tall arch of the terrace’s entrance. The strains of ‘The Forest Lass’ fade into the backdrop as you progress deeper into the balcony. Suddenly, he is alone with a fae enchantress, walking as one enchanted. You lead him beneath the trees, brushing past the trailing vines, your hand in his so much smaller yet strong, firm, imperious.

He had always wondered why Prince Rodion risked all for that forest lass, Alena, who had more than a drop of fae in her, the singers say. But perhaps now he knows something of what the prince felt when his maid spirited him away that day into her bower and left him with an insatiable longing no mortal woman could sate.

What were vows and a kingdom worth compared to a woman’s love?

The answer to that verse was clear, once. He is coming to find that it is not so simple as all that.

Arsechkala still yet lives even at this hour. The Great Hall is situated away from the sea, and so the city and the surrounding countryside are your only concessions to a view. The city, indeed, has its charms, as you said. Lampposts still illuminate the slowly emptying plazas, faint music drifts through the streets from some far-off revels; even the smell of cooking permeates the air, something fried and savory that piques Eren’s interest, though he had done the feast great homage mere moments ago. Leagues and leagues away, the line of the Greatshield is a dark starless void against the vast starry immensity that is the sky.

You let him go and lean against the banister, staring up at him. The light from the nearby posts gives you an ethereal cast. Your eyes are deep pools he can drown in. And the better part of him does not want to surface.

“Feeling better now?” you murmur after a time. “You looked like you needed to be away. I don’t know which was redder, your face or Tolya’s beard.” You reach up to take his face in hand and tilt his head up a little, the better to catch the light. “Not so red now.”

Eren threads his fingers through yours and holds you there a moment, savoring the warmth of your palm, before drawing both your hands down. Neither seem eager to be the one to let go and so you remain handfast. “Is that what I should expect as consort? Seems like a raw deal on my end,” he notes sardonically.

You chuckle. “They’ll grow on you. Don’t your men treat you the same at home? They’ll be yours, too, in time.”

Yet more reminders of his subsequent role. It is a strange thought, and surreal, but he is coming to reconcile himself with the fact every passing day. His resolve to be a good consort and knight of your household returns, stronger than ever. He had sworn such before you and your gods, a thousand years ago. It was his first vow to you. So much has changed since then. The boy anxiously waiting in front of the godstone need not have worried about the lady in the red dress. You are no Elva Riehl, no wife that a man can revile, he knows that now. You are a damn sight much better, so much better.

"Being home seems to agree with you."

You smile and release his hand, leaving him bereft. You turn to stare out at your city, hands splayed upon the gray stone banister. “Does it? Well, I’m always glad to be home. It’s just so freeing. It’s like waking up from some long, strange dream… one that seems more nightmare than dream, sometimes… in the end, you’re just glad to be awake and away from it all.”

Eyes of gray glass glare at him from the darkness. He blinks and looks down at the tiled floor beneath his sandaled feet, shaken. But only your eyes return his gaze when next he looks back up again. Concerned, and not condemning. “Are you all right?” you say, cupping his face into your hand once more. “Do you want to rest? We’ve had a long day.”

Eren leans into your touch, taking comfort. He is awake and away from it all; he will not let his ghosts chase him even unto his waking hours. “I’m fine.”

The loud peal of feminine laughter spares him the need to change the subject. Some man-at-arms is tugging a serving wench into the balcony, clearly looking for a quick tumble.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” you sigh, dropping your hand from Eren’s face. “I thought the terrace was unusually empty for this time and this sort of occasion.”

You do not lead him back into the light of the Great Hall, as he thought you would. You are staring at the unheeding pair through the arched colonnade that parts the balcony in half, a detached sort of curiosity in your expression as you watch the man push his giggling girl up the nearest wall and smash his mouth to hers. Darkness swallows them in its grasp. Not enough to be free of scrutiny, though, to those most interested in their commerce.

Somehow, your composure steadies Eren in what is supposed to be a moment rife with awkward tension.

“Do you like to watch?”

It takes him a moment to understand what you are getting at. The air grows hotter in an instant.

“In the brothels, when you go with your lads. Do you like to watch them at their play?” The girl’s legs are now wrapped around her lover’s waist, whose hand crawls beneath her skirts in a trice. The shadows cloak their congress but naught else. The night comes alive with the sound of her moans. “Does it give you pleasure watching them tease, kiss… fuck whatever slut they bought for the night?”

It is obscene, indecent, improper, and yet it isn’t. It is not in Eren to squirm beneath his betrothed’s gaze. Not now. Curious. “I don’t seek it out but I won’t look away when it’s before me.” He stares down at you, quite unblinking. Steady. “Sometimes, it gives me pleasure. When I make what I see mine. When I take the place of the lads, in my fancies at night, in the dark where no one can see.”

Your lips curl up slightly. “There’s freedom in the dark, don’t you think? Beneath its cloak, you can be free with anything. Free with your favors. And your pleasures.” The look in your eyes is… riveting. It is one he has never seen there before. He does not know what it is. He wants to draw it out and examine it further, see what is it about it that makes his heart race.

The woman’s moans take on a new timbre and are soon interspersed with the man’s grunts. Neither of you looks round at the source of the sounds of loving. Eren lets it wash over him and fade away into the distance. The lady in front of him is a more spellbinding thing by far.

“Would you… like to visit the sanctum? You have yet to see it again.” The dark pools of your eyes drink in the light of the nearby lamps.

“Will we be alone, my lady? In the dark?”

“There will be lamps. Except in the corners where there are none. Then, yes, we will be alone. In the dark.”

The call is tempting, so very tempting. It will be so easy to cross that threshold into more intimate terrain. Within the night, he can find himself becoming your lover as much as he is your betrothed. You are willing, he will not need to coax you too much… you can love before the godstone and have the old gods grace your union, and afterward, he can crown you with flowers and tell you… tell you…

A frisson races down his spine, shocking him. The dream is a bolt of lightning that leaves him just as stunned as if he has been struck in truth. He curls and uncurls his fingers, and forces himself to hold your entrancing gaze.

His is a dream too wonderful and too frightening to consider. For this night, at least.

“Perhaps we could go in a less dangerous hour. With you in a less dangerous dress.” And with me in a less dangerous disposition.

Your eyes search his face for several heartbeats. He wonders what it is that you are looking for, what you are seeing. Whatever it is makes your rousing gaze lose its heat, and all that is left is soft tenderness. You offer him a hand, smiling. “In a less dangerous hour, then. Let’s go and leave them to their play.”

Eren stares at you a while, taking in your gentle face, so different from the sultry front you’d worn mere moments ago. The lights shine dully on the jewels that adorn you, on your hair, your ears, your arms, your dress. A lady of surpassing grace and beauty. Beauty most of all. He smiles and takes your hand.

An altogether different sort of scream leaves the serving wench’s mouth the moment you pass her and her lover’s little love nest. The man fumbles as she instinctively tries to hide herself, but you hush down their panicked floundering and tell them to carry on, smooth as silk. Eren has to choke back a laugh.

The brightness of the Great Hall is almost blinding after all that time spent beneath the dimness of night. The feasting and the revelry had gotten a deal more lively during that brief time you spent away. Lord Alexander had returned to his seat at the high table, deep in discussion with Sir Grisha Dunayevsky, his castellan, who had taken Eren’s seat at the right hand of his lord.

Eren feels a thrill course through him, that old thrill of seeing a celebrated hero in the flesh in the same room as him. Before serving as the Rhyzkov castellan, Sir Grisha had led the royal fleet to victory in the Storming of the Causeway during the War Without almost thirty years ago, beating back the combined might of the Cydamaic navy and the corsairs they had hired to bolster their strength at sea.

Sir Grisha turns his head to take a sip of his wine, giving Eren a glimpse of the ropey scar that mars his mouth, a relic from some hard-fought battle. The blow had slashed him open, from the middle of his upper lip to the lower right corner of his mouth. It was not a deep cut, by the look of it, yet Eren knows he had lost a good amount of teeth for his trouble. The old knight had long since replaced the enamel for gold; even at this distance, Eren can see the nubs in the man’s mouth flash as the metal catches the light.

He hopes you can be prevailed upon to… ease his way into a conversation with the living legend. He had wanted to converse with the man the very moment he learned who he was all those years ago. It is not often he claims what rights he has as your betrothed to ask for favors. Perhaps you can oblige him in this; he will sweeten his suit with strawberry cream pie if he has to.

Eren finds his wish coming closer to fulfillment as you proceed to the dais, determined to play Rhyzkova and keep yourself briefed on the matters of your future fiefdom. He cannot help but admire your sense of duty even at this time of celebration.

“If it’s not too much to ask… if you could put in a good word for me to Sir Grisha, I would forever be beholden to you.”

“You mean you aren’t already beholden? If our betrothal isn’t enough to bind you to me… why, then, should I grant you this boon, Sir?” You are smirking though, as you near the heads’ table. You give the next table a wide berth, this one the rowdiest by far. Two curly-haired lads, with the look of brothers about them, are dancing on the tabletop arm-in-arm and armed with tankards sloshing beer everywhere. Someone had stolen some musician’s fiddle and is playing a bawdy jig. The Virgin Queen has shed her silken slip to show her silken skin, the men sing uproariously as you and Eren pass them by, careful not to get caught up in the carousing.

“I would be more beholden to you than I already am,” Eren amends easily, then adds, “I can make it worth your while.” He hesitates for a fraction of a heartbeat and slips his hand across the soft, smooth silk of the skin of your naked back. Gooseflesh forms beneath his fingers almost at once, and he feels you shudder just that merest bit. He smiles.

You press closer to him as if you cannot help yourself. “I could… put in a word, formally introduce you as my betrothed. You can carry on from there.” The breathiness in your voice sounds sweet as a nightingale’s trill. Triumph has never tasted this good. And he didn’t even need to ply you with pie.

---

He wakes up hard as a rock and randy as a whore.

Eren blinks up at the canopy of his bed, dazed and bleary and skin prickling with heat. He had kicked the blankets partially off himself sometime in the night, leaving all of him exposed but for his right leg. The haze of sleep reduces him to staring blankly at his cock. Stiff, erect, and weeping copiously with his arousal.

He stares at it a moment longer before turning his attention to his balcony. Not that he can see past the pillars’ drapes, which he had drawn closed before retiring. Faint gray light shines through the fabric, slowly illuminating the room. The hour of the cow has just dawned, by his reckoning. Too early. He will not be getting up until it is at least halfway through the hour. He should not be up at all, but for that dream.

Eren runs his hands down his face and sighs, looking once more down his naked body at his insistent cock, which is quickly (and loudly) making its grievances known.

He had as well take care of it.

His own touch makes him flinch, when he reaches to take himself in hand - already, he is so sensitive, so quick to respond, it will not take him long to reach his pleasure.

It was a new dream, this one. This time you were in the sanctum, which you had shown him the day before. The significant changes to the place suit his fancies well. It is not so dark, not so wooded as before; he could see every hint and spasm and flicker of the pleasure he gave you as he loved you before your gods, who looked on in silent, benevolent benediction.

In the dream, you had slipped into the gardens during the feast, with no one any wiser. In the dream, he had succumbed to the lure, with no compunctions. It is the only place where he is free to slip into temptation. They cannot take him to task for dreams, as dreams hold no consequences. And in them, his sentiments, those newfound feelings are not as frightening and can be overlooked for something baser, more carnal, more sensual. Just for a time, just for a while.

He had you on his podonza, that white, bejeweled sheet, which he had spread out beneath you on the grass. The both of you were, more oft than not, naked in his dreams. Only he was fully stripped bare this time. That ravishing, sinful peach dress was bunched about your waist. You were nude otherwise. Your body in moonlight was a thing of immaculate perfection. In this light, you were as ethereal as a fae maid. And beautiful, as a wild animal was beautiful: unbound, untethered, uninhibited. You in your truest form.

A grunt escapes his mouth as his hand slips down his cock, slowly pulling on the hard flesh and lightly thumbing beneath the flushed swollen head. A bead of arousal drips down to further wet his shaft; he is leaking so much he doesn’t even need his own spittle to ease himself along.

For the hundredth time, he wishes the hand now pleasuring him belongs to you. You can pleasure him better than he ever can himself, he is sure of it.

You would ride him some nights, in his fancies, rolling your hips against his hard and fast and eager while he held on to your waist, sometimes guiding, sometimes holding on, merely holding on, needing something to cling to to steady him lest he lost himself entirely to his desire.

Tonight, he rode you. As he does most every time. As much as he loves the thought of you claiming him for your own, nothing brings him greater pleasure than the prospect of just bearing down on you, taking you as he will, hard and fast and eager, and having you at his beck and mercy.

Eren moans, soft and breathless, as his unoccupied hand comes up to tease his nipples, pinching and pulling one and then the other until they stand hard and stiff on his chest. His back arches a little, and his eyes, already half-lidded, close entirely. He likes to shut his eyes, likes to keep his world of sin dark. For in the dark, his hands are yours.

You run soft tantalizing fingers over his nipples for a moment more, circling, rubbing over the fleshy nubs, before lightly scratching down the ridges of his abdomen. His breath hitches and his stomach tightens at the touch, getting tighter still as your hand slips down to the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock, sliding down further until you are cupping his balls in your palm and gently rolling them in your hand.

A louder, strangled moan breaks the silence in the chamber; your questing fingers have stolen behind his testicles and pressed firmly on that spot, that stretch of skin there that gives him such pleasure. His hips rut up into his fist, and he feels himself get wetter as his cock leaks further arousal over his steadily tightening grip.

Some nights, you would leave a trail of kisses up his body, running lips and tongue and teeth across his skin until you could capture his mouth with yours and let him taste the sweetness of your tongue. The tongue he would have tasted had duty, that poxy bitch, not called him away.

A hint of displeasure bleeds through his ecstasy. His hands can do much and more in the way of sensual satisfaction but they can only do so much. The rough pads of fingertips and the scratch of fingernails are poor stand-ins for the soft wet heat of a pair of luscious lips. But they are all he has, so he has to make do.

In his mind’s eye, he can see you hovering over him, smiling that gloriously sultry smile that he has only ever seen of late. Amid the comforts of home and away from the stifling court, the passionate young woman seems to bloom. Your hair drapes over you as you bend ever closer to his face, lending your congress further intimacy.

This brief scene is not as satisfying as it could have been, however. He cannot smell your hair, your scent, your body. The token you had given him the day of the Warrior’s Tourney would have helped compound his illusions. He keeps the piece of cloth in a clean box, away from anything that might adulterate your scent. It is, unfortunately, locked away in his chest of belongings. He had not needed to use it ‘til this morning, would that he had it now to enhance his dream…

Your perfume of apples and winter roses is still deeply entrenched in the cloth, along with your scent, a scent far sweeter and more intoxicating than any fruit or flower. He would have drowned in it as you lowered your face to his and kissed him. For a moment, he is tempted to get up and fetch your favor, make all of this a thousand times better, but his hand is locked into place, he cannot get up even if he wants to. And does he want to?

So, again and as always, he has to make do.

It is not your favor that drives him closer to bliss. Suddenly, he can smell your drying sheet, and the memory of the sensation hits him hard as a charging bull. His mouth is moving against yours, yet the taste of air is the only thing he knows. But he can smell your hair, your scent, your body, the essence of you you had left behind on your linen, stronger and more intense than it is on your favor.

He is bearing down on you all at once, back in the sanctum, back in the dream of the night. It is easier to imagine how you’d look now, with all the glimpses he’d had the past couple of days. Your breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts while he ruts into you madly, hands tight around your lush hips as he presses you down against the ground for better leverage. You are gasping for breath, fingers twisted in the white of his podonza, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

His hand picks up pace around his cock, his thumb rubbing over his dribbling slit, once, twice; his fist is slathered with his arousal, making him slip easily through his steadily tightening grip. The wet slaps of flesh on flesh are all the sound in the room, interspersed with his pants and pleasured groans.

White-hot embers begin to flare up in the base of his stomach, but he is not there yet, still he wants more, wants to further play with this pretty spectre he has conjured and bring you to your own peak…

He bends down and takes a nipple between his lips, suckling hard, flicking his tongue over and around the nub so he can further draw out your moans. You oblige him so eagerly, your back curving into a beautiful arc. The most sinful moan sanctifies these sacred grounds; never has he heard a sound so divine. Your hands come up to run through his hair as he moves to worship the other breast, pressing him close, closer, as close as you can to your yearning flesh.

His hands slide down, from your waist to your thighs. Your skin slips beneath his fingertips, the softest, finest silk he has ever felt, until he is hooking his arms beneath your knees and rearing up between your legs, lifting you a little so you can take him better as he starts pounding harder, faster, hips slamming into yours with wild, frenzied strokes.

Loud cries and whines take the place of your moans, blending in perfect accord with his groans and grunts and the wet slaps of flesh on flesh. Wind sweeps through the sanctum, proof of the gods’ favor, but he cannot feel the gentle cooling touch on his skin. It is so hot, he is burning, burning, and he is glad to burn, fire has never felt this good…

His hips are twitching, wanting more than his hand, wanting more than the tightness it can give him, wanting more than his own wetness. He wants to thrust into the real you and not this spectre, feel how tight you truly are and how wet, have the truth of that pleasure that is so acclaimed of his friends and that he can never get from any other because they will never be good enough, never enough.

Eren tightens and loosens his grip around his cock as he pumps himself faster, an attempt to mimic the sensations of a woman’s cunt at her peak, that most maddening, pleasurable sensation that they spoke of, of your tight, wet, and warm walls massaging his shaft as it strove to bring him to complete and utter euphoria.

His cock throbs; close, he is so close, his hips are moving erratically, so out of his control as he thrusts into his jerking fist, panting and moaning and chanting out your name, the most lustful hymn, the most sinful of prayers.

You are a crumbling mess beneath him, clawing at his chest, crying out and sobbing from the strength of your pleasure, your body near folded in half while he continues his rut, grinding, slamming his cock into your sweet, wet cunt. Your ankles are now draped over his shoulders, toes curling as your peak comes barreling closer, ever closer. You chant your own hymn and call out for him desperately, “Eren, Eren, Eren,” begging, pleading for your climax, let me come, please, please, please…

Hot, sticky spend coats his hand and splatters all over his chest and stomach as he reaches his pleasure with a loud cry, almost screaming his ecstasy into the silent chambers. His back arches, fire lancing up his spine and white heat engulfing him, and for a thousand years, he stays there, drowning in the fount of rapture that is his lady.

Seed still leaks from his swollen tip as he comes to bit by bit. His hips continue to thrust until pleasure becomes too much like pain and his movements slow to a stop. Eren releases his softening cock, letting out a satisfied huff of air. His torso is slick with sweat and spattered with spend but the familiar haze of sated pleasure is stealing over him, leaving him heavy-limbed upon his bed, too sleepy to clean himself off.

His seed will look better dripping down your cunt, he thinks, running a finger absently through a milk-white puddle pooled in the creases of his muscled abdomen. It will be proof of his presence, that he had been in you, had taken you in all the ways you could be taken. He will be secure in the knowledge that you are his in every sense. And he will not need to clean himself up. Stones weigh down his eyelids.

The man glares at him from the dark, eyes wide and gray and glassy. And filled with terrible anger. Eren jolts awake, heart hammering. He stares up at the bed’s dark canopy, suddenly averse to turning his head and looking round the room, dreading the sight of glass eyes staring back at him from the dark.

Contempt for his fear rises in him several heartbeats later. He is the Knight of Highridge, blood of Godfrey the Loyal and the Falcon Knights, a Falcon Knight himself, ghosts have no hold over the likes of him.

He turns his head almost defiantly, daring them to haunt him in his waking hours. They do not dare. Not today. It is lighter now than it had been before, and the muted illumination reveals nothing and no one. No vengeful man, no mournful boy, no accusing gray eyes. He is alone. As he should be.

Sleep has well and truly deserted him. He had as well get up. Perhaps you will be awake by now. The Alyfeis is today, he remembers with a happy jolt. The prospect of enjoying the day’s revels makes him shoot up from bed. He grimaces at the dirty, sticky feeling of dried seed on his skin and resolves at once to wash.

With his revulsion comes some amusement, though. Once, he would have been mortified facing you after what he’d just done. He had fucked himself to you so many times, shame is beyond him at this point. Now you know, beyond all doubt. And seem to love the idea. That is the best thing by far.

Eren stands from the bed and glances down at the emerald sheets. He will not need to launder them himself this time, he notes, pleased. That is the only thing that gives him some measure of embarrassment for his deeds. There is something so discomforting about servants being privy to his desires; it does not bother him overmuch nowadays, yet having control over who he welcomes into that part of his life gives him ease.

He pads naked toward the pillars and pulls back the drapes. Gray is leaching out of the world, leaving only color. Duns and browns and whites and reds. Blues and greens. That most of all. He breathes in the salt morning air, feeling the brief horror of the dawn vanish like the mists of morn. The day is promising to be a good one. Perhaps it can lead into the night. With any luck, he will dream of you again.

