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#and ever since ive been like. Looking at my own joints any time they even HINT at playing up

marcos-scorpion · 2 years

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Forever Yours - Eddie Munson x Reader

hello my lovelies! this is vaguely self indulgent- aka reader is alternative (no descriptions of body type/skin colour etc just style) because ive read loads of eddie x cheerleader reader stuff and its mega cute, but my little rockstar gf aesthetic heart needed this. i’m saying this now, as a warning. there will be no happy ending here for eddie and our dear reader. this is just sad. more stuff based from my best (and worst) relationship, like my Adrian Chase x reader from a few months ago. i have a few ideas for part two, but as i said, it wont be a happy ending. i’m at a place in my life where fluff is all i read but I cannot write it. lemme know what you think, and send me any requests ! Xoxo, moth

word count- 2880

warnings- angst !!! (!!!!!), smoking (weed and cigarettes), blood (mega brief), very light sexual hints (like one line lmao), reader is sad, eddie is sad, everyone is sad (if you guys spot more warning lemme know)

~~~

My boots crunched heavily against the foliage as I walked through the woods towards my favourite smoke spot, partially hoping my boyfriend would already be there. Well, he won’t be my boyfriend for much longer. I stomped harder at the thought, scowl deepening. This was the fourth time this week alone that Eddie fucking Munson had left me waiting for a date or planned meet-up. You’d think after almost three years together, he’d know how angry this would make me. Apparently fucking not, as he once again disappeared before our plans to skip the rest of the day and go smoke by Lover’s lake. Our standard Friday, as always. I waited by his van for twenty goddamn minutes until I couldn’t take it anymore, if he wasn’t gonna show, I was gonna go smoke on my own instead.

I was almost at the bench when I heard his voice. What the fuck? Oh I was going to kill him. I get a little closer, peering through the trees.

“…the queen of Hawkins High.” I freeze. He can’t be with her. He is not hanging out with Chrissy fucking Cunningham. I stand, motionless behind a tree, watching him pull out all his cute, flirty theatrics, in the same place he’d used them on me all those years ago. Watched him stumble back from the bench, watched him smile and jump around, pull the collar of his shirt down to show her a tattoo I HAD DESIGNED for him. Oh this man has a deathwish. When he invited her to see his band, I felt my heart drop to my stomach. The anger in my chest dissipated, and my breath caught in my throat as I listened to the rest of their conversation. For so long, I had been the only one going to support his shows, the only one cheering him on, driving him to band practice. I watched her smile and giggle, totally enthralled by my Eddie. He was like that, ever the charmer, always entertaining. I could see that in the way she was looking at him, but what hurt was the way he was looking at her. It had been weeks, months even, since he’d looked at me like that.

I zoned out for the rest of their conversation, stepping back further into the foliage when I realised she was standing to leave. I watched the blush rise on his cheeks as she walked away. I knew I had been losing the love of my life for a few weeks now, but this cemented it. He wasn’t mine anymore.

I had always thought that me and Eds were perfect for each other. We had the same taste in music, a similar style, and the same interests, as nerdy as they may be. The rockstar, and the rockstar’s girlfriend, in every way possible.

I was freezing cold, despite the warm spring air, and my fishnets and little dress were doing nothing to cover the goosebumps rising on my skin. I watch Chrissy scamper down the little path that leads back to the football field, heart hammering in my chest as Eddie groans, standing as well.

Once I was sure he was gone, I sat at the bench myself, starting to roll a joint before I even realised I was crying. Shit. I was not going to cry over anyone, let alone a man. Running my nails over the chains piled across my neck, I easily found the one with the big letter E. As I tightened my fingers around it, sharp edges drawing little lines of blood, I began to sob.

I lit my joint with shaking hands, sobbing harder when I realised my nails were painted to match his oh so precious guitar. Letting the weed cloud my brain was easy, but losing the image of Chrissy and Eddie was proving more difficult.

~~~

I’m not sure exactly how long I sat on that bench, long enough for the joint to turn to ash, along with most of my pack of cigarettes. The walk back to my house was long, having chosen to walk to school in the morning presuming I would be crashing at Eddie’s, another of our Friday traditions. No one was home when I got back, but they weren’t expecting me back either. My family had long since stopped trying to control my whereabouts, and they actually quite liked Eddie once they got to know him.

Quickly changing into my pyjamas, I began taking off my painstakingly applied eyeliner. I’d been trying to look nice for Eddie, maybe catch his attention the way I used to. His eyes would light up from across the room at just a glimpse of me. Not anymore.