To dream of you every night will be sweet. Desire is always better than the dead, after all.

Dearest Miks,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am doing all right, thank you for asking. It is so strange to see the palace this empty and the court nonexistent, the place is so much larger without people in it.

It’s boring without all of you in here. I thought being a Guardsman would be a lot more exciting than this but all we do is stand by doors and stare down corridors. It is an honorable post, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t expect the slow times to be so… slow. At least Bertolt is with me, having a friendly face around makes it better. I’ve never truly appreciated the chap until now, I’m glad to have him as a sworn brother.

Speaking of brothers, I can’t believe I can call Sir Levi and Sir Erwin that. I still feel like a squire around them half the time… maybe because I’m the youngest of the bunch. Can’t say I like the feeling. I’ll work hard to show everyone I earned this, I’ll be a proper Guardsman in time, they’ll see!

I miss you and Karanes. Even Martin, even though he is a little snot. I’ll make a fine knight of him, between the two of us House Springer will rise to the skies!

Training is deadly dull without you here. Is it the same for you there without your trusty and ever-loyal Connie? Best keep your skills sharp, you’ll need it when next we cross swords. This’ll be the year I will finally throw you down, mark my words.

I hope you get this before the Alyfeis. I hope the Alyfeis here is as fun as it is back there. Thank the gods we’re allowed some fun. Just have to endure a couple of hours of guard duty and I’ll be free to frolic. I would say don’t frolic too hard without me but I know who I’m talking to, I’ll have no fear of that. I don’t think you can say the same for me, though, you know how Sasha is. Bless her.

Please write me. The occasional friendly word would do wonders. Really looking forward to the winter reconvene and seeing everyone’s mugs again.

All the best,

Connie

The letter had come as quite a surprise. A pleasant one, at that. Connie Springer, lowbrow, practically unlettered Connie Springer, is writing her. Mikasa places the missive on her desk, smiling to herself. It must be drearier in Midford during the reprieve than first she’d thought. The plaintive note to his last paragraph tugs at her heart. Is it truly that bad? She reaches for a fresh sheet of parchment and her quill.

A soft tap sounds on the wall beside the entrance to her bedchamber. “Come,” she calls out, lowering her hand.

Louise Ledovskoya brushes back the dark blue velvet curtains that serve as the room’s doors and steps in. She bows her blonde head. “My lady. I am come to dress you for the rite.”

“Of course.” Is it that time already? Mikasa turns her head about to glance down the mullioned window behind her. It would seem so. Cityfolk swarm the streets of the capital below, headed in the same general direction, toward the temple of the Gardener. From the vantage of her tower bedroom, the lively masses are no more than ants trooping back into their hill, come home after a day’s work done in the fields. There is no work to be had for the day, though, and the human swarm is off to worship and make merry; home is far from anyone’s mind.

Not from Connie’s, however. The scrap of parchment lying on her desk seems a dejected thing, and Mikasa feels the weight of it on her back as she leaves her bedroom for the bath. She feels a twinge of guilt. She must needs answer at the best opportunity. Tonight, after the festivities. First, she must give the gods their due.

Her new handmaid is a chipper thing, and chatty, quite unlike the lass before. The Neven girl had been passable as handmaids went, and served her well and ably for three years. She would have served for longer were it not for her light fingers. A chambermaid had caught her filching Mikasa’s jewels earlier in the year, and so she was dismissed, sent home in utter disgrace. Mikasa has never been a flashy girl, and could care little and less for the lost jewels, but thievery is thievery and should be punished in due course. It is the principle of the thing.

“Finished, my lady.” The new girl - Louise - steps back as she finishes the intricate task of clipping Mikasa’s veil to the back of her head. She glances at her reflection. A proper little lady gowned in copper and salmon stares back at her. The future Lady Ackerman, Lady of Karanes. The Shieldmaiden is nowhere in sight.

She stands from the vanity and straightens the sheer silk of the split sleeves that trail down her gown from the elbows. “Let’s go.” She does not deign to grace the painted stranger in the mirror another glance.

This year’s Alyfeis is already proving to be quite extraordinary. Lord Ludwig Ledovskoy is standing beside her lord father on the pulpit of the temple balcony, quite unmindful of the pointed stares and whispers coming from the floor below as the commons gossip amidst the ongoing rite. The more politically savvy ones have heard of the Lord of Ajdoje’s visit and know what that entails.

The scent of burning produce drifts up to the Ackermans on the gallery, where they always observe the rite, the better to have some privacy. Still the commons whisper even as the Bailiff’s voice echoes throughout the building to consecrate the year’s sacrifice and plead with the gods for another year of great bounty. Lord Lukas merely stares at the proceedings, seeming far away. Lord Ludwig is as stern and tight-lipped as he usually is.

Only Mother seems to disapprove of the buzzing impropriety. It is a comically ironic thing that a foreigner would find more offense in the blatant irreverence breaking out within these holy grounds. Especially considering she shouldn’t give a fig about a faith not her own. But so it is with the Lady Otsune, Azumabito as was, Ackerman now. And she has been for twenty-odd years; a developed attachment for the mores of her new home is only to be expected.

Mikasa wonders how they celebrate the harvest in Hizuru. Perhaps it is a festival of great beauty, like the Feast of Flowers. Her parents took a brief tour of Hizuru a year after she entered court, and they had brought her along. They had gone in the spring, in time for the feast. It was the most magical feast she had ever attended. She never knew that flowers could be so… beautiful.

They never seem to be, at home. They make a riot of color, true enough, reds and whites and yellows, purples and blues, endless, endless pink. Yet it was only in her mother’s motherland that she had ever truly appreciated them. Lovayan cherry trees are not half so enchanting as the ones in Hizuru. They had sat beneath them on blankets, eating local delicacies and drinking local vintages. All the while the petals fell, those pale pink snowflakes that were never cold to the touch. Around them, the Hizurites would whisper, only whisper, all reluctant to break the spell of the moment with noise and volume.

The whispers here sound a deal less reverent. Those and stares follow them to the Bulwark. Mikasa trots astride her piebald palfrey Mitsu, keeping pace with her mother’s litter as their small party navigates Middelfoort’s busy cobbled streets. All and sundry stare them out of countenance. The festival commences as it should, with plays and entertainments, music and dancing and laughter and flowers, with the trade and display of the best of the harvest.

But alongside the beets and carrots and peaches and pears comes a different sort of crop. The best of the gossip is on sale as well, prompted by the highborn passing. Everywhere they turn, only one thing seems to be in everyone’s minds. Mikasa wonders if they would have attracted half the attention they are getting now without their honored guest tipping the scales, as it is.

There he sits atop one of the biggest destriers she has yet seen, a massive dark bay beast with powerful flanks, conversing with her father with no more care for the eyes around him as he would a fly buzzing about his ear. His standard flies before him carried by a bearer, a teal banner with the red fess of his House. The Ackerman pennant is not to be outdone beside his. There it flies in the hands of another bearer, the three longswords of Ackerman crossed upon its blue field, the proud and ancient sigil of a proud and ancient House.

‘Swords, swords, swords,’ Mikasa seems to hear everywhere, at every turn and corner, until it begins to sound like a call to arms, a demand for Lord Ackerman to call the banners and ride to northern aid. Middelfoorters are hardly the most war-like of people; the whispers sound more conspiratorial than anything, curious, even excited at the thought of what these northmen could want, if Lord Ackerman will raise swords.

This is why Ledovskoy is here, she knows. To tell Father of the Ajdine clamor and their discontent with how the Zhelevic were treated. These northmen seem an intimate bunch. Wrong one and you wrong all. In many ways, there is something admirable in that. Many will call it prickly, though. And it is one of the many reasons the rest of the realm takes issue with the North.

The crowd that tailed them from the temple has grown larger and is growing larger still as they near the Bulwark. These will settle on the bridge and one of the courtyards of the castle to prepare for the harvest feast and further sell their produce. Many and more will wait for the autumn audience, to be held later in the afternoon. Here they will offer Lord Lukas the pick of their crops and perhaps bring forth a petition to be settled. The evening is reserved for the harvest feast, one in the castle for the highborn and their household, the other for the commons down in the courtyard.

Father is having little joy of this year’s festival. He had spent the entirety of the audience only half in attendance, absently dispensing his judgements as he pondered other, more pressing matters.

Now, Mikasa sits quietly listening in as Lord Ludwig apprises Father of the building malcontent of his commons, reassuring his liege that he is doing all he can to stem their mutinous flow.

Some assistance will not be unwelcome, says the Ledovskoy lord, him with his hard, lined face with the square, clean-shaved jaw and his long blond hair, which he has tied back behind his head with a red ribbon. The eyes that lock onto her father’s are a muted hazel, green with a faint brown ring about his pupils. Lord Ludwig is handsome, for an older man. And bears a strong resemblance to his daughter, Mikasa’s new handmaid.

This homegrown northern matter seems to be a good deal more pressing than first she’d thought. Both men had vanished during the entertainments, leaving the rest of the household spare and idle. Which worried Mother, Mikasa senses, as she comes over much later to bid her good night and seek her blessing. This further feeds Mikasa’s own foreboding as she makes her way to Father’s solar for his blessing.

He is standing in front of the tall window, hands clasped behind his back as he looks down upon his still rejoicing city. Lord Ludwig is nowhere in sight. Father does not turn around when she announces herself and enters. For a long moment, there is silence, broken only by the soft snaps of the fire in the stone hearth to her left. Above, the glass and iron chandelier shines its balmy orange light over the chamber, lending a certain warm homeliness to the space.

Several more heartbeats pass until at last, he sighs and strides over to his desk, which is standing beside the mullioned panes in front of a shelf of books and knickknacks. The blue and gray carpet underfoot muffles his steps.

A sheepskin map is rolled open on the surface of the table, its corners weighed down by books. A map of Karanes, Mikasa sees, as she strides nearer. There are no markers, no marks upon the painted hide. She wonders what it is that Father is looking for, what he is noting.

“Well, it was only a matter of time. I can’t say I’m surprised, you know what they’re like.” He leans down on the desk, hands spread out on the map. The first two fingers of his right hand lay pointing at the Lord of Ajdoje’s stronghold, up in northern Karanes.

“Northmen are northmen.” She walks to the lounge situated in front of a wall of books to the right of the desk and sits down.

“More’s the pity. Oh, to be a pure Midlander as we were of old… What even are we Karanesi now? Midlander or northmen? We’re not quite one, not quite the other. And both so different from one another. It’s a wonder any man could herd this lot for all this time.”

“Our family has always been able,” Mikasa says, quite awkwardly, not knowing how to address her father’s laments. It is something she is little versed in, to her chagrin. She is little versed in dealing with people generally, a fact which gives her no small amount of anxiety. Especially considering the station to which the gods saw fit to call her.

“If only our family weren’t so… able.” Karanes is the only one of the States spanning two fronts, the Midlands and the North. The Ackermans of old, however, had settled further south than where their descendants now rule, in present-day Neustadt ruled by the Vukasins. Some Reiss king rewrote the Lovayan map and placed his Ackerman lord in the middle of the State as a buffer, a serjeant best suited to handle the insurgent northmen whenever they rose up (which they did often and well even to this day).

The Ackermans have ever been a martial family, producing warrior king after warrior king throughout the millennia until the Titans came and beat them down to vassalship, as they did all the other kings and queens in fair Lovaya. Who better to be a bulwark against the wild than one with warrior’s blood himself?

It is a suit of armor her father is never comfortable wearing. He is an oddity, as far as Ackermans go, more scholarly than warlike, happier with a book in hand than with a sword. This had caused no end of strife between him and his lord father, Klaus Ackerman, who slapped the Vukasins and their dogs down to heel during the War Within decades ago. Lord Klaus’s death had freed Father of his father’s scorn. And he has never been happier.

As happy as duty can make him, to be sure. But Mikasa knows he would rather have the pain of duty than the pain of a father’s derision. Lord Lukas sighs, world-weary. “We hear the same clamors as the rest of the North. It’s not just Ledovskoy. Neven and Brzenska are reporting malcontent as well, at this point, it’s only a matter of time before I hear from Zackly and Zacharius.”

Another sigh, and suddenly, he has aged a decade, as though that last breath of air was his very vitality itself. Father sits down heavily upon his chair, with little grace. He stares hollow-eyed at the map before murmuring, “Ledovskoy is more an Ackerman than I. Hard, stern, dependable, martial. It’s no wonder he speaks for our North. He’s what people want me to be. People think he is me. That’s why I avoid standing next to the man at gatherings, if I can help it, they all think him the Ackerman.” An easy enough mistake to make, in hindsight. Both men are fair as the sun, and the current Lord Ackerman is famously gold as opposed to the ravens their House tends to be.

Lukas Ackerman turns to his daughter at length and smiles, tired yet affectionate. “You’re what people expect of this House, a true warrior and fierce. Perhaps they’ll have more joy of you than they ever had of me someday.”

“But I never wanted any of that.”

That gives her father pause. And brings remorse and pity, that most wretched of sentiments, out into the light. She almost regrets saying anything then.

“You cannot know how sorry I am that this was thrust upon you,” Father says softly. “But it pleased the gods to bring your brother back into their graces and so we have no choice. If I could spare you the chains of commanding, I would. The best I can do for you, ultimately, is to ease the way and prepare you for your calling.”

And what a calling it is. She will forever hate the wild salt sea for forcing it on her and robbing her of a brother and a simpler life.

“Ah, you did not come here to hear a lord’s burdens. Come, let me bless you and bid you good night. May your dreams be more pleasant than mine tonight.” She stands from the lounge, receives her blessing, and goes with her own good night, imparting a gentle kiss on the stubbly cheek and hoping that will give him ease.

She has so much to tell Connie. As he does her, she can see it now. She imagines a thick scroll of parchment tied to the leg of a floundering dove as it flaps frantically outside her window, desperate to enter and snatch rest. The thought makes her snort. The boy would be lonely indeed if he ever writes anything longer than a foot.

It suddenly occurs to her much later, as she settles into bed warm and snug and content, that she had barely thought of Eren today. And it feels… good.

A great rousing cheer answers your father’s foreword, and with that, the festivities proceed apace.

You gaze down at the hundreds gathered below Goldhaven’s presence balcony, smiling your courtly smile and feeling inordinately pleased that you were not asked to give the speech this year. You are equal to the task and will do so if prompted, yet the desire to remain free of the duty of addressing the public is strong in you. You can address all the courts in the world if you have to. When your time comes. And the gods only know how many speeches there are in your inevitable future. What’s one less speech to that endless repertoire?

Lord Alexander turns to you with a smile. “Off to the Great Sanctum-”

“I’d like to show Eren around for a while before we head there. If it please you,” you say hurriedly, hoping against hope for leave.

Bemusement dances across Father’s face before he smiles once more, ever accommodating. “It pleases me to grant you leave. Before sundown, the hour of the dove. You have until then for your frolics.”

You beam and stand on your toes to kiss his bearded cheek. You turn to Eren behind you, still shining. “Get dressed.”

“I’m already dressed,” he points out, perplexed.

“Not in plain clothes, you aren’t. You can’t explore the city in cloth-of-gold. You’ll blind everyone,” you tut, grabbing his arm and marching him off to get changed at once. Pretty as he is in your House colors, he can hardly run about the streets with a podonza threatening to slip down his shoulder half the time. Which is a-wasting.

His orange tunic with its brown trim and belt is markedly less blinding. And brings out the green in his eyes so beautifully. You yourself have changed out of your teal and gold sleeveless vevda for another simpler one, a white knee-length garment paired with a pale blue floor-length underskirt trimmed with meanders in white thread along the hemline. A thin pale blue cord ties the whole thing into place about your waist. Nice and simple. Its only concession to frills is the pair of gold chains looping above your left arm, which is left bare; your right arm is encased in a long sleeve that is fastened from your upper arm with gold buttons.

You lead him through the castle gates and into the bustling streets, both now suitably dressed, joining the throng of servants and soldiers on leave as they pour through the walls to partake of the revels. “No guards?” Eren asks, glancing around for an armored tail, only to find none.

“I have a pact with Father. I avoid the docks and the seedier areas of the city, the guard stays well away from me. Not too far that he’ll be unable to come to my aid if need be. He’ll be keeping a close, and unobtrusive, eye on us. From afar.” You draw your white lesos over your head to keep off the worst of the midday sun.

“What brought this pact on?” Bareheaded Eren quirks an eyebrow at you as you enter one of the city squares. Dmitriy Rhyzkov sits proud and fierce astride his rearing stallion in the middle of the plaza, his noble likeness forever captured in stone atop a tall granite pedestal. The crowd grows thick as you lead Eren on.

His query makes you grin. “Father had a long talk with me after I slipped my guard one too many times. I just couldn’t stand having a solemn bore breathing down my neck as I explored my city.”

“What if you did get into trouble? They can be hindrances but they’re useful to keep around.”

Says one who also ran away from his hindrances the first chance he got. “We don’t have tails in Belris.” At last, you spot your destination. You pull him along, weaving nimbly between festive folk headed in the other direction, one of whom drapes a crown of flowers over Eren’s head before prancing away. You laugh at his startled expression.

“We don’t have tails because the Golden District is safe as can be. Belrish dregs live by the walls,” Eren says, once his surprise had passed into the void. He reaches up to pluck at the crown, seeming gratified.

Around you the crowds make merry, piping their pipes and fiddling their fiddles, dancing and scattering flowers and petals everywhere. Red and pink and gold gently rain down upon you as you breast the human tide. From the buildings around you, more petals fall from homebound roisterers. You turn your head a little to look back at your betrothed, smiling slightly. “You’ll keep me safe. Won’t you?”

“Always.”

His sudden solemnity makes your smile slowly fade, and you have to look away at length. The heat pricking your cheeks is not from the sun’s harsh rays, you do not think.

The Blue Pearl’s hands are as welcoming as ever, its fare as excellent. Custom is meager owing to the festivities; most everyone is lunching in the Great Sanctum, including your family. But Eren is due his tour of your city and you can think of no better day to start than today. The Pearl is one of your favorite haunts and the staff know you well as a patron. Eren is subjected to a light (yet serious) dressing down by the barkeep, who warns him off of ‘doin’ the ‘lil lady dirty.’ Whose face heats up again at the young knight’s grave denouncement of such conduct.

You leave the tavern well-fed and hankering for something sweet and fresh. You direct your path to the packed produce arcade, feeling more than a tad anxious. Here you will see the fruits, as it is, of your labor. Those weeks spent in constant correspondence with your heads of house, all the organizing, allocating, supervising, negotiating, advising… here it will all culminate at last.

The proof in the autumn pudding.

You are far from disappointed. Every stall and stand and cart display the bounty of Vascalin. Apples, figs, pomegranates, dates and plums and lemons - fruits shine bright as jewels next to bundles and bundles of vegetables: leeks, fennel, radishes, cabbages and artichokes and olives. An excellent haul. The gods have blessed you this year.

And you are not to be held accountable for the failure of the crop. That is the best thing of all. All at once, you can breathe easier again.

“Good haul this year. Well done,” Eren commends, grinning down at you, making you glow at the praise. You glow even more when he proceeds to buy you an apple from one of the stalls. It is only fair you have a taste of the gods’ blessings and relish in their favor, he claims, as he buys you both your sweet. You have one more thing to thank them for tonight. Never had you had an apple so sweet as the one you ate that day.

Things sour for you as you move on, however. The foot traffic, already thick, has grown even thicker near the market square, and so you are forced to take the bypass you had wanted to avoid like the plague. You dash through one of the high-end avenues where some of the most expensive and upscale brothels are located, the area busy but not so packed as the square nearby. You practically fly through the street as though the very hounds of hell are at your heels.

Eren staggers behind you, bewildered, feet tangling over each other as he is dragged along like a leashed pup. Nothing diminishes his comely countenance, apparently, however ungainly a sight he makes at the moment. Half-dressed and undressed whores lean out the windows, calling out for patrons. More than a handful call out to your betrothed, to your extreme annoyance. Flower petals rain down on you from the sluts and their basketfuls of blossoms. You impatiently brush a yellow petal off your lesos and march on doggedly.

“H-hey, can you let up a bit, please?” Eren pants, loping beside you to keep up. His crown of flowers has vanished, torn from his head during your headlong rush. “What’s the rush? It’s barely past the hour of the lynx, we still have another hour…”

You give a vague grunt and keep your silence, just as a whore draped in jeweled chains and nothing else calls down to Eren coquettishly from her trellised balcony. Your stomach lurches unpleasantly, then lurches again with something more buoyant as you pass the fountain that marks the end of the avenue.

“Jealousy truly becomes you, have I told you that lately?”

You refuse to grace him with your attention, misliking the tone of his voice. The look on his face is only fit to be smacked off, you are sure, if you ever deign to look at him now. You jolt, surprised, as his arm wraps around your waist and holds fast, forcing you to look at him. Behind the teasing grin is something more insistent. Honest. “Eyes only on you,” he says simply.

The day is sweet, oh-so-sweet indeed.

In time, you find yourselves exploring the arcades, acquiring yourselves chains of flowers from the stallkeeps in the process. Eren amuses himself by picking at the many garments on display in the fashion arcade, flourishing dresses at you at random. Most of which have sharp vee-shaped necklines.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” you ask, entertained, as Eren brandishes a sleeveless emerald green vevda at you. One with a deeply slashed neckline, of course. “I regret to say I don’t own nearly enough breast-baring dresses for your tastes. That’ll look pretty with a silver belt.”

“It will, won’t it?” Eren beams, then carefully places it back on its display as you walk off. “Pity about your dresses. Charms as lovely as yours aren’t meant to be hidden away.”

You laugh. “Pity the court has such blue noses for all their love of randy chatter. More charm can be a useful thing up there. But court fashions have their own allure. It gives you only enough to tease at the truth and all that. Gives you something to long for, think about.”

“That it does.” His eyes sweep down your body, slow and sensual. You shiver, as though he had caressed you all over with his hands instead of simply looking. “I have much to long for, true enough.”

It is a feat of remarkable ability, you think, that you can stand here still and brave his flames. You are getting better at that as time progresses. Then again, you are a being of heat, after all; who better to brave his flames than you?

The smell of salt wafts pleasantly toward you in the fashion arcade, sited as it is near the docks. The snatches of conversation that leap out at you from the many stallkeeps are glaringly less pleasant. Even this far south, news of the North still haunts you. That it has managed to trickle down here of all places concerns you. Was the clamor getting that bad? You do not want to think about what awaits you all when court reconvenes the next season.

It is an utter relief when you pass through to the next, less gossipy arcade.

The sight of all the handmade crafts - furnishings, figurines, toys - reminds Eren of his niece and the present he owes her as an uncle visiting a place of note. “There’s a qaxan parlor by the docks, did you know? The only one in Arsechkala,” you inform him as he examines a carved wooden dragon overlaid with silver leaf from one of the many stalls. “I could take you there sometime, see how you go up against someone else besides me. Thus will we know your true capability.”

Consistency has entered Eren’s court at last, to your utmost pleasure. His first true win back in Friedfurt wasn’t entirely a fluke, it turned out. Your games after that have been more balanced. At last, Eren is making up his lost ground, steadily winning game after game after game. Your pride knows no bounds.

“I’ll know my true capability when I can go up against Armin at last,” Eren says, as you move on to the last of the line of stalls, leisurely browsing.

“I think that’s too high of a goalpost… A step at a time, yes?” You will not soon forget your games with that golden commander. Any and all wins you can scrape against him are much treasured.

“He hasn’t written back yet, has he? I wonder how his Alyfeis is going. His dull and dreary Alyfeis.”

“It’s only dull because it’s what you’re used to. You’ve experienced it all your life and so the magic of it’s disappeared.” You tramp down the steps of the arcade, emerging into another relatively less packed street. Little stalls are still scattered about the area, those of vendors unable to secure a lease to hawk their wares in the arcade proper.

You stop by a table bearing little wooden figures of the twelve sacred beasts of the Creed. Which in itself is a surprise. The Creed has never been strong here. The small temple of the Gardener in the city had held its quiet celebration earlier, for its handful of Arsechkalan believers. Eren turns to you, fingers wrapped around a figure of a lynx. “Do you find your Alyfeis dull?”

That brings you up short. “Point conceded.” You have never found the harvest feast dull and will never.

The rumble of sound about you seems to grow louder. It is then that you notice how thick the throng is getting. Before you quite know it, a host of people is passing through, as though a sluice gate has been opened to let the tide in. Eren moves to take you aside and away from the carousing crowd.

“Oh!”

Someone knocks into you and then you are stumbling, crashing into something hard and warm, who lets out a yelp of his own as he staggers back into the table behind him, scattering wooden figures everywhere. His arms fly up to wrap around you on instinct, and it is all you know. His strength, his heat, his scent mixed with that of flora. Wide green eyes stare down at you. Beneath your palms and the crushed blossoms, his heart races.

Thump, thump, thump.

Fire and water fill your world, from the flame of his shirt and the sea of his eyes, and for a long while, he is your everything.

A thousand years pass until you can think to look away. A cluster of carvings had landed by your feet. An eagle, a wolf, two serpents twined. The Sun, the Moon, the Lovers.

“M-milady!”

The elderly stallkeep had gotten to his feet, toothless mouth agape, pale blue eyes bulging with shock before he remembers himself and bows. Your lesos has fallen about your shoulders, displaced from your head by the commotion earlier. The stallkeep straightens up from his bow, his long, wrinkled fingers tangling together nervously. “M-milady, such a surprise- ‘s an honor to see you ‘round this parts, and by me shop, too! The honor-”

“It’s my pleasure, goodman. Please pardon us for jostling your stall- here, let me-” You move to step away from Eren’s warmth and pick up the fallen figures. His grip tightens around you, and you think he would not let go, but let go of you he does. You can feel reluctance leech into you. His own or yours, you cannot say.

“Ah, no, milady, can’t possibly let you trouble yourself-”

“It’s fine, we knocked over your wares, it’s the least we can do,” you reassure the man, smiling and putting his worries to ease. Beside you, Eren has set to, helping you scoop up the figurines and carefully placing them back on the table.

The elder bows once more, stammering out his thanks as you place the last carving on the counter, and offers you a gift of his wares, which you swiftly wave away. In the end, he makes you a present of the twined serpents - which you still insist on paying for, a handful of coppers, for his trouble.

Money well spent, you think, admiring the skill and the craftsmanship that you can tell went into the making of this piece. The serpents weave about each other, an endless loop, unbreakable. Eren weaves his fingers through yours, and away you go.

“The hour of the dove,” you state, catching sight of the tall clocktower ahead, with its triple arches spanning the river Goldtide. And so you set your steps toward the Great Sanctum, following the tide at last instead of going against its current.

He has never been, Eren had told you, so you take great pleasure in showing him the greatest pride of the city, one of two marvels of the Old Way. The largest godstone in the realm stands at the heart of its little island in a lagoon not too far off from the coast. You pass through the wardens’ commune, home to the holy isle’s caretakers, through the arched gate and onto the narrow stone bridge that connects the isle to the mainland.

The sea breeze blows strong here. You take a deep breath of the clean salt air, cheerful and content and alive. Overhead, seabirds fly, gulls and sandpipers and terns. Your cheer is mirrored in Eren’s face to mate with his awe. He glances down at you, grinning, and his eyes are the sea surrounding him, blue and green and sparkling. He takes the sea with him, wherever he goes.

“It’s massive,” Eren exclaims once you step foot on the islet at last, craning his neck back to gawk at the godstone and its hundred feet of glory.

“Magnificent,” you beam with pride and no small amount of reverence. The stone god carved into its face is majestic, stern yet kindly, a true king of the gods. Four hundred years' worth of salt air and rains have eaten away at the august face, however, to your and the Old Blood’s dismay. No mage now can keep nature from doing what she will to this sacred effigy. Powerful as they are, not even the gods are a match for that wild sovereign where their earthly forms are concerned. It is now for the caretakers to do all they can for the gods. And that must be enough.

“The most beautiful sanctum,” Eren remarks, glancing about at the rows of trees ringing the island as you break away from the still-long line of worshipers passing through another gate to the foot of the godstone, where mounds upon mounds of produce are heaped. Perhaps they will have offered enough for yet another year of bounty, to judge from the sheer quantity you had glimpsed through the hallowed entrance. You lead Eren on, to the spot in the isle where your family usually gathers. It is custom for you to picnic behind the gigantic godstone in that patch of grass beneath the trees, beside the viewing platform, which is open to the sea.

“You think the Great Sanctum more beautiful than the godsway?” Through the trees, you see a garlanded little boy running, trailed by his father, young and tall and dark, with his hair in its loose knot behind his head, a chain of flowers about his neck. You look after them, heart pounding, but they have melted into the mass, one of many families taking their joy of the festival. You wonder if they are vision or muddled truth.

“Even more beautiful.”

There is nothing muddled about your betrothed’s truth, and you cling to that. He is a vision, yet true and living and tangible. His is the only truth you’ll have.

He seems to hesitate a moment before asking in a quiet voice, almost bashful, “Do they allow weddings in front of this godstone?”

You smile, at the question and at him, this sweetest of boys. “Yes, they do.”

He looks away, out at the great salt sea. The tips of his ears have gone that sweet shade of pink, pink as the blooms of pink princess about his neck. “The sanctum in Midford- I mean, I’m not saying it’s not a good sanctum to wed in but- only if it please you and your family, of course- and the hassle of travel and all that-”

“I think we should say our vows in here.”

His head whips back around, so fast you are astonished he did not crick his neck at all. His eyes are wide for several heartbeats before he smiles, the softest, most tender smile you have yet seen from him. It is then that you are resolved. You must see that smile again, every day of your life. From this day to the end of your days.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

A/N:

Happy belated birthday, Eren! Have some smut in honor of his happy day! (Not the real thing, though, sadly, we'll get there, we'll get there.)

(Now I'm obliged to do a masturbatory scene for YN so, uh, there's that).

The first NSFW scene. And not the last. At last one goal done.

Nerdy info dump 2. Just to help clarify the many, many styles of southron clothing, I'll list them out the best I can:

Chelya - strap dress

Charovma - halter/backless dress

Povevda - tube dress

Vevda - catchall term for southron clothing for both men and women. Everything not mentioned above is a vevda for simplicity's sake (except for the tunic/pants combo). All of this is inspired by Greco-Roman culture (tweaked massively for my own worldbuilding), if you can't tell, and gods, they had A LOT of clothing terms to sift through. I hope I managed to get my descriptions right...

Also, added a slight change to the way I described the Great Sanctum in chap. 3 cause I hadn't really fully envisioned what it looked like til now. Just a couple of sentences for continuity's sake.

Oooh, yeah, happy belated birthday to Jean, too, I guess. (Lol, nah, I love you, too, Horseboy. Not as much as Eren but still. You're great!)

Thank you so much for following! Til next update <3

Tagging: @alekstraszas @lukepattersin @tojis-discord-kitten

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #snk smut #aot smut #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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mamashima · 2 years

Text

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 | EPISODE ONE

synopsis | You’re looking to forget the weight of the world for an evening, and luckily, so is Katsuki.

cw | pwp, strangers to lovers, dom!bakugou, brat!y/n, lil tsundere!y/n, alcohol, exhibitionism, manhandling, choking, daddy!calling, condescension, degradation ‘n praise whiplash. MINORS DNI, this is an 18+ blog.

song | Shameless, The Weeknd

wc | 5.8k

“Under the beautiful moonlight, there remains no ugly reality.”

— Mehmet Murat Ildan

THE BAR SMELLS of whiskey and dirt.

Taking a seat at the stool, you stifle a grimace as the counter sticks to your open palms. Gross. Bars, clubs—any public place that doesn’t require a strict RVSP list—have never been your thing, not alone at least. This one is particularly dingy despite the four-star rating on Yelp. It has low lighting that saturates the room in molasses and stools that look like they should swivel but don’t. Heavy metal rattles the walls and the pool tables, with shouts and the rare clink of pool balls to fill the rare silence.

There are too many people out tonight. The chaos from work buried itself in the marrow of your bones and followed you all the way here, weighing you deep into the seat like you’re made of lead. It’s been a long day, and if you have to sacrifice quality for fast and hard liquor, then so be it.

Tonight, the goal is to get shitfaced and forget this poisoned world ever existed in the first place.

“Thanks,” you mutter. Your hands are on the glass in an instant. After requesting the hardest thing they have, the bartender slides this concoction of whatever the fuck into your lap. Lifting it to your nose, you gently shake the cup, watching the brown-ish liquid whirlpool before quickly recoiling at the strong stench. Perfect.

You take it in one swig. It singes your throat like liquid fire, but then it hits your belly, and your body goes warm. The bartender’s got an eye on you, and when you send her a thumbs up, she slides you another round.

Once the second drink settles, your senses expand to the edges of the room. The scent of cigars radiates off the Suits seated in booths. The stifling cologne of a man a few seats down the bar burns more than the alcohol does, but you learn to ignore it. He’s talking—slurring—to a girl interested enough to give him what he wants, but there’s a look implying she wishes she had something, someone, better to do. Your head curls right to snatch your third glass of the night. In the corner of your eye, you see a group of kids who definitely look under twenty-one but just above eighteen, chugging beers and downing shots like it will get them to heaven. You chuckle when the redhead gags at the putrid taste of Titos and look down at your own cup of hell. He’ll get used to it.

As you’re silently recovering from your third drink, something else floats into the frame. It’s the smell of brown sugar and smoke—enough that you wonder if it’ll char your lungs. Eventually, the burning smell takes the form of a person with a full blond head of hair, and he slides into the chair on your immediate left despite the surplus of open seats. You click your tongue. Great, here we go.

“That seat could be taken, you know,” you say gruffly. It’s hard to hear, and part of you thinks there’s no way he can hear you over this music. Or maybe, it’s hope—he hasn’t said a word to you, after all. The man lifts an thin unamused eyebrow as you take in his expensive business suit. It’s all black, no wrinkles. The fool even takes the time to take his jacket off, fold it, and set it on the chair next to him. And to think you were the one out of place.

“Is it?”

You huff, and it’s enough noise to give him his answer. No, it’s not.

“Then this shit’s mine,” he shrugs, redirecting his attention to the bartender. You toss your eyes at his insolence. “I’ll take what she’s got.”

The woman working the bar snorts, and the exchange is casual enough to make you wonder if he’s a regular. She asks if he’s sure. You see a lick of hesitation.

“Here, try the rest of mine. It’s barely a half shot, anyway,” you insist. These are instigating words, but that’s the point, because men love their egos, and you smell that he’s got a big one. Turning to the bartender, you lift a relaxed hand to get her attention, “Get me another, if you could.”

You don’t hear her response as a great big choke cuts through all the screaming, all the rock music, and all the shuffling, and the world comes to a still. There’s a splash of something lukewarm **on your forearm, and when you turn around, you see the stranger's nice white dress shirt covered in caramel colored liquor, his face skewed like he just ate something sour.

“Moonshine. You’re fuckin’ insane.”

You break out in a series of giggles, patting his back as he dabs at his cheeks with a napkin. His shirt is absolutely ruined, doused in splotches of brown, dying some parts more than others. He reeks of alcohol. Just absolutely radiates it.

“So that's what I’m drinking,” you chuckle, looking down at your cup. You swirl what’s left in your cup, containing a small film of what’s probably just his backwash. He swats your comforting hand away, and you recoil like a rejected cat. “No wonder it burns so much.”

When the stranger doesn’t say anything, you look up. You didn’t have time to predict a reaction but figured you’d be at the receiving end of a long string of curses at least. Silence feels so much worse **than expected, **but that’s what you you’re met with, along with a set of carmine eyes that you can’t quite read. He looks down at his newly cow-pattered outfit before popping the ruined cuffs, rolling the sleeves. At first, you think he’s about to throw a bitch fit, or swing, but instead, he simply holds out a hand.

“Katsuki Bakugou.”

You take it, and his palms engulf your own. Something tells you this night is gonna get a whole lot more interesting.

“Y/N.”

“What’s your middle name, Katsuki Bakugou?”

“Will you stop sayin’ my full fuckin’ government,” he growls. Despite the humidity, his hands remain tucked tight into his pockets with the jacket slung over his forearm. The Washington monuments glow when the sun sleeps, bathing you both in a soft gold against the cool silver moon. “’Nd I don’t got one, so.��

“What?” You choke, walking the line of Lincoln’s Reflecting Pool with your arms held out in a T. It’s an unsteady surface and liquor only makes your feet unsteadier, but you manage. You’d rely on his watchful eye, but his pace is just as crooked as yours. “That’s so sad.”

“I’m Japanese. We don’t have middle names, you uncultured swine.”

You bite back, glaring holes in his left temple, “You’re uncultured.”

Katsuki snorts. Rolling his eyes, he jumps a few steps ahead, and you notice he skips all the cracks like a kid. Fucking weirdo.

In your observational bliss, your foot misses the ledge. Dirty water soaks the tip of your shoe, but Katsuki catches your flailing hand before you can do any further damage. He reels you in tight, sending all your weight straight into his chest with a heavy grunt. He stumbles a little but still breaks your fall as your cheek gets smushed into his gut haphazardly. Your first thought: he’s really warm.

Katsuki doesn’t let go. It feels like, in his drunken mind, if he releases, you’ll instantly plummet to your death…but you don’t ask him, either. His hands are hot, borders on clammy. Part of you knows you’d think it’s gross if there wasn’t alcohol in your veins, but instead, you melt. The moon’s glimmer holds you two together like glue, a silver-shaded beam of hypnosis that makes you trip on your thoughts more than you would off the alcohol.

Katsuki’s the first to break out of the spell.

“You good?” He asks, clearing his throat. Once you’re finally standing straight enough to balance on your own two feet, you nod, missing the warmth the second he pulls away.

“Chilling. You good?”

It’s a deflection, but Katsuki grins anyway, sharp canines flashing in the monument light.

“Never been better.”

A hot summer breeze caresses your face and tickles the trees, just enough to hide the burn of the discomfiting heat spreading across your nose. Your eyes float to his feet, where his nice suit jacket lays in a black heap on the dirty ground. “You dropped your jacket.”

He’s been carrying it all night, and yet, he doesn’t notice his favorite thing is lying in a pile of filth until you point it out. Katsuki clicks his tongue, curses under his breath. Bending down, he plucks it up with a delicate finger, skillfully avoiding the parts that touch the ground in the process. With a grimace, he chucks it over his shoulder and onto his already dirtied shirt.

“Guess I’ll let it slide,” he grumbles, like dropping his suit jacket is an offense that warrants death. He takes a few steps towards the Lincoln Memorial. You walk in his shadow, eyes straining as they adjust to the monument's sudden light. Katsuki hangs between pillars before finally stepping inside, neck-craning to look at the entirety of the statue with Lincoln's white marble eyes staring back at him.

“It’s huge,” you gasp. You’ve been in DC for barely a year, and all the flying your job requires doesn’t give you much time to explore your own city. Sure, you’ve seen the memorial on a five-dollar bill, through photos and videos, but seeing it is a different ball game.

“80 feet,” Katsuki says, and your eyes bulge before they sink back into their sockets. Once the shock subsides, you snort.

“Nerd.”

Gravity snatches the blond’s jaw. Narrowing his eyes your way, Katsuki knocks you in the shoulder with his own. “It’s a popular fuckin’ fact, ‘m not a—”

“Nerd? You are, but it’s okay.”

Katsuki’s mouth gapes like a fish while he looks for the right words but can’t quite find them, before finally giving up in a huff. He swats your growing grin away.

“You’re fuckin’ annoying.”

“I’m fucking right,” you edit, tucking your hands behind your back while spinning into his line of sight. “But if ‘annoying’ is a synonym for ‘right,’ then I guess you’re onto something.”

He rolls his eyes, but they’re not quite trained on you, instead focused on the space between your crown and Lincoln’s great big knee. Katsuki’s fighting a smile, the tips of his lips twitching but never failing. He strong-faces it, leaning over to say, “Bad joke.”

“Damn,” you click your tongue and deflate for show. “Tough crowd.”

The room swells with silence. Katsuki clears his throat, sniffs, scratches the back of his neck. You’re determined to burn him with your irises alone, staring him down until he garners the reaction you expect. Fucking nothing.

And finally, he breaks.

It starts as a snort. But a simple exhale of the chest cavity quickly spins into baritone howls. His laugh bounces off the polished walls until you’re bathed in an ethereal melody, the sweet song of him swimming under your arms and curling around your ears. Katsuki keels over and has to place his hands on his knees for support. You find yourself smiling along with him before you can stop, and it’s stupid, really.

The intention you set before the night began quickly becomes a burden—that whatever happens tonight, stays in tonight.

“That’s what makes you laugh? Weirdo.”

“I—” Katsuki pushes himself upright, chest ballooning with an inhale before he can finish. “Fuck you. You’re the weird one, drinkin’ Moonshine alone at a shitty bar in that.”

You look down at your outfit and pout. With outstretched arms, you spin to show it off your pretty dress, saying, “What’s wrong with my fit? I happen to think I look great, thank you very much.”

“Mmm...” Katsuki mutters and takes a step forwards. You let him close the distance. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

“That...I think I look good?” You snort, lifting yourself higher the closer he gets. Your aura feels like it's collapsing in on itself even though he looks just over six feet, but something about his conviction makes you want to shrink in retaliation. Your brain rebels. You won’t.