As I sat moping, Metallica playing softly from the beat up mixtape Eddie made me so long ago, I decided I couldn’t do this any longer. Leaving would hurt, but nothing hurt more than watching the way the love of my life was staring at Chrissy.

I understood why he would look at her like that. Even if she had (accidentally or not) stolen my boyfriend, I couldn’t bring myself to hate her. I doubt anyone could hate her. Chrissy Cunningham. She was everything I wasn’t. Athletic, friendly, endlessly beautiful. The clean, preppy girl aesthetic was so cute, and she was too kind of a person to genuinely dislike.

It was final nail in the coffin for me, watching the cutesy interaction in the woods. And, with a few more tears smudging the leftover eyeliner I could never quite fully remove, I began removing all traces of Eddie’s presence in my room.

~~~

Driving to school in my own car felt weird on Monday, but after not speaking to Eddie all weekend, it was something I would have to become accustomed to, despite desperately hoping to open my front door to the site of Eddie’s van waiting for me. The Doc Martens shoe box in my passenger seat was glaringly obvious in the corner of my eye, filled with the memory, and remnants, of my loving relationship. Polaroids and notes were littered across a few neatly folded items of clothing, freshly washed and devoid of any of my perfume, including two Hellfire shirts, and a custom Corroded Coffin crop top I had made to surprise him on our two year anniversary. There was a guitar pick somewhere in the box, carved with my initials, thrown from the dingy stage to me, amongst the crowds of drunks. The worst was my favourite necklace. A gift from so long ago, the E pendant, having been switched from chain to chain as they broke from eager hands pulling me for a kiss, held painfully taut as he replaced it with his hand, deepening the kiss, had been a permanent and prominent part of the stack of jewellery I wore every day. A screaming reminder of love we held, of who I belonged to, whether in a dingy bar or the busy hallways of Hawkins High.

There were other small, but painfully meaningful, items in the box. A ticket from the first gig we went to as a couple, the pressed corsage from the only dance I had managed to convince Eddie to go to, the beer bottle top from the night of our first kiss, high and hazy under the stars, and a mug that had been a gift from Wayne, the man taking a liking to me almost instantly.

“You gotta marry this girl Eds, you ain’t gonna get better than this.” Had been his uncle’s words the night I first met him. I had shown up at the Munson trailer, dark painted lips pulled between my teeth as I presented Wayne with a tub of homemade chilli, a smaller tub of cookies balanced on top. I hadn’t wanted to go empty-handed, but I had doubted the older man would’ve been thankful for flowers the way my mother had been when meeting Eddie. I wasn’t a great cook, but as I was to spend the weekend at the trailer, I didn’t want to eat his food and live in Wayne’s space without at least something. I’d left after that weekend with one of the mugs from his prized collection, and a deal I would cook for him again.

I had held so much anger for my lost love, it almost bubbling over at the sight of Eddie in the woods with another girl. But it faded when he invited her to see his band, and it had been completely replaced with a hollow empty sensation as I began removing any trace of Eddie Munson from my life.

The likelihood of Eddie actually being at school on a Monday, either on time or at all, wasn’t high, but it honestly would be easier to leave the box in his locker than to actually face him. Luck, however, wasn’t on my side, as I approached where his locker was, if the small crowd of freshmen gathered was anything to go by.

I knew these kids, had spent hours supervising D&D sessions, driving them home, making sure they were safe in the hellscape of high school. Max stood out in the group of boys, being the only one not in a Hellfire shirt. I had grown close to the girl, starting with just driving her places after the loss of her brother, but developing into teaching her how to do her eyeliner and gifting her old band shirts as she began to develop her own little ‘skater girl’ style. My breakup with Eddie was going to put a rift between me and the kids I’d grown to care about, the boys would inevitably choose their precious dungeon master, but I at least hoped Max would still speak to me.

“Kiddos,” I began, startling the group with their backs to me, “Where’s your leader?” I was praying they would say he wasn’t here, that he hadn’t shown up but they were waiting for him just in case. I did not expect Dustin to look at me sadly before nodding over his shoulder. None of them spoke, but the way they were all staring at me settled dread deep in my heart. Peering past Mike and Lucas, there he was.

Stood next to Chrissy at her locker. I was surprised that he hadn’t been jumped by the basketball team yet.

At this point, I had nothing left in me but a sigh at the sight. I mustered up a sad grin for the kids still staring at me, before holding out the box towards them.

“Will one of you give him this please, tell him to make sure he reads the letter first, but not till he’s home?” None of them moved, so I pushed the box lightly into Dustin’s chest. They’d been watching Eddie fall out of love with me the same way I was, but they were more prepared for the end than me.

As Dustin took the box, he spoke. “I’m sorry Y/N, he must’ve lost his mind.” I offered them one more shaky smile before turning on my heel, walking away towards my first class.

I didn’t see him for the first half of the day, being in the highest set for my classes, but I knew lunch would be difficult. I had too much pride to not sit at the same table I had for all those years, with our friends.

He cornered me before I even made it into the lunch hall at my usual smoke spot just outside the edge of campus. He had the shoebox tucked under his arm, but I could see the tape holding it shut was still in place. He hadn’t opened it yet. He hadn’t read the letter yet.

“Wanna explain what this is sweetheart?” The pet name held no love, the kindness from his voice completely missing. There was no anger there, but the lack of emotion burned worse. I shrugged, dropping the last of my cigarette before stomping it out a little too aggressively.

“Some of your stuff back, thought you might miss it.” I had nothing to say, everything I wanted was written in that letter, the tear smudged ink spilled everything I had felt for these last months. I was taking the cowards way out, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to vocalise everything without breaking down.

I turned to walk away, but he fell into step beside me as we walked to lunch together for the last time.