“That you look good,” he growls, and you can’t tell if the rising goosebumps are from the cool pillar against the small of your back or the drop in his voice, but you suddenly realize you’ve been put in a position you can’t get out of. One you don’t want to get out of. “Y’see a pretty girl chugging whiskey at a bar, and strangers might get curious.”

“Strangers like you?” You quip, tilting your head just enough for it to remain sublte. Katsuki huffs. You press a hand to his chest. “I know when a stranger isn’t worth my time, trust me.”

Katsuki lifts a blond, practically invisible eyebrow, and his heady gaze infused with a hint of vanity. His head gently recoils in light amusement, “And ‘m worth your time.”

You nod, and he presses forward, “How?”

You sit and think. The night replays over the backs of your eyelids like a film on a reel, and with a click of your tongue, you start. “You treat your jacket like it’s a baby, y—”

“Wha—I don’t fucki—”

“Let me finish,” you interject, and his shoulders drop with a meek fine. “One, yes you do. You folded it and put it on a chair.”

“Where was I supposed to put it?” He grunts, eyeing the dirtied thing on his shoulder. You trace the straight line, and your finger impulsively flicks it until it drops to the floor with a depressing splat. Katsuki watches it all the way down, foxy eyes widening till their round in shock. His head whips to you.

“You did not.”

“I did,” you say, watching his movements carefully. His entire body tenses under your fingertips. “And you’re going to leave it there.”

“No ‘m not!”

Katsuki practically squeals. Throws a tantrum. But you bring him back down, catching him by his collar before his nails can skim the seams and pull him close. Not too close, but just until that you can feel his breath against your top lip. Your grip on his nice shirt stays strong enough to wrinkle in the long run, but there’s no way he cares, not with the way he’s looking at you. His hands find your hips with innate ability and soon, he’s fitted against you like a puzzle piece against a pillar on the Lincoln Monument.

“Yes, you are.”

“The dartboard,” Katsuki grunts. His cheeks are dusted pink, and he slams his empty glass on the bar counter. The poor thing has suffered round after round after round of abuse from the both of you, and impressively, the delicate cups haven’t bruised a bit.

“...The dartboard,” you nod, following along, albeit slowly. The liquor makes your tongue move slower than you’d like, but you get your point across, eyes narrowing at the circular thing like Katsuki Bakugou’s your new best friend and the board just pissed him off.

“I want it.” He says, and you hum in confirmation. Somehow, you’re the first to push away from the counter and stumble towards the thing, knocking into plenty of chairs on your trip over.

“Merry Christmas!” You point at it. Katsuki vehemently disagrees.

“It’s April, dammit!”

“Christmas in April!” You decide with a clap, and suddenly you’re handing Katsuki a dart. You’ve...moved spots, but to get the projectile you would’ve had to move, and then move again, and again, an—this is...oh, you need to sit down.

It’s like God kicked Mother Earth in the ass, and suddenly, she’s spinning much faster than you need her to. You swear you’re moving quickly but the world moves so slow, it’s hard to tell. Figuring out how to sit in a normal chair proves much harder than you remember.

“Good god, you’re fucked,” Katsuki snorts, followed by a school-boyish giggle that implies he’s not too far behind. You shoo him away, relaxing as much as you can on a pile of wood and placing your arms on the cool table because yes, it helps.

“Go, go,” you dismiss with a weak wave. The blond just weighs the dart in his hand, and for a split second, you think: sharp object, drunk guy, bad idea. But it’s a fleeting thought, and soon you're cheering him on as much as you can manage (not much). Katsuki licks his flushed lips before his arm reels with the dart in hand. You watch his back flex before it disappears under the bunched material of his shirt. Another fleeting thought. His arm rockets forward and his hand flicks, and the dart sticks in the center of the board with a thwap. His accuracy warrants a round of applause, so you give it such.

“If you ever become a superhero, please go by Dart Boy.”

Katsuki’s upper half turns around, unimpressed. He rolls his eyes, muttering, “’Course that’s what she fuckin’ gets from my talent.”

“Your talent, o-ho-ho my bad,” you snort, lifting both hands in the air. Katsuki stomps over to pick up another dart, huffing all the way back to you. “I didn’t know I was talking to Dart Boy! Can I get an autograph?”

“Y’know, if you weren’t so cute, I’d knock your teeth out,” Katsuki grunts, pulling up a chair. He drops a new dart on the table. “Try it.”

“Threatening to beat a woman? Wow,” you shoot him a look, snatching the dart off the table. You knock over your chair in the process of getting up, but you concur it’s whatever. You leave it.

“I—you know that wasn’t what I fuckin’ meant.” He tries, but you wave him off. He’s background noise now.

“No, no, I know the type of person you are, Katsuki Bakugou,” you shame, pointing his way as you walk with your back towards the dartboard. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Let's see if I can beat you at your stupid little game.”

“Good fucking luck.”

“Don’t need it,” you circle your arms as a warm-up. Katsuki rests his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, watching with an arrogant expectancy—and you deflect it with a chest puff of your own. Spinning on your heel, you squint your eyes just as he did. Wrapping your fingers around the dart, it’s heavier than expected, and you chuck it towards the board. It sticks. To the wood.

Slow-paced claps fill your ears. As you turn, you see Katsuki with an apathetic look on his face, golden watch jingling with every impact. He suppresses a chuckle, forcing his lips into stability to say, “Ten outta motherfuckin’ ten.”

You curl a lip. Flip him off.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, you will,” Katsuki passes on your left to yank the dart out. You glare at him the entire way, watching as he struggles to drunkenly pull the dart out of the wood. Finally, it gives, and Katsuki takes a few steps back for balance. He turns around with a wink. “Later.”

Katsuki hands you the dart for a second try. You snatch it, praying your second throw will be miles better than your first. “You’re an idiot to think I’d sleep with you. I have standards, you know.”

“Right,” Katsuki hums, resting against the table. He folds his arms across his chest, and his dress shirt folds underneath it, the buttons slowly letting go as the night goes on. “Stop fuckin’ stallin’, dumbass. C’mon.”

You chuck it. Blindly.

The dart digs straight into the ground. It’s much worse than you’re first run, and the depressing thunk of a metallic needle against wood fills the room and makes your chest sink. Fuck. Fuck.

“Holy shit, you’re really fuckin’ bad at this,” Katsuki barks with a shake of his head. He walks over to pick up the dart again, tossing it in the air before it sinks back into his palm, quite gracefully despite his wayward state.

“Shut the fuck up, Katsuki Bakugou.”

“Quit sayin’ my last name, and I just might,” he snorts, holding the cursed thing for you to take. This time, you don’t. “Try again.”

“No, Asshole,” you huff. It’s a juvenile reaction, decorated with a pout and the cross of your arms. Katsuki eyes you like a child, too, rolling his eyes before forcing the dart into your hands.

“Yes,” he insists gruffly, sliding behind to grab your wrist. You let him, guiltily enjoying the heat against your back and his breath down your neck. It curls, tickles on its way up until your olfactory system swells with the distinct smell of whiskey. “Move your fuckin’ finger.”

You don’t have much of a chance though, because by the time his words register, Katsuki’s already prying at them. You’re holding the dart like a pencil, and he adjusts until it’s sat in between your thumb and index fingers. He cranks your arm until it’s essentially at ninety degrees. You feel like a fucking puppet.

“’Kay, now look at the board.”

“I am,” you say through grit teeth. You sound impatient—are impatient. Katsuki’s hand slides to your hip for stability, the other one remaining on your wrist. He sighs.

“Fuckin’ relax, christ,” he growls, adjusting your body until your chest is facing the panel. “Focus on the middle—the red dot.”

You do, trying to ignore the fact that he’s pressing closer. You can feel his chest balloon against your back, every little finger on your hip, and you’re stuck silently cursing the alcohol for making you oh so hyperaware.

“Shoot.”

Katsuki’s fingers hang loose around your wrist while you do all the work, chucking the dart across the room with as much weight as you can. It sticks, not quite on the red dot, but definitely sits somewhere in the green. Yes. Yes.

“Fuck you, Katsuki Bakugou!” You squeal with two hands in the air, twirling on your heels to face his way. You’re immediately met with his chest, and looking upwards requires extra effort, but it’s worth it to see the look on his face. Your thumb and index finger paste a big fat L above your forehead.

“I fuckin’ helped you,” he groans, looking to the sky. You just continue to snicker, poking him in the gut until he swats your hand away.

“I won, I won, I won,” you sing, but Katsuki’s not even listening. He’s waltzing back over to the bar—to get what you assume is another drink.

Katsuki tastes like peaches and moonshine.

His lips are soft, formless against your own. He gives you space to lead the way but cradles your jaw between his index finger and thumb. As his grip tightens, he pulls you to the edge of your toes. You whimper at his lack of enthusiasm, hands sliding towards the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Katsuki stifles a smile behind your lips.

“What?”

As the gravel in his voice skids against your lips, you realize, hideously, that you’re wrapped around his being like it’s his finger. The only distance Katsuki’s broken is the one between your kissers, and it’s frustrating how much you miss him already.

You clear your throat and say, “Nothing.”

“Nah, that was definitely somethin’,” Katsuki purrs, and the grip on your chin tightens. The hand on your face trails down your neck, ghosting over your collarbones until it finds solace on your waist, picking at whatever’s required to get to bare skin. “Somethin’ that makes me wonder what’ll happen if I push you further...”

Suddenly, your hips jerk forward—Katsuki presses his abdomen against yours, arching your back, so your shoulders rest comfortably against a marble pillar. The hand on your face finds its way to your wrists, pinning them above your head, and all you can think is Poor Abe Lincoln.

“Katsuki Bakugou, we are in public,” you hiss, but it’s hard to mute the giddy high running through your veins. Finally, someone who’ll give you what you want.

“You started it,” he grunts, preoccupied with hiking your dress above your hips and pressing a leg between your thighs. You playfully claw at his chest in protest but don’t put up much of a fight, pausing when a glittering silver chain bounces off your fingertips to fall out of his shirt.

“...A dog tag?”

“You want me to stop t’answer that question?” Katsuki snorts. He jerks your hips forwards again, but this time you have friction, and it stalls your thought process a lot more than earlier. “And I told’ya to stop fuckin’ calling me that.”

“Fine then. What do you want me to call you?” You huff, stifling the urge to give in solely due to Katsuki’s blatant hauteur. You’re insistent on breaking this man down to primal instinct. No matter how much you caress his pretty face he doesn’t crack, but you’re still convinced all you need is time.

Katsuki hums to himself at your question, licks his lips. You feel like prey under his red hot eyes, and his gaze only intensifies as it rakes downwards, fixating on your exposed panties. Your fingers twitch to cover yourself up, forgetting that they're stuck to the pillar for a moment, and Katsuki chuckles at your incapacity, his lips ghosting your ear.

“How’s Daddy sound?”

“Sounds like you’d be into that type of thing,” you tease, noting the way he sways, if ever so slightly. Katsuki snuffs out the fire before it can even build, but if you're anything, it's determined.

“What are you, a psychologist?” He snorts. You roll your eyes, and would cup his face if you could.

“I thought we weren’t talking lives?” You quip back, and Katsuki’s face falls with a silent touché. “I’m not a psychologist—it’s not to tell when a man has mom-mommy issues—s-shit—“

Katsuki growls, lighting your hip on fire. The casual pace you kept morphs into a faster, more weighted one, and he’s grunting with every tug forwards.

“And it ain’t hard to tell when a girl got daddy issues, either.” Finally, Katsuki caves and frees your wrists. Your hands rush to his chest for leverage while his chooses to clumsily undo his belt and zipper. It’s a hard feat to accomplish with all the bucking hips and heavy breathing but he manages, ripping the buckle out of the way and tugging down his pants until they bunch under his waistline. Getting desperate, you note. “We doin’ this or are we just gon’ argue half-naked?”

Rolling your eyes, you brazenly reach for his cock through his boxers. As a light blush rises on Katsuki’s face, so does the heat in yours, but he mutes his with a sharp inhale brushing off the casual roll of his eyes.

“I’d prefer to argue fully naked.”

Katsuki takes the bait, and you can feel the pressure of his hot red eyes following your fingers as they curl, flicking each button till his silk dress shirt slides right open. It shimmies down his bulky arms, and with a flick of his wrist, it joins the coat on the dusty marble floor.

“How’s that?” You offer. He pauses to think on it, shrugging.

“I think,” Katsuki starts, picking at the right strap of your dress until it slips down your shoulder. The fabric is light, barely a whisper against your skin, but the goosebumps rise regardless, “That we need to take this off.”

Your left strap falls with a brush of his thumb, and soon, your dress is being hung up by your elbows. Dropping your arms, the silk thing skims your thighs before Katsuki aids your foot through, then the other. Soon you’re greedily shoving at his pants and give up when they go taut around his thighs. His boxers follow suit. Katsuki shivers against the cool summer moonlight.

“So,” you swallow and try your best to stuff down any feeling of intimidation, but it’s hard not to. With each tilt of his head, you see a new angle of him, a new side of him. It’s weird, and maybe it’s just the rest of the alcohol talking, but he reminds you of a light prism. Every time he moves, shudders; there’s a new shade of him. It’s metaphorical. You dunno. You think. “How’re we doing this?”

“Mmm...” Katsuki hums, raking his eyes up and down your being like you’re on the menu for tonight. “How do you want to do this?”

You think. Access...isn’t really a problem, yet it is. You wouldn’t love to have your back mauled by the ribbed pillar, so you twirl on your heel. Pressing your ass against his cock, Katsuki shivers before assuming his place—closer, with a hand on your waist.

“How's this?” He sighs. As Katsuki’s hot breath slides down your spine, his cock slides between your thighs. You nod, and that seems to be enough for him, his free hand reaching for yours to pin them at eye-level. “Place your head against ‘em.”

It’s...weirdly soft, a comforting reminder that he’s somewhat looking out for you. You have the option of either looking at Abe Lincoln’s feet or looking at the Reflecting Pool with the Washington Monument and moon hanging above it, so...Reflecting Pool it is.

“Lemme know ‘f y’need me to stop,” he says, but his words are starting to slur the closer he gets. The tip of his cock press against your heat, and you inhale in preparation, disappointed when he doesn’t move any further—until he saddles his hand around your neck to crank it his way. “��M gonna need your words for this one, Princess.”

You lean into it, melt into his touch, “Yes Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Katsuki wastes no time in pushing further, pressing himself as deep as he can before he notices the tension in your back. He moves slowly but doesn’t give you a period to relax until he’s filled you up to the brim. You feel so full and yet not overwhelmingly so, and finally, he stills. You exhale for what feels like the first time in forever and Katsuki convulses if only for a moment, both of you forcing your stay in limbo to last a bit longer. But nothing lasts forever, and when you give Katsuki the okay to move, boy, does he fucking move.

“Kat—wait!”

You yelp, the grip on your pillar slipping the further your hands sweat. The dog tag around his neck sings with every thrust and you have half a mind to grab it, but don’t. Not yet, at least.

“What?” He huffs, and there’s that arrogance in his voice you hoped to defeat by now. “Can’t take it?”

You try to hide the whimper but fail miserably. Katsuki catches it but doesn’t acknowledge a damn thing, “F-Funny joke. A little warning would’a been nice ‘s all.”

Katsuki hums to himself. You crane your neck in attempt to read what he’s thinking but it’s impossible to tell, the only legible emotion being lust in his furrowed eyebrows and swollen bottom lip. Dragging his hips back, he begins to build a steady rhythm that you can lean into. You claw at the ribbed pillar, white knuckling the damn thing until sweat gives you no choice but to adjust your grip, and Katsuki accidentally jerks you forewords so hard your cheek smushes into the poor thing.

“Shit, sorry,” Katsuki grunts, and you catch the hint of entertainment mixed along with it. He gropes for your neck, crushing your windpipe not too much but not too little. Muffling a groan behind a bitten lip, you blindly reach back until you feel soft blond hair cutting between your knuckles and pull.

“Fuck!” Katsuki yelps, much too loud for the public environment you’re in. You can’t help but smile to yourself though, proud that your little experiment actually worked. Katsuki’s dick twitches as the painful pleasure falls down his spine in frissons. He tries to claw your hands out of his hair but your grip only gets tighter. He whimpers—and you’re fucking grinning.

“What’s wrong?” You huff, breath embrarassingly labored, “Can’t take it?”

Katsuki breathes a chuckle that reads you wish, before he’s also shoving a fist in your hair to crank your head back.

“Y’know, sex is all psychology,” he grunts in your ear. His breath slides down your neck until it pools in your collarbones, forcing the goosebumps to rise above your skin. “If ya do somethin’ I didn’t ask for, there’s a high fuckin’ chance you’d like it twice as much.”

You chuckle with an utterly fucked out look on your face and Katsuki shoots you a gummy grin in return. The grip on your hair gives in favor of sliding down your neck, your sides, until it curls toward your stomach. His thumb finds your clit and wastes no time in rubbing small circles, starting soft to test the waters, before he starts to add more pressure, frustratingly slow.

Katsuki fucks you at a brutal pace. Wrapping his lips around your shoulder, he anchored and bites down on the base of your neck. You yelp, clawing at his shuddering stomach while your other hand supports you against the pillar. As you dig your heels into the polished floor, your legs start to quiver. You‘re close, but part of you wants to hold on, stay in the heart of this moment for just a little longer.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” Katsuki breathes, but you didn’t need him to tell you to know. Your wetness slicks your inner thighs to follow every quick thrust with a squelch. Katsuki removes the hand on your clit to stuff it in your mouth. The sweet tang of you bursts across your tastebuds, but quickly, the fingers are gone, prodding again until Katsuki’s raising them to his own lips.

He hums at the taste, curling a pink tongue in between knuckles before they return to your clit. Katsuki’s chest sticks to your back from sweat but you couldn’t want him any closer.

“Katsu—Kats—“ you try to warn, but he doesn’t listen. If anything, he goes faster. Katsuki knows, you figure, but’ll skip around the bush like the annoying bitch he is.

“Awe, she’s even givin’ me a nickname,” he coos, tucking his chin into your neck. His lips picker to peck behind your ear between grunts. “Y’gonna cum, Pretty?”

“S-Shut up,” you pant with a bitter mouth. Somehow, this has become a competition you don’t want to lose, but right now, you’re destined for it. But suddenly, a wave of heat runs through your body before it quickly goes numb. It only lasts for a moment, because soon, you’re veins light up and you’re cumming around his cock.

Katsuki let’s put a short, breathless chuckle as he fucks you through your orgasm, eyebrows knit in arousal. He’s most definitely close, you note, and once you start matching his rhythm with your own hips, it doesn’t take Katsuki long to fall of the edge.

And, yeah. Maybe that shitty bar deserves its four star review on Yelp.

#bnha smut #mha smut #bakugo smut #katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou smut

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

748 notes · View notes

libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Note

so cute fic request. You are Maddie's OBGYN and at every appointment she insists to set you up with Buck, you deny her and finally one say yes just to be quiet and you meet what a great guy Buck is

The Set Up

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and doctors offices, reader wears makeup, alcohol and the consumption of

Category: Straight Up Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: here's a lil late v-day present for y’all :)

Part 2: Dispatch: Labour in Progress

----

“How does the baby look ?” Maddie was laid back, her eyes on the monitor. “Perfect, a perfect little baby” you smile at her as you hand her a towel to wipe up the gel.

“How many copies would you like ?” you turn towards the ultrasound machine.

“As many as you'd give me” she laughed, pulling her shirt back down.

“Dad’s working ?” you asked, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, he’s been trying to get off a day to come with me” she sits up, pulling out her phone.

Maddie was one of your favourite patients, she was a sweetheart and always happy, regardless of what was happening, you didn't know how she did it. She began showing you a few pictures of the nursery and two guys who were in the picture. The first guy was Chimney, who was the baby’s father and Maddie’s boyfriend, the two of you had met at a previous appointment and the other guy, who you hadn't meant yet but felt like you had, was her brother Evan or Buck, which is what he went by.

“You know, if you want to just come in one day when he's off work, we can just do a regular check-up just so he can see. It doesn’t have to be anything special for you to come in”

“You’d do that ?”

“Of course I would, between me and you, you’re my favourite patient”

Maddie smiled at you, “so,” she gave you a look, “since I am your favourite patient, would you also go on a date with Buck ?” she asked, you nearly choked on your coffee. Maddie had a habit of trying to set you up with her brother. She did it often but it still caught you off guard each time. You coughed, “Maddie, no.” you laughed, “that would be unprofessional”

“Oh come on, take a risk y/n. Life goes on and one date won't kill you”

“Who said I’m looking ?”

“Please, you are. You can't lie to me” she smiled, you shook your head. “Still a no Maddie” you handed her the copies of the ultrasound. “If you do want to do the ultrasound when he’s home, just give me a call” you smiled at her and she got up. “I will, thank you”

A few weeks later and Maddie was back in your office. “Good afternoon momma,” you were looking at the files as you walked in, pushing the door shut with your foot. Taking a seat on your little spinny chair, you look up when Maddie says good morning back to you.