~~~

I knew he was heading straight home after school, he always did on Mondays, as he reserved the evening to practising new songs on his guitar. I used to sit with him, gentle encouragement along with small acknowledgment every time there was a wrong chord or missed note.

And when I returned home that afternoon, and sat on the edge of my bed, I realised how empty my room was without his presence, be it his belongings or his body stretched across my bed. I won’t say how much I cried that day, but my chest burned as I fell asleep, face still wet.

I would never have assumed, across town, Eddie would go to sleep in a similar way.

~~~

He respected my wishes, confused as to why he couldn’t open the box sooner, and as to why I had apparently written him a letter. Somewhere in his brain, he knew something wasn’t right, but he pushed it aside.

For the first time in memory, Eddie broke his Monday routine. He didn’t even greet his guitar as he walked into his room, the shoebox taking up all of his mind. He lifted the letter out first, not really paying attention to the contents. Unfolding the yellow paper, his hands shook as he began reading.

Eddie my love,

I truly never thought it would come to this. I never expected to have to write to you in this way. Oh Eds, I hate to say this, but I know. I know you don’t love me anymore. It’s ok, I understand. I’m not upset. Well, I am, but not because of that. I’m upset because I should have realised sooner, should have said something, fought harder for our love. But if its not me you want, I can’t argue that. I want the best for you, and if that’s not me, I can accept that. It burns, knowing I’m not enough, but I could never be upset at you for that. I don’t think I can ever be upset or angry at you for long, no matter how hard I try. You were, and still are, my everything, my rockstar, but I can’t sit alongside you in silence anymore. I don’t remember the last time you looked at me with any real emotion, the last time we spent time together, just us. I don’t remember the last time you told me you loved me, when you last kissed me. I was your favourite girl, but I know now that I’m not anymore. I’m gonna miss you Eds, but as much as it hurts to let go, I can’t stand by as your girlfriend as you fall in love with someone else. All I ask of you my love, is that you take care of yourself, that you’re happy, but that you take care of her too, don’t let this happen to her, because no one deserves to feel this pain. And please, don’t make this harder than it already is, don’t try and win me back, convince me of what I already know isn’t true. You will always have a piece of my heart Eddie, don’t destroy it by trying to come back. I hope you know you’ll always be my favourite boy.

Forever yours,

Y/N

He could feel the tears at his lash line build as he read, his heart sinking with every syllable. Gently smoothing the paper, he ran his fingers over the black lipstick mark next to my name. He wouldn’t cry, he had caused this, and he had to live with it.

His attempt not to cry was made more difficult as he removed each item from the box, thumb swiping over my face in every photo. He lifted each piece of clothing to his face, but the tears built more as he realised they smelled too clean. He frowned as he lifted Wayne’s mug. The man was going to be so disappointed, not only at the loss of a girl he genuinely liked, but at how his nephew had caused all of this.

The dam finally burst as cool metal met his fingers. The last thing in the box. The necklace. His tears dripped onto the pile of papers and fabric on his lap, which he quickly moved, not wanting to risk ruining any of the last pieces of me he could hold on to. Gently wrapping the chain around his fingers, the true meaning of this loss hit him.

I had let him go, like he was so sure he had wanted. I had given him permission to love Chrissy. But now, with the metal slowly warming in his palm, he realised the only thing he would ever want was me.

And he realised he was too late.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie Munson x reader #stranger things #st #stranger things season 4 #Stranger things x reader #eddie Munson angst #eddie x reader #Eddie x you #moth writes

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iscratchdoors · 1 year

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blah blah trans healthcare rant dont mind me