“Oh Chimney, it’s nice to see you” you smile as you shake the gel bottle.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “it’s good to be here”

You hand him the gel bottle, he looked at you with brows furrowed. “You’re a paramedic, aren't you ? Go ahead” you chuckle as you turn the ultrasound machine on. “How are you feeling ?” you ask, “good actually, thanks for asking” Chim answers you.

“I’m glad to hear that but I was asking Maddie” Chim’s mouth forms an O and he nods, Maddie smiles at him. “I’m good, baby’s good too. Kicking a lot recently. Especially when I drink orange juice” she chuckled.

“And still just the one cup of coffee ?”

“Yeah, he won’t let me have anymore” she groans

“Good, as he should be. You’re lucky I agreed to the one cup Maddie, you know I rather if you didn’t”

“Ugh,” she groaned and rolled her eyes, “not you too”

“I’m your doctor, it's my job to remind you unfortunately”

Maddie sighs and rolls her eyes once again. You get what she meant, you couldn’t be pregnant and not have coffee, pregnancy is exhausting as it is, imagine it without coffee. “you know how to use an ultrasound machine right ?” you look over at Chimney, who was looking rather confused.

”I do, why ?”

“Would you like to do it ?”

“Really ?”

“Yeah, I let the dads have a chance to do it sometime. Makes them feel a little more involved”

“I'd love too”

You hand him the wand and step back, you watch as he rolls it across her belly. It was always sweet when the fathers came to the appointment, even more so when they're involved.

“Y/n?”

“Yes Maddie?”

“Will you go on a date with Buck ?” She smiled sweetly at you, Chim looked at her, half shocked and half confused.

“If I say yes to one date, will you quit bugging me about it ?”

“Of course, just one date is all I’m asking for”

“Does he know you’re setting him up ?”

“Yeah- well no ? but he won't mind. It's part of my job as his sister”

“Maddie, I have siblings as well, you don't see me setting them up”

“Yeah yeah, that’s fine”

Chim turned to you. “everything looks good doc”

“Then we’re all done. Just hit print on the machine and you’ll get the pictures”

Maddie wiped the gel off her stomach. She took a pen from the desk and scribbled a number down before handing the paper to you. “That’s his number, just message him”

“You’re setting me up and I have to message him too ?”

“Oh come on, you’ll be fine. Thank you for this and I'll be expecting details at my next appointment!” She gave you a smile before walking out. Chim looked at you, “I’m sorry I didn't know she was going to do that.” You laughed, “it's okay, she’s not the first person to do that. You should catch up with her though, she walks really fast for a pregnant lady” you chuckle, Chim smiled and walked out to find Maddie. You had some time to kill before your next appointment, you looked down at the paper in your hand.

Do you text or not ? Wouldn't that be creepy ? Like oh hey, I'm your sister’s doctor let's go on a date.

You know what ?

Screw it, what’s the worst that could happen.

To Buck: Hey, I'm y/n. Your sister gave me your number, hope this isn't weird. She's been trying to set me up with you for months, thought we’d hit it off haha

God that was so stupid. Why the hell did you put haha ?

From Buck: Hey, it’s cool. She’s weird like that. What’s up ?

Oh shit, he answered.

To Buck: Just at work, how about you ?

From Buck: Same thing

Wait what do I say now ? Do you ask him out ?

From Buck: Hope this isn't too forward of me or anything like that, but maybe you’d wanna grab a drink tonight ? Only if you’re free

Guess you don't have to ask him now

To Buck: Yeah, that sounds good. Pick a place and let me know ? I’m off at 4 so anytime after that is fine.

From Buck: I’m off at 6, how about 7 at the bar on Main Street ?

To Buck: sounds good, see you then

It was now 3:30 and Maddie was your last patient of the day. There was no harm in leaving now. After putting away your files and replying to a few emails from patients, you headed out. Only one issue you had when you got home was what to wear.

Well so you thought.

Taking a shower was the easy part, trying to do your hair and makeup with only 2 hours left, was a bit of a hassle. First disaster of the night was too much mousse in your hair, making it sticky and tacky. Washing it out, you managed to set it the way you like. The powder compact had fallen onto the floor, you hoped it wasn’t broken, turns out hope isn't enough. The other powder you had was far too light for your complexion right now and you decide against makeup for the night.

Let him meet the bare you, you can wow him next time, if there is a next time.

Deciding on a simple outfit, a white shirt that fit you nicely and a pair of black pants that went along with it. In your head, it seemed boring but in the mirror, it looked much better. Walking into the kitchen, there was a half drunk glass of wine from the night before.

Stale wine or nervous wreak ? Stale wine it is.

You down the wine, spilling some onto your shirt. “Are you kidding-” groaning and turning back to the room, you end up changing your entire outfit. A pair of blue jeans and a black top that fit you in all the right places. One more look in the mirror and a hand through your hair, you headed out the door.

It didn't take you long to arrive at the bar, as you only lived a few minutes off Main Street. You had seen Buck from the countless pictures Maddie had shown you so it didn’t take long to spot in at a table in the corner either.

“Hey” you walked over, a smile on your face. He stood up, “Hi! you must be y/n” he leaned in for a hug, you mirrored his actions. “I am, it’s nice to meet you”

The two of you sat across from each other and there was a bottle of beer in front of you. Buck spoke up when he noticed you noticing the bottle, “I ordered for you, I hope that's alright- you can order something else”

“It’s fine, thank you” you take a sip, not your usual choice in drink but you didn't need to complain either. There was some silence for a while, not uncomfortable but not comfortable either. Anyone that passed by could tell it was a first date, if you could even call it that.

“How do you know Maddie ?” he asks, you smile at him and take a sip of the beer before answering him.

“I’m her OB”

“Her ?” Buck had a confused expression on his face.

“Her doctor, her obstetrician actually”

“Oh for baby Buckley” he nodded.

“Yeah, she's been bugging me about you since we’ve met actually. She’s sweet but she’s persistent” you chuckle and Buck gives you a smile, “that’s my sister”

The night went by rather quickly, the two of you sharing work stories. Buck told you about the time he worked a full moon and they responded to a call at a yoga class only to have 3 women go into labour simultaneously.

“It was the full moon I swear! I tried to tell Bobby but he didn't listen to me!” he said, laughing.

You nodded and laughed too, “no, it’s true. I've had so many full moon babies. I never book off full moons because I know someone is going to go into labour”

“Thank you! Someone gets what I mean!”

You then told him about the time you filled in for your colleague, he told you it was supposed to be a regular birth but turns out it was quadruplets. It was nice to find someone who understood your weird work schedule. The two of you shared stories until the waitress came over to tell you that they’d be closing in a few minutes. It was a little past midnight when she came over, the two of you decided to call it a night and head out together.

“How are you getting home ?” he asked you, you walked with him over to his Jeep that was parked down the street. “I’ll just walk, I don’t live too far from here”

“No” he stated while shaking his head

“No ?” you questioned him, your brows furrowed as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I invited you out, at least let me take you home. It’s late too, it won't be right to let you walk home by yourself”

“Are you sure ? I don't want you to go out of your way”

“Oh no it’s cool, c’mon”

He opened the door for you like the gentlemen he is and then got in after. “Which way my darling ?” he gave you a cheesy smile which made you chuckle. “A left at the next light and the brown building is me” you leaned back in the seat. It was quiet as he drove down the street, you looked over at him and admired him. From the way his hand rested on his wheel to the little smile on his face, even to the birthmark above his eye.

“It's rude to stare”

“Can't help myself, you're pretty”

Oh shit, did you just-

Buck looked over at you, a wicked little smile on his face. “You think I’m pretty ?”

You could feel the blush on your face, “uh- well- um I guess ?”

“I think you more than guess that but whatever you say” he smiled

Buck pulled into the building parking lot, he stopped and his head hit the seat as he leant back. Looking over at you, “let me walk you up ?”

“You’ve already done enough, it's fine”

“It’s fine. Come on” he got out, you mirrored his actions. Buck followed behind you as the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Unlocking the door, you stepped in and he stood by the door.

“Do you want to come in ?” setting your keys on the counter, you look back at the man who was leaning against the doorframe.

“I’d love too but I've got the first shift. Maybe another time ?”

“Yeah, that’s fine” walking back over to him, you stood in front of him. Even with him leaning, he still towered over you.

“I had a nice time tonight” you say, he nods. “I did too. Maybe we can do this again sometime ?”

“I'd like that”

“Okay.” he smiles, “well, good night then y/n”

“Good night Buck” standing on your toes, you go to kiss his cheek but it seems he had the same idea, both of you turning your heads at the same time and your lips were on his. Buck’s hand cupped your face for the few moments your lips were on his. When you pulled away, Buck had a slight red tint on his face, a blush or simply could have been the heat coming from your apartment, either way you were sure you looked the same way.

“How does Saturday sound ? Noon for lunch if you’re free ?” he breaks the silence.

"Saturday sounds perfect”

Buck smiled at you once more, he turned and began walking back to the elevator. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning back once again and walked towards your door. He leaned down and gave you one more kiss. Laughing at the sweetheart that was now smiling at you from the other end of the hallway, you watched as he stepped on the elevator and then shut your door.

Outside of your building was a happy Buck who skipped his way over to his car, his keys twirling on his finger with a big grin on his face. As he got into his car, he sent his sister a text message.

To Maddie: You seem to know me better than I think, thank you.

Upstairs, there was a similar scene, a happy you skipping their way to bed with a smile on their face. As you laid in bed, you too sent a text message to Maddie.

To Maddie: Your match making efforts have worked, thank you.

----

taglist: @mrs-dr-reid @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @venusrosepetal @mikaelson-emma @beth-winchester21

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 years

Note

Let’s be realistic shorties-

Dabi-

Hear me out

He still has the burns but he’s covered in tattoos as well. He even sometimes wears bottom eyeliner. He’s your “deadbeat” highschool sweet heart boyfriend who you’ve been with for years and move into his apartment since he graduated highschool before you when you two where younger.

He smokes, he cusses, he drinks beer, and always is eating your left overs. You swear the only time that man eats is when you’re done eating and have shit left like half of a thing of McDonald’s fries, a half eaten McChicken, and three chicken nuggets. Don’t even try to wrap that shit up and eat it later because he just gets all pissy because now it’s cold- as if that was gonna stop him.

He’s the type you could make a good ass breakfast for the both of you and he will still eat off your plate and the left over cold pizza from the night before because he’s pathetic and a loser. He’s so fucking skinny even though he is a literal human vacuum.

You two have a baby girl you just had literally not too long ago- maybe a few months ago. He is always holding the baby so fucking weird man. You’ll find him eating a cold slice of pizza in one hand and holding the baby like a fucking football off to the side with the other and you’re always yelling at him to cut that out because what if he drops the baby! He’ll just mock you and keep holding the baby weird. He’ll randomly take the baby from you and hold her above his head and talk to her as if she’s a grown man as if she can understand him. His shirt rolling up and showing his tiny plush belly.

Speaking of bellies he probably has those cute bodies where dudes are super skinny but their belly is like soft. Like he looks really skinny which he is but he’s a little plush around the edges. Y’all can’t tell me he ain’t got birth giving hips- like damn son you should have been the one pushing your fatass baby out.

You will find him sitting on yalls bed just talking to the baby while on his phone like. “Damn that exactly what I said lil mama. That shit is wild as fuck- don’t you do that shit or your mama will kick my ass into next week”

He also is one of those boyfriends who do the most random shit to just make you angry. He will playfully smack your ass or the back of your head or try to trip you or mock you. Like he’s just a teenage boy that never grew up when it comes to flirting. “Damn babe, too bad you’re hot because the way you be dressing you look fucking homeless-“ or “You are so fucking ugly babe- gimme a kiss”

this reminds me of @/ihatebnha and her dadbi series im soft lmao. also why does dabi sound like me LMAOOOO im crying but this is sweet

also skinny men my beloved...

#return to sender

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belliesandburps · 3 years

Text

Our Favorites Handling Bellyaches

I imagine that a lot of our favorites tend to deal with indigestion in very different ways, which can lead to amusing and appealing scenarios. And since folks tend to enjoy these posts most, figured I’d whip up a new one for y’all. :P

And for the sake of not going insane, I’ll keep it to one character per series:

Leona Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland): Leona has a really strong stomach and canonically stuffs himself constantly. A full belly tends to just make him really sleepy. But every once in a while, given his love of exotic, expensive foods, Leona eats something that doesn’t agree with his stomach. This usually kills his ravenous appetite and leaves his usually concave, slightly toned stomach looking a little puffed out and gurgling deeply. When this happens, Leona will hiss to himself with a mildly strained and annoyed look on his face, really firmly rubbing his belly with one hand; firm enough that he’s riding his shirt up and exposing his tanned middle while his fingers really dig into it to settle it down, hissing about his indigestion being a huge pain in his ass, as always. He’ll give a few guttural burps, trying to ease as much pressure in his belly as he can, but they tend to get more rumbly and wet-sounding if he’s feeling mildly nauseous, which don’t bring him any relief. And if he’s letting a few out in a row, Leona may end up burping so hard that his throat hitches, and he immediately clamps his mouth shut, as if he’s about to throw up. It eventually passes, but that’s the telltale sign that he’s gotta ease up. Fortunately, if the Prefect catches him pretending his gut isn’t bothering him, they’ll start rubbing his burbling belly which never fails to calm it down. He’ll groan about how Herbivores are good for something besides eating, and give a familiar ‘rumble’ in his chest that, if the Prefect ever uttered a word to anyone else about...would be the death of them. Fortunately, if they relax Leona enough, he’ll be too busy catching a much needed catnap to maim them. On the veeeeery rare instance where Leona DOES eat too much, his belly will be spiling out to the point where it’s completely hiking up his shirt and forcing him to spread his thighs apart because that’s how much food it will take to actually give Leona a bellyache. In that instance, Leona will be groaning miserably and punctuating his fullness by burping so forcefully that the ground itself feels like it quivers. When he’s that full and feeling his belly churning so hard it hurts, Leona will groggily call out to whoever he can, be it the Prefect or Ruggie, whoever gets to him fastest. Then he’ll demand they rub his belly or he’ll swallow them whole the first chance he gets. Ruggie tends to get cheeky and when he does, Leona shuts that shit down by grabbing him by the throat and burping enormously in Ruggie’s face, leaving Ruggie coughing while Leona growls that he can still make room for dessert.

Katsuki Bakugou (My Hero Academia): Bakugou canonically loves extra spicy food, downs a lot of soda and tends to eat very ravenously. He’s smart enough to know his limits, but he’s a stubborn lil timebomb sometimes, and will always eat past his limits to spite anyone who ever said he couldn’t. And that usually leaves him groaning miserably while his bulging, churning belly groans intensely from being so abused. When he’s overstuffed and suffering indigestion, Bakugou will slump back in his seat miserably, tug his tanktop up and firmly run his hands up and down his bloated middle, hoping to ease the cramps in his stomach lining. While rubbing, Bakugou will press down on his belly and work up some really deep, throaty belches. These are really thick, hefty sounding burps that give him a sliver of relief, until he eventually slaps his belly as hard as he can and burps so loudly that you’d swear there was an earthquake. And THOSE monsters always leave his toes curling and his head lulled back with a loud, relieved moan and a satisfied pat to his taut, rounded belly. If he ate something that didn’t agree with him, then like Leona, Bakugou’s abs thin out and get very mildly bloated and feel like they’re vibrating with how hard his belly churns. Bakugou gets even pissier than usual, snapping at people to fuck off, but groaning miserably the whole while. He’ll knead into his gut firmly, always tugging his shirt up and exposing his bare belly while he tries to circulate the gas up with his firm touch. Bakugou always tries to burp out the nausea, desperate to work up the biggest belch he can to bring some desperately needed relief. He’ll slap his exposed belly repeatedly until the gas comes out forcefully, or gulp down air to belch on command, which he can do loud enough to give some relief. But on rare occasions, he’s burped too hard and ended up vomiting profusely instead. He always gets really angry if that happens and threatens to explode the living shit out of anyone who looks down on him for throwing up.

William James Moriarty (Moriarty the Patriot): William has a pretty strong stomach, because everything about him is measured and disciplined. And he has nerves of absolute steel, which means anxiety never becomes a factor. However, William is no stranger to vices. He’s quite partial to sweets and though he isn’t a heavy drinker the way Sebastian is, anytime he and Sherlock go out to the pub, Liam can’t help but get competitive with his soulmate. Or he eats something exotic that simply doesn’t agree with him. If he drinks too much, William actually ends up getting the hiccups. One of the only times Sherlock has ever seen his beloved Liam blush was when a loud, high-pitched *HIC!!!* erupted from the young mathematicians mouth, leaving him covering his lips with slightly widened eyes. After that, William tries to keep his hiccuping stifled with his mouth closed. This causes his stomach to jerk around a lot, which doesn’t sit well for the poor red-eyed devil, especially if he’s got a belly full of beer, sloshing around inside the organ heavily. That can lead to some hiccups turning into deep “hiccurrrrps” instead, which rumble in his mouth audibly. Anytime he muffles a belch in his mouth brought on by all the spasms, William will excuse himself under his breath, and try to hold said breath so the hiccup-fits pass, subtly massaging his stomach or throat if he’s hiccuping too much. If he just ate something that didn’t agree with him, William’s mask-like face won’t give much away. He’ll still appear blank, even smiling at you as needed. But if you look carefully, you’ll see beads of sweat forming from how badly his stomach is aching. The gurgles it gives aren’t loud, but they’re forceful. He’ll carry on like nothing’s wrong, and when no one is looking, subtly use his fingertips to knead circles into his belly to try and settle it down. Or he’ll turn to some of Louis’ much-needed tea to try and settle his gut. If Louis hears Brother William comment on his stomach giving him grief, he’ll take it upon himself to rub William’s belly to make it feel better (not in "that” way because...hell-fuck-no). If SHERLOCK hears William comment on a bit of indigestion, he’ll have more fun with it, unbuttoning Liam’s shirt and exposing his lean stomach as they sit down together in private with Sherlock rubbing Liam’s belly sensually and occasionally resting his ear against William’s warm stomach, listening to it gurgle and making some analytical comments on the sounds and what it says about Liam. Sherlock is surprisingly delicate when rubbing Liam’s belly, but he’s got a cheeky side, so he’ll occasionally knead a little harder and get William muffling a much deeper belch so he can tease him. William will get back at him by smiling and very gently asserting that Sherlock must have some kind of fetish, getting him sputtering, and William back in control as always. :P

Natsu Dragneel (Fairy Tail): Of all the characters on this list, Natsu’s the one we’ve canonically seen suffering from bellyaches the most. He gets them from motion sickness, and can get them from eating way too much. If he’s feeling nauseous because he’s on a train or a caravan, his abs puff out slightly, but of the bunch, Natsu is the most overt and crippled by his aching belly. Whereas Leona is annoyed, William is subtle and Bakugou is really gassy, Natsu is groaning miserably, green in the gills, and puffing out his cheeks like he’s on the verge of vomiting at any moment. He’ll whine and whimper pitifully, begging Lucy for belly rubs, and she’ll always give it to him, unable to say no...aaaaaaaand not wanting to see him puke his guts out. XD He’ll rest his spiky head on Lucy’s shoulder, huffing breathlessly while she very carefully navigates his abs with her fingertips, kneading and caressing that rock-hard belly while he groans, both in pain AND in pleasure. But from time to time, he gets a really bad stomachache from just eating WAY too much. In doing so, he’s sporting a huge, jiggling gut which sloshes heavily with every step he takes, since the fire in his belly works down his meals way faster than an average person. He’ll announce how overstuffed he is with a giant belch, and a miserable groan. Like the first instance, Natsu will be whining at Lucy to rub his belly, but it’s punctuated by his glutted belly churning noisily and Natsu occasionally interrupting himself with an incredibly deep and throaty burp. Lucy has taken to rubbing Natsu’s belly outside of her apartment when it’s REALLY noisy, because that gurgling tends to mean there’s a lot of gas festering inside, and what she’s taken to doing is pressing against Natsu’s belly until he unleashes a HUGE, fiery belch...and she’ll keep pressing into Natsu’s belly, making him burp and again as the plume of fire grows weaker each time, until eventually, he’s just burping up smoke. That tends to give Natsu some MUCH needed relief, which leaves him more docile as he slumps back and eventually dozes off. But Luce is NOT letting that fiery ditz burn her roof down again...

Killer Croc (Batman): Croc‘s canonically a huge glutton and canonically very prone to nausea. He doesn’t do well with heights at all, and on multiple occasions, has eaten things which don’t agree with his scaly gut one iota. If it’s a height thing, then unfortunately, Croc’s inevitably gonna puke. There hasn’t been a single instance where Croc complains about not feeling so hot in the comics where he DIDN’T throw up. In the comics, he tends to burp wetly a few times first, but that eventually leads to him throwing up violently, and a few times in a row...which Harley certainly has a field day with. If he ate something that isn’t sitting right, Croc will let out a really throaty burp and cover his mouth after, worried that he’s on the verge of puking because he can taste whatever he just ate on his burp, or complains that something came up with that one. In these instances, if someone rubs Croc’s belly, they can settle it down and keep him from spewing. Whenever Croc’s got something not sitting right, it’s usually not the only thing he’s eaten, meaning his gut is probably pretty bloated. I love to imagine Croc with a paunchy, doughy belly (thanks to a certain @horriblehooter) but his scaly stomach will still look visibly distended, and be pushing his pants down a little. So when someone rubs Croc’s belly, their fingers will sink into his bellyfat a little while they run their hands up and down that scaly gut and knead into it. This will get Croc groaning pleasurably, giving a rumble in his chest not unlike Leona’s, just way more beastly in nature. The rubbing will occasionally work up a beefy belch, and if that person really presses into Croc’s belly, he’ll let loose a HUGE burp that gets the ground itself almost rattling. But those will give Croc some MUCH needed relief...aaaaaand more than likely cause him to belch up the remnants of his last meal, usually their bones...

Gilbert Nightray (Pandora Hearts): Gil’s definitely the sort to suffer from indigestion the most. He gets the most worked up out of anyone within Pandora, aaaand he’s kind of the whiniest (one of many reasons why I love this unwitting cinnamon bun). Usually, it’s because he’s eaten too much, drank too much, or because he’s just too worked up to the point where he’s given himself a stomachache. We saw in that fluff episode, Gilbert gets the hiccups pretty frequently when he’s drunk, and if he drank too much, poor Gil’s gonna be a hiccuping mess which is eventually gonna lead to him crawling on the ground, cradling his stomach and hiccuping / whimpering pitifully, before he starts crying and whining that he’s a huge lightweight...which he is. If he ate too much, Gil’s stomach doesn’t get nearly as big as anyone else on this list. He’s the sort who, at his worst, gets a really tight and taut bloat that presses his belly out and feels really heavy for him. That leaves him wincing in pain and sweating bullets as Gil tries to massaging his aching belly, and insisting he doesn’t need any help. But Oz being Oz, he’ll immediately plant his hands on Gil’s belly and start rubbing, which will leave Gil blushing furiously, and looking away to try and mask how good it feels. But because Oz is also something of a troll, he’ll wait until Gil is in the middle of saying something then press on his belly so Gil ends up accidentally burping mid-conversation, or even accidentally burping part of his sentence out, which always leaves him mortified while Alice scoffs and says she could top those in her sleep. If he’s got an anxiety-induced stomachache, Gil occasionally tries smoking to calm his nerves, but with his gut giving him grief, that tends to make it worse, and leaves him coughing up a bunch of smoke comically. On occasion, Oz still rubs Gil’s stomach to try and settle it and offering words that will ease Gil’s anxieties. This will always soften Gil up and leave him trying his best not to get sappy with his young master and best friend-o. :P

Cloud Strife (FFVII Remake): Cloud’s canonically got a weak stomach, especially when it comes to motion sickness. Him riding Chocobos will leave him cradling his stomach and lurching miserably. And in the process of getting nauseous, Cloud will get really wet burps that gurgle up his throat so hard he covers his mouth and lurches like he’s trying so desperately hard not to throw up on the spot. He’s like Natsu, in that he’s very weak to indigestion, groaning and burping too much to even really talk at all, mumbling that his stomach hurts really badly. Someone rubbing his back or rubbing his belly will settle him down, but only if the ride is over. If he’s already nauseous and still has more of a trip to go, he either needs a really long break, or he’s gonna eventually throw up. Ironically, he can pack it away like a champ, but is still prone to eating too much from time to time as well. In those instances, someone settling up close and leaning against him to rub his belly will make all the difference in the world. Because Cloud is your stereotypical loner, but he’s also quite starved for physical affection and contact. Rubbing his belly will circulate gas up, but Cloud will turn his head and muffle any burps he feels rumbling up his throat, unless he REALLY needs to get it out, in which case...brace yourself. ;)

Link (LoZ: Breath of the Wild): Link‘s now a canonical glutton and I love that. He’s also canonically prone to getting some serious indigestion brought on by experimental cooking gone horribly wrong. Link will eat freakin’ ANYTHING now, and I love it. I freakin’ LOVE it. But that also means he eats things that are just awful. And when he does, Link is a miserable mess, slumped over, groaning and burping while cradling his aching belly, which is pooching out beneath his tunic because the glutton of time knew what he was eating was awful...and still ate ALL of it. Some potions will help settle Link’s stomach in instances like that. Or he’ll ride it out and let a warm campfire bake near his belly to settle it. Zelda, often times, will delicately slip her hand underneath Link’s tunic and shirt and start rubbing his belly from beneath the tunic to calm it more directly. And whenever he gets a belly rub, Link has the most adorably docile smile on his face as he hums and leans in to Zelda’s touch.

If there are any other characters you’d like to see covered, hit up the ask box, folks! :)

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

Please don't stop the music

Pairing: Clark × y/n / reader

Summary: Clark Kent is your neighbour and good friend but over the last months you've fallen in love with him. Clark has no clue because you're way too shy to make a move on him. So you yearn for him secretly. Until today...

Credits: This was inspired by @fuckoffbard 's fantastic playlists for some of Henry's characters. Check them out, there's such a lot of great, inspiring music to discover!

Warnings: pure fluff, lots of kissing and smut too, virgin reader, deflowering, first time, sex, unprotected sex, all vanilla and sweet, friends to lovers, nsfw, 18+

Unbeta'ed! English is not my mother tongue, so read with caution.

This is my first try to write from reader's perspective. There's a lot of "you" and "he" in it but I hope it's okay.

Tags:

@agniavateira @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red

So...let's get the party started

"That was delicious, Clark. The best chicken pot pie I've ever had." You lean back in your chair with a satisfied sigh, placing a hand on your belly. "Thanks. It's my mum's recipe. I'm glad you liked it." "I did. It will take some beating to make something better next friday."

You have established kind of a habit over the last few weeks. Every Friday night you cook for each other and watch Netflix together afterwards. This week it's been Clark's turn to cook for you in your apartment. Those nights are heaven and hell at the same time for you. It's heavenly to spend so much time with him, to be close to him but the constant secret craving is dreadful. You could do something about it, sure, but that would mean to lower your guard, to expose yourself, to run the risk of getting rejected and hurt and even worse of losing Clark as a friend.

Apart from the fact that you are almost pathologically shy you wouldn't even know how to make a move on him because you've never done something like this before. You have never confessed your feelings for someone, you've never made the first step. You've never been in a relationship. You have never done more than kissing. You are a grown up woman and still a virgin.

At least in real life. In your fantasy you are an experienced badass of a woman, in your dreams you are a self-confident bomb shell, in the short stories you secretly write you do all the naughty things you've never done in reality though you'd love to. Your fictional alter ego does all the things you yearn for. She's straight forward, extroverted, sexy. The hottest guys fall for her as soon as they lay eyes on her. She knows how to please a man and how to make a man please her. She knows no limits, no taboos, no coyness.

And thanks to internet research, porn, fan fiction and masturbation you know everything about sex - technique, positions, kinks, toys, language. You're a pro in theory and clueless in real life.

"So what about some music." Clark interrupts your thoughts. Still a little absent you point at your mobile. "Sure, just choose a playlist. The app should be opened."

You regret your words as soon as they've left your mouth.

Shit.

Clark grabs your phone and starts scrolling through the music app.

Please, don't see it. Please, don't see it. Please, don't see it.

"You have a playlist called Clark?"

Fuck!

"Umm...yes?"

He chuckles and gives you a funny look. His beautiful blue eyes find yours and your heart starts racing.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Just because." How can you ever explain to him that this playlist includes all the cheesy, steamy, sad and cheerful songs that make you think about him. That you listen to when you daydream about him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clark laughs, leaning forward, cocking his head. "You make a playlist and name it after me for no reason?"

Ground swallow me up...

"Who says I named it after you?" You cross your arms in front of your chest defensively.

"So there's another man called Clark in your life? Who's he?"

Think for heaven's sake. Think.

"Well...um..."

"Yes?" Clark grins, obviously having fun watching your attempt to wriggle out of this situation.

"Well, if you must know...you're right. It is named after you. It was supposed to be a surprise. I put all the songs in it, I think you might like. I planned to send you the link for your birthday."

Good...badass move.

You sigh with relief a little too loud.

"Oh really? That's nice. Great idea actually."

"Thanks."

"Can we listen to it?"

"No! Of course not. You'd spoil the surprise!"

"Oh, come on, y/n. You have seven months left to add new songs."

Shit.

Without waiting for permission Clark starts the playlist and you're horrified when you hear 'Addicted' by Saving Abel. Of all songs he's chosen one of the sexiest. Heaven help!

"Never heard of this one. Sounds great. I like Rock." Clark says, listening to the lyrics carefully.

I'm so addicted to

All the things you do

When you're going down on me In between the sheets

Oh the sounds you make With every breath you take

It's unlike anything When you're loving me

"Interesting choice." he mumbles with a smirk and a wink that makes you blush.

"Yeah...now give me my phone."

"No way." Clark laughs and skips to the next song. You smile when 'Chicken Fried' by the Zac Brown Band starts playing. This song feels like home for you and you love imagining you and Clark visiting a bar that plays country music where you have a beer and dance all night long.

You know I like my chicken fried

Cold beer on a Friday night

A pair of jeans that fit just right

And the radio up

You can't help but nod your head to the rhythm, humming along. Clark raises an eyebrow, watching you curiously, a smile playing on his lips. "So what's next?"

'I wanna kiss you all over' by Exile sounds from the little Bluetooth speaker on the table now.

I wanna kiss you all over

And over again

I wanna kiss you all over

Till the night closes in

"Oohh..." Clark wiggles his eyebrows. "Seventies rock...really?"

"Yes. Really." you snap and grab for your phone but Clark's too fast. He grabs it first and presses it to his broad chest.

"Come on, Kent. Choose another playlist. That's stupid." You are really annoyed and embarrassed now.

"Why? It's pretty interesting which kind of songs you've chosen for me. Tim McGraw, Chris Stapleton, Jeff Bates..seems I strike you as a country guy." He scrolls through the playlist with a big grin. "And what's that?" He starts laughing again, skipping to the next song. "Barry Manilow?"

'Can't smile without you' That's maybe the cheesiest song ever but you love it so so much. Every single word of the lyrics expresses what you feel for Clark so accurately. The melody makes you so happy, everytime you hear it you picture yourself and Clark as a happy, loving couple, spending a wonderful day in the park. Just like the couples in chick flicks do it all the time. Kissing and laughing and holding hands, making a little picnic on the lawn beside a lake, drinking champagne and eating strawberries from each other's hands.

And you see I can't smile without you

I can't smile without you

I can't laugh and I can't sing

I'm finding it hard to do anything

You see I feel glad when you're glad

I feel sad when you're sad

If you only knew what I'm going through

I just can't smile without you

You sigh thinking about it but Clark is close to a laughing fit. "Please, y/n. Tell me you don't seriously think I like that kind of music." He wipes away a tear from the corner of his eye. You press your lips together unable to say anything. You realize you're on the brink of bursting into tears and you get up from your chair quickly.

"Just delete the songs you don't like, there's no need to make fun of me." You turn around and stare out of the window, no longer able to hold back tears.

"Hey, y/n. What the hell...." Clark is by your side within seconds. He looks at you with a worried and confused expression. "Hey." he says softly again. "What's up, why are you crying?" He takes you by your shoulders gently and turns you around to make you look at him. "I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. Please...don't cry."

You sob and rub your eyes to stop the tears from falling.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous. It's just...that stupid playlist. You weren't supposed to see it..."

"It's not really a birthday surprise, is it?"

You shake your head.

"So what is it."

You don't dare to look at him. You just stare at your feet without saying a word.

"Y/n?" He touches your shoulder and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I can't tell you." you whisper.

"Why not?"

"It's silly."

"I'm sure it's not. Just tell me, okay?"

You lift your head to look at him. You gulp when you realize how close he's standing to you. His eyes meet yours and he gives you an encouraging nod. "Okay. I'm going to tell you under one condition."

"Yes?"

"Promise me not to say anything about it. I tell you what the playlist is about and you won't say a word, okay? We will never talk about this again."

Clark stares at you for several seconds. "Okay." He finally agrees with a frown.

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath before you open them again. Clark takes your hands in his. "Whatever it is. You can tell me." You know he wants to reassure you but to feel your hands in his makes you even more nervous. At the same time you would never want to let go because the sensation of closeness and intimacy is so incredible. You clear your throat, knowing full well that it's too late to back down.

You can do this.

"The playlist... It's not for you it's more...about you." You look him in the eyes and he smiles at you, nodding slightly, indicating to you to go on. "All these songs, they are somehow connected to you. They remind me of you. They make me think about you. They make me dream about you." Your voice fades into a whisper. "Because I'm in love with you."

You lower your eyes and stare at your feet. Several seconds pass before you feel his finger under your chin. Clark lifts your head gently and makes you look at him. He keeps his promise and doesn't say a word. Instead he brings his lips close to yours and you look at him with surprise. In his eyes you see happiness and lust and you gasp when you realize that he's about to kiss you.

When his lips touch yours, time seems to stand still. When he starts kissing you tenderly the world stops turning for a moment. The kiss intensifies and you feel like you're melting in his embrace, in his strong arms. You feel his hands on your waist, sliding under your blouse and you mirror his actions, following his lead. When he feels your touch he moans softly into your mouth.

Clark pulls away and breaks the kiss, he's just as breathless as you. "Am I allowed to say something? Not related to the...you know what." he asks with a smirk.

You giggle and nod your head. "Sure."

He cups your face with his big hands and looks you deep in the eyes.

"I'm in love with you too, y/n. More than you can imagine maybe. More than I could have imagined before I met you."

"Clark..." You kiss him again and things heat up quickly. You can feel his fingers all over your body, his lips all over your skin. You can tell how aroused he is by the huge bulge in his jeans that presses against you. His moans are so incredibly sexy, the way he whispers naughty little things into your ear makes you shiver. Your panties are soaked and you wonder if this is normal or if he's going to be disgusted when he finds out.

You get your answer only seconds later. Clarks hand is between your thighs now, wandering higher, underneath your skirt, until it reaches your crotch. It slides over your panties between your legs with light pressure which causes you to sigh with lust and desire.

"You're all wet for me." Clark whispers in your ear. "So sexy..." He's heavily breathing now and you get turned on even more. "I want you. I want you so much" he moans into your neck, his hands on your breasts playing with your nipples.

"I want you too, Clark." You groan loudly, when sucks on the sensitive spot above your collarbone.

He pulls away, gives you a smirk and takes your hand, leading you to your bed, that is placed in the corner of your one-room-apartment.

You're about to lay down but he stops you.

"Not so fast." He kisses you again and then he begins to take off his clothes. When he's done and you finally dare to take a look, you can't help but let out a little whistle. "Wow. You're shredded...and...big." You're amazed and scared at the same time.

Jesus. How's this supposed to fit?

Clark seems to read your mind. "Don't worry, you're gonna like it." He gives you a sexy lopsided smile and pulls you close. The next round of hot, passionate kisses follows and he starts to unbutton the light summer blouse you're wearing and strips it off you body. You take off your skirt and feel very self-conscious when you stand so close to him in only your underwear.

"Look at you. You're beautiful." Clark whispers in your ear while he unclasps your bra. Only seconds later it lands beside the bed together with your panties.

"You're beautiful." He repeats and you blush. You reach out your hand and touch his chest. He grabs your hand and presses it on the spot above his racing heart. You're relieved that he seems to be a little nervous too. He grins and gives you a light, playful push and you fall on your bed, landing on your back. When you smile at him he plops down on the bed right by your side and kisses you again. Your hands start exploring your naked bodies. You touch Clark's cock shyly and caress it carefully. It feels wonderful, smooth like velvet and hard as a rock.

"Fuck, y/n. That's great. So hot..." Clark growls in a dark voice full of arousal and he starts stroking your pussy. His fingers run through your wet folds and he rubs your clit, making you whimper with pleasure.

"Oh god." you sigh. This feels so much better than you could ever have imagined. So much better than doing it yourself. He's rough and gentle at the same time and you love it.

When you feel one of his fingers at your entrance you flinch.

"Clark, wait!" You make him stop before he pushes in.

"What's wrong?"

"I've never done this before."

"This?" He's visibly confused.

"Sex." you say, giving him a sheepish smile.

Clark sits up straight, taken by surprise.

Shit...Mood killer

"You're a virgin?" he asks with an amazed frown.

"Yes. I'm sorry..."

"There's no reason to be sorry, babe. I just wasn't expecting that. It's okay." He gives you a tender little kiss. "We don't have to do it tonight, if you don't want to. We can wait. Do it another time."

Nope. Not gonna happen.

"No! I've waited long enough. I want this. I want to sleep with you. Tonight. Now." You say insistently. "I just wanted you to know why I'm so clumsy and insecure."

"You're not clumsy. You are doing this perfectly."

"Okay." You sigh with relief.

"So do you want me to go on?" You feel his fingers on your pussy again.

"Yes." You moan.

Clarks starts pleasuring you with his hand again. He stimulates your clit, strokes your folds and gently fingers you, finding your g-spot without problems and soon you're a panting, whimpering mess.

"Clark...fuck..."

"You like that, y/n?"

"I do. I'm close..."

"Then come for me, babe."

And that's what you do. You close your eyes and a powerful orgasm runs through your body, causing you to convulse with loud shrieks and long, lustful moans. When you look at Clark again he smirks and carefully climbs on top of you.

"Are you ready for me?"

"Yes." You nod eagerly.

"Sure? I need to hear that you want this, angel."

"I want it. Fuck me, Clark." You hiss when you feel the tip of his huge dick press against your entrance.

"I'll be careful. I promise." He smiles and strokes your cheek. "Whenever you feel uncomfortable just tell me and I'll stop, okay?"

"Okay."

Clark kisses a trail from your mouth down your neck to your tits where he sucks your nipples, gently biting them. You sigh and you can't wait to feel him inside of you. You lift your hips and Clark slowly pushes his cock into your pussy, bit by bit he enters you carefully and it feels sensational. He stops when he reaches your hymen and then he quickly pushes through. The pain you feel is sharp but it's over in the blink of an eye and all you feel afterwards is pleasure. The pleasure of Clarks dick stretching you to the max, filling you completely.

"You're ok?" He looks at you, searching your eyes for any sign of pain or disapproval.

"I'm good. This feels great." you whisper and when he starts moving carefully with slow, short thrusts you moan his name again and again.

"Fuck, you are so tight...this is...spectacular." Clarks voice is raspy and he picks up speed a little. "You take me so well, babe." He moans out of breath. "I'm close."

His thrusts get harder and faster but he's still careful and gentle. It doesn't take him long to cum hard with a loud growl. He collapses on top of you and you kiss passionately, hugging each other tightly while his dick is still inside of you. When he finally pulls out and rolls off you both sigh in unison.

"That was wonderful, Clark."

"Did it hurt?" He looks at you with a worried expression on his handsome face.

"Just a tiny little bit." You say and rest your head on his chest, playing with his chest hair.

You giggle when you hear 'Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton sounding from the speaker.

"The playlist is still running. Maybe I should stop it." you say, ready to get up and look for your phone but Clark stops you.

"Don't" he murmurs. "Your playlist is perfect. So please don't stop the music."

"Sure?"

"Sure. Can't wait to make love to you to every single song." And with a smirk on his lips he falls asleep and you close your eyes too, feeling immensely happy, satisfied and loved.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #cavillry #clark kent #clark x reader #clark kent x y/n #smut

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brattyfics · 3 years

Text

Try

Summary: Angel confesses his feelings to a friend.

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black Reader

Word Count: 1,561

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted something. I’m feeling rusty, so let me know what you think.

“Why am I attracted to toxic masculinity?” Sierra asked you, staring down at her phone screen.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” The two of you waited at the Santo Padre Mayans Charter Clubhouse for her boyfriend, Coco, to return from an errand.

“I’m trying to figure out why my pussy throbs every time this man tells me I better behave or else. Like, why is that so sexy?”

You snort at her silliness. “I don’t know. You know I don’t. The first time a man thinks about telling me what to do I give him his walking papers.”

“I forget you can’t keep a man.”

“A man can’t keep me. Remember that. There’s a difference.”

“Right, that’s what happens.”

You rolled your eyes but kept talking. “I don’t think that’s toxic of him. I think he’s just setting boundaries. You can be…a handful. I’ll just put it that way.”

“Don’t put it. Just say it.” Sierra had that wild glint in her eye, the one that usually spelled trouble.

“You can be a lil’ bit reckless sometimes. A lil’ wild. Coco needs to regulate that ass.” You reached behind her to playfully swat her ass.

Coco chose that moment to show up, a big, crooked grin on his face. “Why you touching my girl, mano?” He stepped up, crowding you like he would some random dude at the bar who had done the same.

“Do you want to fight?” You asked, taking on your best Southpaw stance. Coco matched you, bouncing on his soles for a moment, but then shook his hands dismissively. “Nah, you got it. My bad.”

“Oh, okay. I didn’t think so. I’m glad I didn't have to lay you out in here today—“

“What are you yapping about?” Angel Reyes slid into the tiny space between you and Coco. His inky black hair was gelled back into a masculine style, patches of grey littering his full, overgrown beard. He looked as handsome as ever, and you felt yourself heating up in his presence.

You had too much of an ego to let him know that, so you kissed your teeth at his choice of words. Yapping, like you were some annoying little puppy dog. If only he knew. He’d be the one acting like a puppy if you got your hands on him.

“I’m just kidding, mamí.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, and you felt your heart catch in your throat again. The smallest things made you clam up around Angel, but you needed to get a grip. He was so handsome but so unavailable.

Coco stepped around you to greet his girl, wrapping her up in a bear hug and tonguing her down in the middle of the clubhouse. You made exaggerated gagging noises, but they ignored you, getting reacquainted with each other. “You would think they were apart for longer than a couple of hours.” As much as you teased them about being codependent, you were happy for them. Neither of them had an easy go at love, but for some reason, they just clicked.

Angel dropped a heavy arm around your shoulders, the smell of teakwood, leather, and cedar washing over you. “Come on.” You didn’t need to be told twice, allowing him to guide you towards a table. The two of you settled into a corner, huddled closer than two platonic friends probably should be.

You missed EZ’s patch party the week earlier so he gave you a recap. You were in the awkward space of being physically close, though you had never been intimate. Your eyes kept locking on each other, and then quickly shifting away. It was nerve wracking not knowing the other person's limit—how much eye contact was too much or too little.

He asked about a cousin of yours that he went to high school with and that made you feel more relaxed and open. You faced each other, using your respective hands to gesture wildly as you shared stories animatedly.

Eventually, your hands found their way down to his thighs, using them to balance on as you yelled something to Coco over his shoulder. He seemed content with your closeness, so you kept your hands on his thighs even as you sat back on your stool.

“Let me taste.”

“What?” He wasn’t sure he heard you right.

“Your beer, idiot.” You mumbled under your breath as he handed over the cold bottle. Down went the gold liquid, scorching your taste buds. “Eck. Still nasty.” You sat the bottle down, your hand coming up to cover your chest.

“What, you don’t like beer? Why did you drink it then?” He laughed at your sour expression.

“No. I can do tequila, wine, vodka, hell, anything but that. I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself like that every time. I don’t know, I guess I’ll try anything a couple times.”

“Anything?” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically.

“Ha ha. Almost anything. Let me make that clear.”

“Noted.” Angel tosses the rest of his beer back, eyeing you with a mischievous look in his eyes. Then he’s in your face, arms moving to circle around your midsection. Your knees feel a bit cramped from where they’re sandwiched in between his own and the stool.

“Is this something you’re willing to try? Me? I mean.”

The words stun you. You knew he was attracted to you. You were both drawn to each other whenever you got together. That much was obvious. But being attracted to someone and wanting to be romantically involved with them were two different things. Angel had a new baby and a complicated relationship with its mother. He had a lot going on, and you weren’t sure it was smart to insert yourself into the middle of that.

“Coco told me—“

“He told you what? I’m going to kill Sierra—“

“Nothing crazy. Just that I might not be alone in my feelings. I know you’re worried I don’t have my shit together, and I’m not going to lie and say I do, because I don’t. But me and her—we’re done. There’s nothing between us now but my son.” It concerned you that he couldn’t say her name. Was he still hurt? Bitter?

“A baby is a big something, Angel…”

“You’re right about that. You are.” An unruly strand of hair caught his attention, his calloused fingers brushing gently across the side of your face as he moved it. “I love my son more than anything else in the world, but that doesn’t mean I have to be with his mother. For a long time, I was forcing something that wasn’t meant to be. I didn’t want to see it then, but trust me when I say I know better now. Adelita and I are over.”

You looked down into your lap, wringing your fingers as you took in the information. He sounded genuine, but how many men had told a woman the same thing and then went back on their word?

From what you understood, Angel had been in deep with Adelita, and anyone that knew him knew he loved hard. If Adelita wanted to get back together, would he be able to resist?

You were conflicted, but you leaned into his chest for comfort as the butterflies flew wild in your belly.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Your knees felt uncomfortable against the stool so you stood. Angel pulled you in further, and you felt relieved that you weren’t alone in your emotional turmoil. He wanted you just as close as you wanted to be. You practically melted into his firm chest like mush. He felt warmer than the average person and you wondered if it was just in your mind. Sighing, you willed yourself to not think about anything for a minute. To just enjoy the moment while it lasted, for however long it lasted.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded muffled and far away even though he spoke right above your head. Angel was apologizing, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“No, you’re not.” You looked up at him to confirm your suspicions, and his delight was so contagious that a shy smile warmed your own face. “I am.” He did his best to school his expression, but it was no use.

“Don’t be.” The wide column of his neck was right there, so you pecked it, wondering how it would be to place a less innocent kiss there. “I’m--- I feel the same, Angel. I mean, I’m still worried about the other thing, but I’m willing to try. I want to trust you.”

“And I want you to trust me. Tell you what, you trust me, and I’ll trust you. There will be a time when the shoe is on the other foot. I’m going to have to suck it up and trust you at some point.” Angel was possessive by nature, but you felt more secure hearing him talk about the future. He wasn’t looking for something fun, or short lived.

It just so happened, you weren’t either.

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @ifoundmyhappythought @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen

ANGEL TAGLIST

@thesandbeneathmytoes @claytoncardenasbabymama @adaydreamaway08

#mayans mc #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x black reader

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Text

hi<3 okay i am finally writing the new kotss chapter, and once again here is a lil contemplative snippet of tumblr-drabble length as a preview for when i write the whole thing in a day or two!😌💜 (mostly bc i am feeling sleepy and sappy this morning about mickey’s growth and just. cannot get over it.)

hope u enjoy<3

He fucking loved the dog, okay?

When they were first waiting in that overly-bright room in the dog rescue center (or whatever the fuck it was called) with Ian sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and Mickey had seen the bundle of fur with its paws hitting the ground, a scrawny puppy with a swollen belly and a protruding ribcage— he’d immediately known he was in trouble.

First, because there was no fucking way that Ian was going to let them leave this place without it, since he practically made heart-eyes the second the puppy stumbled its way over to him— and second, because Mickey was absolutely, totally sure that he was going to fuck this up. Even reading the fucking description on the website on Ian’s phone screen, “comes from a troubled past and needs a loving home,” made something twist in his gut— because how the fuck was Mickey supposed to provide something like that?

Mickey didn’t take care of shit like this, like fragile puppies or babies or anything he could mess up— and he especially didn’t let in anything more than he could handle losing, anything soft and helpless and innocent that he couldn’t let slip between his fingers on his own accord. He’d learned that shit early, when whatever whispers and soft traces of touches on his cheeks were ripped away by the pry of Terry’s calloused hands— when one day, when he was fifteen, he and Mandy and everyone else didn’t have a mom anymore. Losing his mom, losing his family after years on the road, even losing fucking Terry those now months ago; all of that shit compounded and pressed on the walls of his ribcage in a way that Mickey himself didn’t really understand, and apparently was oozing out of him in a fucking dog shelter as he stood there frozen, in the face of a helpless frame on wobbly legs with silky grey fur.

For some reason, even though he and Ian had been talking about the dog in the abstract for days now, something about seeing the dog scared him shitless— because taking care of shit was objectively scary, and Mickey was shit out of practice with it. He’d never been good, comfortable, at holding something fragile in his hands, something that he could mess up in a second with a slip of judgement. Mickey was great at getting shit done, but with something like this— well, honestly, he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself enough, to not make those split-second choices that Terry made, the ones that left cigarette burns on his sides and snapped his jaw out of place and left him with so many aching wounds that only became more dark and cavernous through the years.

I’m gonna fuck this up.

What if he got too mad and kicked the dog, what if he fed it the wrong shit and it withered away and became more frail than it already was, what if it ran away or got hit by a car or got fucking shot by a stray bullet in a shitty neighborhood? It felt scary to choose to care about something this fragile, to sign up for the loss and the ripping ache that would follow if Mickey overreacted or fucked something up or made a slip-second misstep. In the Milkovich family, loving was a liability— a promise that someone you cared about could get pummeled and bloodied and beaten in front of you, could get handcuffed and dragged upstate for months or years in the blink of an eye. When Mickey was fifteen, scratching “FUCK LOVE” and “STAY THE FUCK OUT” signs on pieces of cardboard with Sharpies he’d stolen from the dollar store, he’d made a promise to himself to harden himself against that weakness— against that loss.

And then, of course, freckle-faced chicken-legged Ian Gallagher showed up at his doorstep anyways.

So he’d let himself love Gallagher—and eventually he’d let himself love Franny after she plopped herself in his lap one day, wearing a princess tiara talking a mile a minute about monster trucks; and he didn’t even mind hanging out with Liam once in a while on those late nights in the Gallagher house, when Ian would be working a double shift and he and Liam flopped on opposite sides of the couch, watching shitty cartoons in a comfortable silence as the glow from the TV screen flickered on their faces.

But none of that felt like a choice—all of those people, those warm bodies to love, just fell into Mickey’s lap; so it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, really, if shit hit the fan. It wasn’t like he made the choice to love them in the first place— it just happened.

But adopting a dog (or having a fucking kid, like he knew Ian wanted)— that was a choice. That was telling something, someone, that you were ready to take care of them; that you were ready to lose everything when they inevitably got taken away, that you were ready to pour all of your fucked-up bullshit into someone and hope that you weren’t the reason why they turned out screwed up. It just seemed like too much; and in the face of the tiny fucking furball that Ian was cooing over as he sat cross-legged, Mickey’s immediate impulse was to keep his distance and tether himself into the linoleum floor miles away.

But of course Ian had done that fucking thing only he had the power to do, and melted whatever iron walls Mickey had soldered into place with a gentle Mick, d’you wanna pet her?— and of course the fucking dog had to nuzzle her goddamn tiny wet nose into Mickey’s hand, and give a too-trusting lick to his palm as she rolled over onto her back, exposing her vulnerable belly even after whatever fucking dog-fight bullshit she’d been through— and immediately Mickey couldn’t couldn’t see a timeline in which they didn’t wrap this fucking mutt up in a soft towel and take her home to the dog bed in their apartment and get her healthy on gourmet fucking dog food from a monogrammed tin bowl.

So even though it drove him fucking crazy that she was so fucking skinny, and the entire first night when she’d slept curled on the bed he kept waking up and googling the best dog foods and exercise regimens and refilling her water bowl at the kitchen sink like an obsessed fucking maniac— he really couldn’t help it.

Against every instinct, he’d chosen to love when he didn’t have to— and he was starting the realize that maybe that shit wasn’t a weakness.

“So, I hear you guys’ve got a new mascot.”

Tommy was ambling in the front door, right on the dot of their 2 P.M. opening time, with Kermit skittishly following a few paces behind him.

Ian rolled his eyes from behind the bar when he thought Mickey wasn’t looking (fucking traitor).

“Yeah, I think the whole neighborhood knows by now. Someone’s been a little too eager with the dog photos.”

Which— fuck that. So what if he fucking posted a few pictures of Baz to the mostly-defunct Alibi Facebook page that Kev had given them the login info to, some of which featured Baz wearing Mickey’s sunglasses when they were partway through a walk? Nobody needed to know that Mickey alone was behind that shit— Ian liked taking dog photos too, even though they were never as good as Mickey’s, and mostly just featured the moments Mickey was passed out on the couch with Baz sleeping on his chest.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ian grinned and turned towards Mickey. “Nothin.’ Just nice to see that you’re growing into the whole dog parent thing. Though it is kind of turning into a stage mom thing.”

Mickey furrowed his brows. “Fuck you. The customers love her. It’s good for business.”

Ian held up his hands in surrender, still smirking—which just cause Mickey to shove him gently in his sternum.

“It’s not my fault Baz is the prettiest pit on the fucking Southside.”

In the corner of the bar, Baz was sitting on her cushion that they’d bought at a boujee pet store down the road, to keep downstairs at the Alibi so they could keep her other dog bed upstairs— and when Tommy and Kermit came into the room her ears immediately lifted, her tail twitching excitedly at the new faces. Tommy just gave a wary side-eyed glance to the dog pillow before plopping himself onto his usual stool, but Kermit nervously crouched beside the cushion and gave Baz’s chin a scratch.

“Ey! Paws off the princess until you drop some money on a beer, Kermit. I didn’t haul myself down to the empty bar on a Monday afternoon to watch you pet my fucking dog.”

Kermit shuffled to his usual seat beside Tommy at the end of the bar. “She’s cute. I didn’t realize pit bulls could be so scrawny.”

Baz was already filling out fast in the few days she’d been living with them; but it was true that she was still small and wiry for her age. Mickey made sure they got some sort of fresh dog food shit from the pet store that they had to keep in the refrigerator (even though Ian insisted kibble was fine, like a fucking cheapskate) to get her strength up, and he also got a bunch of fucking vitamins, like salmon oil and shit to make sure her coat was shiny—and yes, okay, maybe he also bought her a badass collar with spikes on it, and maybe he also dropped money on one of those engraved pet tags in the shape of a skull and crossbones that said “Bazooka Gallagher-Milkovich” on it with the Alibi’s address on it. He couldn’t fucking help it; they had a steady stream of cash coming in from crowded nights, they were planning on doing Ian’s karaoke shit once a month, and Mickey felt like they could afford to spend money on shit like this—like they could afford to do this right. And because of Mickey’s doting, even though Ian had started to take Baz for runs in the morning, it was no secret that she liked Mickey ever-so-slightly more than Ian; when they were laying in bed at night Baz would always hop up and curl into Mickey’s side and leave inches between her and Ian, causing a surprised chuckle to escape Mickey’s lips the first time it happened as he scratched behind her ears. Ian just stared at him, with some sappy fucking smile on his face.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just glad we took her home.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but felt a smile creeping onto his lips despite himself. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And I’m definitely not jealous of a dog right now.”

It was later in the evening and the bar was pretty empty, a standard for a Monday night— Mickey had been trying to train Baz to stay on her cushion now that she’d learned how to sit and lay down on command; much to the amusement of Tommy and Kermit, who kept fucking distracting her. If Mickey had his way, he’d train Baz to bark at Kermit whenever he said something stupid (the guy just got on his fucking nerves, what could he say)—but of course Baz had other plans once she realized Kermit was the one of the pair who would pet her, and kept nuzzling her head onto Kermit’s thigh and thumping her tail on the floor.

“I thought pit bulls were supposed to be vicious.”

“Fuck you, Kermit. That’s fucking… dog racist, or some shit.”

Kermit just meekly looked down at his half-empty beer glass, as Ian came in the front door from where he was bringing in the sandwich board from the curb, not expecting any more customers for the night. He reached down to ruffle Baz’s fur along the way.

“How’s our girl doing?”

“Pretty good. Once these assholes get out of here we can called it a night.”

Tommy scoffed at that. “Milkovich, we’re some of your most loyal customers— hell, we’re your only loyal customers. I think we deserve more than insults.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna go drink the day away somewhere else?”

Tommy faltered for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. “Touche.”

“Alright, bozos. Time to pack up. No one else is coming in tonight, we’ll see you tomorrow. Me and Ian have better shit to do.”

Tommy drained the last of his beer, placing a wad of one-dollar bills on the countertop and giving an exaggerated salute. “Until tomorrow, gentlemen.”

When they left the bar and the doors were locked, Ian’s shoulders started to shake with laughter. “Jesus. I never thought I’d be at a point in my life when I’m dependent on the consistent generosity of Tommy and Kermit, but here I am.”

“More like consistent alcoholism.”

Ian smirked, then flopped to sit on a barstool opposite the countertop from Mickey, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you fine taking Baz out? I’m kinda tired, wanna get a start on dinner.”

“Yeah, man. Works for me.”

They’d been living with each other in the Gallagher house for months, sure, but they were still new at doing this— at only accounting for each other’s schedules, at divvying up tasks like walking the dog and cooking dinner and doing fucking dishes rather than just coasting on someone like Debbie getting them by. Things were different now— things were settled and quiet, in a way that still made Mickey like he had to rub his eyes extra hard to clear them in the still, dark mornings in the apartment, like he wasn’t convinced this shit was real.

After dinner they sat cross-legged on their bed, watching a movie on Ian’s old beat-up laptop with Baz sitting between them and chewing on one of her toys that squeaked loudly every few seconds (this one was a stuffed animal in the shape of a police officer, because in Mickey’s own words at the pet store, “ACAB motherfucker”)— and later that night, wrapped in the smell of laundry soap on clean sheets and dog shampoo, Mickey slept easily.

Maybe this was something he could trust himself to hold on to.

#catch me laying in bed & ignoring my exams & instead writing This #ily all i hope u are having good thursdays<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #bazooka gallagher milkovich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ixm

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raynnawrites · 3 years

Text

New Start {14}

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x POC!Reader

“How far along am I?” you asked your gynecologist, Dr. Ridley. She looked at the monitor, moving the transducer around your belly, gently.

“It appears that you're two days close to 7 weeks. But everything seems healthy and normal. By what you’ve told me, your diet isn’t as bad either so, you have a high chance of a smooth, healthy pregnancy!” she happily announced.

You were happy as well, relieved to know that the baby, so far, didn’t have any signs of health complications. But the thought of Erik finding out chilled you to your core. You hadn’t even gotten married yet.

“Is everything alright, ma’am?” Dr. Ridley asked, seeing you staring off.

“Y-Yes! Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just thinking about this “future” journey.” you lied, giving a small smile.

“Ah, that’s completely normal! When I was expecting my first, I was just like you,” she began, “young, sweet and excited. Even my husband stared off into space thinkin’ about our future child.”

Dr. Ridley cleaned the gel softly and you couldn’t help but to think of a million different questions.

“How did you tell him?” you asked, “I-If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Dr. Ridley only sat in her chair and fixed her glasses. A happy sigh leaving her.

“Well, I was scared as hell. I lost sleep over it, I didn’t eat, I jumped over any little thing until I realized somethin’. If he loves me, why couldn’t he accept our child?” she spoke, as you offered a small smile once again. “After all, it was our creation. A lil’ extension of us.”

“When did you start showing?”

“With my first? I started showin’ at 16 weeks! But with my second and third I started to show at 10 maybe 9.”

You sighed and covered your belly.

“When do you think I’ll show?” you asked shyly.

“Is this your first?” Dr. Ridley asked, grabbing her clipboard. You nodded.

“Well then… with most pregnancies, at least, you begin to show at 12 to 16 weeks. But!”

You raised your brows.

“Do not use strength. It’s early, but still. No strength, no running and no alcohol! Especially hot water. Hot like jacuzzis and anything similar.”

Paying and bidding goodbye, you walked out of the office to your car, driving back home. You sighed and prayed Erik wouldn’t figure this out.

You still had time before you started to show. You could do this.

Once back home, Kai was with T’Challa and Erik was out. Thankfully.

As quick as you were allowed, you hid the papers and any evidence of your secret pregnancy.

One thing Erik knew for sure. Your morning sickness. Erik was no stranger to pregnancy symptoms. After all, he was married and went through the whole process, from pregnancy to childbirth.

Which only made your distress worsen.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, starling you from your thoughts. Making sure the papers weren’t easily spotted, you walked downstairs and checked through the door’s peephole. You sighed in relief.

“T’Challa!” you greeted, smiling softly.

T’Challa smiled in return and hugged you.

“Hello, Y/N. It is nice to see you again,” he greeted.

“Where’s Kai?” you asked, looking outside and into his car. His windshields were too dark, meaning you couldn’t see into his car. You closed the door after your soon-to-be brother-in-law entered your home.

“He is with Shuri, do not worry.” he replied, “I apologize I did not call ahead. N’Jadaka told me to come ahead here and have Shuri bring Kai later,” he explained as your worry ceased.

“No, no, don’t you worry. If Erik gave the okay, then it’s completely fine! Besides, I know Shuri takes good care of Kai.” you replied, seeing him nod and smile.

Shuri and Kai were hurricanes.

“Can I get you anything? Water, soda, beer? Wine…?” you asked, seeing his shy smile, “some wine, please.” T’Challa replied, making you smile. He loved red wine. But he couldn’t get drunk or even tipsy… you didn’t know that.

You grabbed his glass and poured the decent amount, placing the wine bottle back into its storage and carefully, you walked over the couch, giving T’Challa his glass.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“No problem.”

As T’Challa took his first sip, he sighed, content. He really did love his wine.

“Now, how you’ve been? I ain’t see you in a while,” you asked T’Challa as he sighed and placed his glass on the coffee table.

“Everything has been going well, thank goodness. Work has been chaotic but they are just some minor issues, nothing too serious.” T’Challa spoke softly as you nodded and continued to listen.

“N’Jadaka has been calmer than usual as well. Usually, whenever they call me from the office it is because he broke another table.”

You chuckled.

“But, thanks to you, he has reduced the property damage.”

“I’m always happy to help!”

As you kept speaking and joking around, T’Challa had picked up on another scent. One that was oddly familiar.

“No… that cannot be. I must be mistaken.” he thought.

The scent was a light and easy one, but it was there and it was coming from you.

Baby…

Baby? A fetus?

Is she... pregnant…? T’Challa thought again.

“Can I refill your glass?” you asked T’Challa as he nodded, “thank you so much, Y/N.”

“Not a problem!”

When you stood, T’Challa took advantage. As quick as he could, he shoved his hand into his pocket and took out one of the Kimoyo beads from their magnetic orbit and scanned you, allowing a short X-ray of your system.

He bit his tongue to avoid the loud gasp he would’ve given, but quickly turned off the bead and shoved it in his pant’s pocket.

You were pregnant. Did Erik know? Did you know?

With Erik still running errands and Kai napping, he had more than enough time. When you returned with his glass, he thanked you with a smile and placed his class on the coffee table again, taking a deep breath.

“Y/N… I-I know it is not my place or business to ask, but… a-are you pregnant?” T’Challa asked, taking you aback.

How does he know?!

“What? N-No! No, I’m not pregnant, T’Challa.” you replied, trying to give the most convincing tone and face you could.

“Are you sure?” T’Challa asked you again, knowing the truth and smelling the lie, “y-yes! Yes, I’m sure!” you replied hesitantly. T’Challa gave you an “are you kidding me look”, making you sigh in defeat.

“How do you know?” you asked, seeing him soften his eyes.

“I… I saw a document fly out of your coat when you opened the door. I apologize, I know it is none of my business but it was face up…” he lied.

“No, it’s okay…”

“Does N’Jadaka know?”

“No. And he can’t know. We haven’t even gotten married yet… he can’t.” you replied, seeing T’Challa nod.

“He will love you no less, you know.”

You gave T’Challa a confused glare.

“If you tell him you are pregnant, before you marry, he will still love you. I am sure of it.” T’Challa repeated, softening his eyes. You only shook your head.

“How do you know?” you asked T’Challa, “how do you know he won’t think I cheated or anything like that?”, T’Challa only chuckled softly.

“Y/N, I know my brother well. Better than most actually. I know for a fact that no matter what he will love you. As will Kai. They will both still love you,” he spoke as you sighed and crossed your legs.

“I don’t know, T’Challa… I-”, you both turned your head toward the door. A car’s door was heard.

“Your secret is safe with me, Y/N. Do not worry.” T’Challa whispered as you nodded and offered a small smile, seeing him go to the kitchen.

Then, a knock was heard.

“Mama!”

You smiled. Softly, you stood and walked over to the door, checking, only to see Kai and Shuri, both wearing matching outfits.

Opening the door, Shuri greeted you with a hug. You hugged back and then felt little hands trying to reach up.

“If it ain’t the King of Drip?” you teased, holding Kai’s hand while you closed the door. Kai laughed.

“Aunt Shuri says I’m the prince of drip!” he replied, hearing Shuri humming in agreement.

T’Challa had refilled his glass and sat back down, watching Kai walk over to him.

“What’s that uncle T?” the curious child asked, pointing to the glass.

“This, my little jaguar, is a special drink only adults can consume!” T’Challa replied, picking him up after setting the glass on the coffee table, setting him in his lap.

“Awww… I can’t have some?” he asked, “really Mama?”.

You’re heart melted. “No Kai, not yet.”

While you all spoke and joked around, Erik returned. Thankfully, he was just running some errands, meaning he wasn’t exhausted.

“Hey, babygirl.” Erik greeted you with a kiss. After the kiss, you smiled at him.

“Wassup T? You good?”, T’Challa chuckled and greeted Erik with their handshake.

“What’s good ashy?” Erik teased, going to Shuri and seeing her smack her lips and slap his arm.

“Y/N, I ain’t never tell you about this ashy bitch?” Erik asked you, making you chuckle and shrug.

“Ahhh, allow me!” T’Challa spoke up as Shuri only groaned and growled, “don’t you dare, T’Challa!” she yelled.

Kai only clapped and laughed along, “tell Mama uncle T’Challa! Tell her!”

“No! Kai don’t you betray your Aunt! It is unfair!” Shuri cried again.

You laughed with them. Erik washed his face and his hands, coming back to the living room.

He grabbed Kai and sat next to you on the couch across the one T’Challa sat at.

“This was only three years ago…. we were out and about, when Shuri suddenly pulled up her jumpsuit’s leg. All we saw was white… almost as if a colonizer took a hold of her leg!” T’Challa cackled, as well as Erik.

Seeing Shuri’s face, you tried your best to hide your laugh.

“When we got back, this lil’ ashy girl bathed in lotion and shea butter.” Erik added as he chuckled now.

“I will get you for this. Trust me.” Shuri growled, “oh lighten up, usisi omncinci. We have all had our moments… especially you.” T’Challa smiled.

Laughter and stories continued to flow until nighttime set upon you. T’Challa and Shuri said their goodbyes and went back to their home. Kai was bathed and changed into his favorite pajamas, soon after falling asleep and being tucked in by his father.

You and Erik had also showered and changed, laying in bed.

“Shit, baby. I ain’t seen you all day.” Erik spoke, holding you close. You smiled.

“It’s okay, E. I know you were busy.”

“Yeah but still, I didn’t even have the chance to call you or nothin’. I don’t like to do that shit.”

Kissing his forehead, you wrapped your smaller arms around him and kept him close, feeling his bigger arms wrap around you as well.

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow you’ll be able to stay and rest. I’mma take Kai to school and after that, we do whatever you want. Okay?” you proposed, hearing him hum.

“Sounds good, babygirl. But tomorrow, I’mma have a lil’ talk with you. A’ight? And no, it ain’t bullshit.” your fiancé told you, making your heart suddenly beat a little faster.

“Okay, babe. ‘Night.”

“‘Night, babygirl.”

You turned around, allowing him to spoon you, only to lay awake for the next hour, thinking…

What could Erik want to talk about?

Translations:

usisi omncinci: little sister

Taglist:

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If you would like to be added or removed from the taglist, let me know!

#black panther #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger x poc #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger #Raynnawrites

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lost-in-sokovia · 4 years

Text

Five to Seven Minutes

hello loves! i wanted to write this lil steve rogers fic based off one of my FAVORITE episodes of “The Office” season 6 episode 17, “Special Delivery Part 1”! basically in the episode pam is going to go into labor and jim is trying to get her to go to the hospital but she keeps putting it off and it turns out that she’s actually scared to give birth🥺. i was getting vibes that i feel like that’ll be me with my husband when i’m older so i wanted to write this.😂 so “The Office” fans, please enjoy!!🤍

Warnings: pain/contractions, stress, but mostly fluff and comedy :)

“It’s not every night we all sit together... at a huge table like this...” Tony commented in annoyance.

He was right. For once in a really long time, all the members of the Avengers (and their kids and wives, to Tony’s dismay) were all together at one table. It wasn’t like the first time you were all together, no. You’ve been at parties with each other and mutually hung out together, but this was like an arranged gathering.

It was nice, having everyone together. All the kids sat on one end while the adults sat on the other, a few parents occasionally checking on the kids to make sure everything was going well. You couldn’t help but stare lovingly at the kids knowing that soon you’d have one over there as well.

You rubbed your nine month baby bump. Your baby was ready to pop any day now. (Steve was ecstatic he was going to have a baby. He was so ready to give the baby a good life with a good father by it’s side.)

“Shut up Tony, this is so nice.” You smiled. Everyone was just about finished eating and just relaxing and chatting. Steve grinned at you and put his hand on top of yours, giving it a small squeeze.

“Have you gotten any baby names yet?” Laura asked across from you. You shrugged.

“I mean, we have one in mind...”

“Yeah but Cap’s the kind of guy to want to give his kid a real 40’s name like Paul, or something way too over done like James,” Tony chimed in, earning a salty “hey!” from Bucky. Steve shook his head.

“You’d be surprised how accustomed to change I am in life by now,” he remarked as he folded his napkin.

“Plus, what if it’s a girl?” You inquired. The two of you had decided to do it the old fashioned way and wait until the baby was born to find out it’s gender. Pepper smiled at you right as Morgan ran up to peek at you over your big bump.

“Hi little miss!” You said happily as Morgan smiled from ear to ear. She reached her hands over your bump and rubbed it from over the soft material of your comfy floral dress.

“Aunt (Y/N) when will the baby be here?” She asked with a sparkle in her wide brown eyes. You sighed gently and stroked her dark hair.

“Any day now love,” you responded. She kissed your bump quickly before running back off to join her friends.

“(Y/N), we’re not having any more kids so it’s your job to keep Morgan entertained with more babies,” Tony joked. You laughed and adjusted your dress.

You guessed having that job wouldn’t be the worst, right?

~•~•~•~•~

Later that night you layed in bed with loose pajamas on. Steve turned off the bathroom light as he finished brushing his teeth and joined you under the covers.

You pulled your hair away as you gripped the sheets and gasped. Steve looked at you and gently grabbed one of your hands.

“Are you alright doll?” He asked. You nodded and inhaled. You scrunched over slightly and let out a few groans.

“Ahhhhhhh okay,” you exhaled in pain. Steve’s blue eyes studied you in concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Is it time?” He suggested. You shook your head as your breathing steadied again.

“No it’s fine Steve. I’m fine, it’s really okay.” You shut your heavy eyelids and sighed once more. He looked at you with uncertainty before adjusting himself on his back. You were out like a light before anything else could happen.

Steve felt his child kick from your belly pressed against his side. Steve grinned before allowing himself to fall into dreamland.

~•~•~•~•~

The next day you found yourself in the same position.

You played off your contractions like they were no big deal. Steve wasn’t going to argue with you, it wasn’t like he had any better experience with babies. And since neither of you liked hospitals, you agreed you weren’t going to put yourself in there any earlier than you had to.

That afternoon you sat on the couch of the living area with Peter. The two of you had been progressively watching 80’s movies together and snacking on all your cravings. Peter wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to eat good food and watch classic movies. You both shared almost a childlike bond that allowed you the two of you to share a relationship that he didn’t even have with Tony.

“Alright Peter, what’s next on the list?” You asked as the credits from “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” rolled on the screen.

“Well next is The Outsiders’ and then finally ‘Footloose,’” he grinned. You clapped your hands excitedly.

“Awesome, well-“ you cut off as a contraction pierced through your stomach. You hunched over and grabbed your stomach, letting out a few breaths.

“Ah, getting there?” Natasha asked as she passed by. You shook your head and waved your hand.

“No, I’ve got plenty of time,” you reassured to a nervous Peter. He looked at you nervously before starting up your next movie. It was fine, you weren’t worried. You had a little bit more time, right?

Later that day the team was getting ready for an Avengers meeting. You stood around with the team and chatted casually before you all started. Steve came over and slid an arm around your waist.

“Hey babe, doing okay?” He asked. You nodded warmly before you squinted your eyes and bit your lip, suddenly grasping one of his hands.

“Agh, okay,” he choked out as you rode out the contraction. “Hey how about we just head to the hospital and check everything out, okay?” Steve suggested. You smiled and looked back in your husband’s eyes.

“No, I’m fine. We’re okay. Not earlier than we have to be, remember?” You reminded. Steve chuckled uncomfortably and nodded. Tony suddenly made his way over and glanced at your stomach.

“Almost time?” He asked. Steve shot him a nervous nod while you shook your head in disagreeance.

“No, we’re waiting,” you explained with a small bite. Steve tried to argue back but Tony clapped his hands.

“Come on Cap, obviously she wants to wait. I say we all help distract her,” Tony said loudly. Everyone looked over. Steve’s eyes narrowed and he grimaced. He knew Tony would take any opportunity to push his buttons and tick him off. You nodded around at everyone and smiled at Tony in relief.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you exhaled as you slowly made your way to a chair. Steve followed behind quickly and reluctantly helped you sit down as Tony announced the new agenda to the team.

As you and and Steve sat next to each other hand in hand, you quietly rode through another contraction. Steve stared at the watch on his wrist and his face lit up.

“Seven minutes, that’s contractions seven minutes apart (Y/N)!” He whispered excitedly. You smiled at him warmly but shook your head.

“Come on Stevie not sooner than we have to, remember?” You pointed out. He frowned.

“But (Y/N)-“

“Alright (Y/N),” Tony clapped. “We’re here to help.” You smiled as Steve glared at everyone behind him. His eyes scanned the room and he saw Sam and Bucky trying to hide discreetly in the background, to which he gave them an even dirtier look. “Anyone got anything interesting or spectacular? This is the only time we will ever be doing a talent show so take advantage now,” Tony reminded. Scott’s hand raised slowly.

“I can be tiny,” he said. Tony gestured for him to come up and demonstrate. Your eyes were glued to the front of the room as Steve looked at you and sighed anxiously.

You watched Scott change size, you watched Thor chug beer, you watched Clint shoot an arrow directly through anything he targeted, you even watched a mjolnir lifting contest. You still sat and rode out plenty of contractions.

“(Y/N) come on, every seven minutes is the start,” Steve pleaded. You shook your head and he stood up. “Nope, nope, come on. We’re going to the hospital,” he said sternly as he reached out his hand for you to take.

“No Steve really I’m fine,” you argued. His blue eyes raged as he looked around.

“You know what, fine. By the way, hate that you’re all helping her,” he growled before walking out. You shrugged as he walked out. All he was trying to do was take you to the hospital. You didn’t need him.

Sam and Bucky ran out after Steve who was pacing in the hallway.

“I know (Y/N) better than anyone else on the team,” Steve muttered to his friends. Steve pulled out his phone and Googled contractions.

“Five to seven minutes.” One website. “Five to seven minutes.” Another website. “Six minutes. Different, but not really.” Again. “Five to seven minutes.” He read off. He scoffed in amusement before looking up at the ceiling anxiously.

Back in the conference room, you were having some difficulties.

Nat had taken Steve’s place next to you and held your hand tightly as you breathed heavily.

“I think we should listen to Steve, (Y/N),” she said softly. You groaned out a “no!” before inhaling sharply and looking around.

“No, okay... Hey where’s Peter? Is it time for ‘Footloose?’” You asked. Peter stood up slowly in the back and walked up unsurely to you.

“Uh, y-yeah...” He said unsurely. He looked back at Tony for approval who nodded at him. Nat helped you up and Peter linked arms with you, walking you slowly out of the room.

When the two of you passed Steve and the boys you simply lifted your chin and kept your eyes straight forward, not even acknowledging him (while Peter looked down nervously, he didn’t exactly always enjoy trying to upset Captain America). Sam broke away and came up to your other side and linked arms and continued to walk with you.

“Sam, I’m fine. I get to the hospital when I get to the hospital...” You reassured calmly. Sam stared at you. “And if I don’t make it, I don’t make it,” you added. Sam shot a glance of confusion and concern at Peter who shrugged. And with that, Sam let go and let you walk calmly onward.

As you and Peter walked down the hallway, your eyes widened as you felt a gush of water down your leg. You halted to a stop luckily right in front of your room.

“Hey Peter, I’m just gonna change really quickly,” you said happily. Peter nodded as you waddled into your room and shut the door. You took a few deep breaths before walking over to Steve’s drawers and pulling out sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Steve jogged down to meet Peter who stood awkwardly outside the door.

“She’s in there,” he said meekly. Steve nodded in thanks before quickly slipping in the door. He found you slipping on his shirt with the sweatpants already on. He smiled at you.

“Hey,” he said happily. You looked over and smiled.

“Hey babe.” You walked over and hugged him over your large bump. He smiled at you as you looked up at him. “Look, Steve. Everything is okay, I promise.” You reassured. He opened his mouth to say something and nodded slowly. “He’s not coming out for a while, okay?” You laughed. Steve’s eyes widened and he raised an eyebrow.

“Did you say ‘he’?”

Your face went blank with fear. “I had Bruce tell me about a week ago, I couldn’t wait.” You replied in a nervous whisper. Steve stared at you with wide blue eyes. You bit your lip. “Please don’t be mad,” you pleaded quietly. He looked at you with teary eyes.

“How could I be mad? We’re having a son...” He whispered as tears brimmed his eyes. You smiled and nodded happily. “We’re having a son!” He repeated a little louder as you laughed joyfully. He hugged you again before you gently pulled away.

“Wow, I feel better,” Steve remarked. You smiled and gave one of his hands a squeeze.

“Good. Now I’m gonna go downstairs and watch ‘Footloose’ with Peter,” you said before slowly making your way to the door. Steve remembered something and turned around to watch you.

“Oh hey, why are you wearing my clothes now?” He asked curiously. You turned around and smiled, rubbing your bump.

“Oh! My water broke,” you explained with a light giggle.

“Oh!” Steve replied as you shrugged and walked back out. He suddenly went pale. “Oh, oh...”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Peter asked. Your lips were sucked in from pain as you nodded. Peter exhaled shakily and shrugged, turning on the movie.

It was only five minutes into the movie when you let out a loud yell, startling poor Peter. You grasped your stomach and grit your teeth. Steve and Tony both heard you and ran in, kneeling in front of you.

“Alright (Y/N), I think it’s time to go to the hospital now,” Steve tried to urge happily. You waved your hand and dismissed it.

“No no, come on (Y/N) I think Steve is right,” Tony chimed in.

“No no guys I appreciate it but I’m fine-“

“Look (Y/N) even Tony says we should go. Tony knows what he’s doing right?”

“Y-Yeah we can watch ‘Footloose’ later,” Peter tried. You shook your head.

“Come on lets just go see, huh?” Steve tried as he glanced at Tony who nodded. Steve and Tony then stood up and tried to pull you up. You then shifted your weight backwards in protest to fight back.

“No no I’m not- I’m not going! I’m not going because I’m scared I can’t do this.” Your voice shifted from yelling to breaking softly. Steve looked at you sadly and kneeled back down. You were crying softly as Steve held your hand and looked at you with wide blue eyes.

“Hey, listen. I don’t know anyone stronger than you,” Steve began softly. You stared at him with watery eyes as he gently wiped away one of your tears. “I know you can do this. Now I know it’s scary (Y/N) I’m scared too,” he chuckled lightly.

“I’m literally petrified I have no clue what to do,” Peter added. You glanced over sadly before looking back at your husband.

“But we’re going to get the best gift out of all of this, okay?” He asked softly. You nodded and inhaled slowly. He smiled at you and glanced over at Tony. “Alright Tony, how far apart are they?” Steve asked quietly.

“Friday?” Tony asked.

“Three minutes, boss.” Friday replied casually. Tony shrugged at Steve, who’s blue eyes were fiery as he looked down.

“Th-three minutes? Tony, Tony you said you’d warn me at five! What happened to five and four, huh?” Steve began to yell in stress. Your eyes darted from Steve to Tony as you cowarded back and began to cry again.

“Oh no no no I can’t have my baby here I want to go to the hospital!” You began to cry nervously. Tony looked down at you with determined brown eyes.

“And that’s where we’re going right now. Friday, pull the car around and Steve you get some things ready,” Tony instructed calmly. Steve shot him a dirty look before running to grab some essentials. You stared at Tony with fear in your misty eyes. “Guess where we’re going?” Tony asked.

“The hospital,” you choked in response.

“Yes and guess what we’re going to do?”

“Have a baby,” you answered. Tony reaches out and gently helped you up.

“Yep we’re going to go to the hospital and have a baby,” Tony told you. He guided you out to he exit as Steve ran after you. Peter scrambled to go get the team.

You were on your way to the hospital to have a baby.

~•~•~•~•~

(“He’s beautiful,” you whispered. You held your son in a blue blanket on your hospital bed. Steve day with you on the bed and held you close, admiring Luca Grant Rogers sleeping in your arms. “Wanna count his fingers and toes again?” You joked.

“No no, I’m sure there’s eleven on each,” Steve whispered back in response without taking an eye off his son.

“Okay,” you whispered sweetly in agreeance.

It had been a long 24 hours.)

i hope you guys liked that! it was really fun for me to write since i love “the office” SO MUCH! i hoped some of you caught when i quoted jim and pam, they really are goals! thanks for reading!🤍

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