i know people get pissy about regrets being given voice but holy fucking shit i should have not taken my time trying to get on hrt. i already knew i would eventually have to get top surgery to live my life normally at like 14 years old but for like 2-4 years after i was going back and forth on wanting to go on t, partially bc i wasn't sure i wanted all its effects and to look like a Manly Macho Man (wow a 15 year old struggling with the idea of looking like a 40 year old man? no way) and other gender stuff but mostly because everything i'd heard about trying to get hrt was a fucking horror story and i was already dealing with a ton of shit so i took my time to really make 100% sure i wanted to be on t (coincidentally happened when i became an adult and youthful androgyny stopped being an option, who woulda thought?) before ever contacting a doctor about it and holy FUCK was that a bad idea

it's always "take your time" and "don't rush into things" but holy fuck the waiting game is fucking insufferable. i did exactly that and took my time but turns out, so will my doctor! it does not matter how much Taking My Time(tm) i have done before seeking medical intervention this dipshit needs to take half a fucking year to even start talking to me about treatment. 6 appointments since last year and i've so far done nearly all the talking and gotten 0 information back and for about half of those ive been hearing that "next time we might talk about the next step" and guess what! we fucking haven't! because i need to wait, wait, wait, and make sure, and wait

for fucking what? ive already done all the making sure, giving me more time isn't going to change shit except delay my ability to live a normal goddamn life. he's not a psychologist and clearly doesn't know shit about autism, so i have no clue why he thinks he's qualified to decide if that has somehow tricked me into thinking im trans, a thing that famously happens. he's not telling me shit about fuck about how my treatment might even go and im not allowed to even fucking ask because that immediately gets shot down with "well we cant just give you hormones right away" BITCH FIRST OF ALL its been MONTHS ive had all my psychiatric work done for YEARS before i ever had to deal with your donkey-headed ass and im literally just ASKING. FOR INFORMATION. NOT A PRESCRIPTION.

but noooo we have to wait wait wait, wait before we even talk about the one goddamn thing i came for. like we arent sitting here having talks about my truest inner self and how to best achieve it or whatever the fuck i didnt come here for counseling and it certainly isnt what im fucking getting. like what the fuck does he think is going to happen during an arbitrarily decided waiting period? i suddenly change my mind? without him giving me ANY information about what im getting myself into? hes going to discover some secret psychosis i have that my ACTUAL PSYCHIATRIST didn't for years??? it doesn't make any sense. it's always "oh you can't get hormones on the first appointment" WELL CAN I AT LEAST BE FUCKING SENT TO ENDO BY THE GODDAMN SIXTH???? im not taking shit at my own pace im entirely reliant on someone else's that they decided for me with frankly no justification

and i can't even vent my frustrations about this to acquaintances and relatives because for some goddamn fucking reason, they almost ALWAYS take the doctor's side. i complain about the shit i had to go with my joints, nobody assumes the doctor was in the right when i tell a story of how they fucked something up or were a prick. i say one bad word about THIS motherfucker and suddenly well the doctor has his reasons surely :((( you cant just expect to be given what you want immediately :(((((( what if someone gets on hormones and changes their mind :(((((( not you just Someone :((((((( still your problem tho :(((((((( by the way i need you to listen to this story about how a trans person you've never met annoyed me once :) i dont have anything against trans people btw did i mention that? i really dont. if you want medical treatment die tho.

every single fucking time. what the hell is it about transgender healthcare specifically that always makes people play defense for a medical professional they dont know anything about. i know im kind of unhinged with anger and hyperbolic from rant frenzy but i mean no exaggeration when i say that i genuinely believe that half of these people would rather see 100 trans dudes kill themselves than let 1 confused cis girl end up with a deep voice and extra body hair. it's fucking ridiculous. even my goddamn social worker gave me the "can't expect hormones at first appointment" speech. a fucking WEEK ago. first appointment was LAST YEAR girl. no matter how directly i describe exactly what's wrong with my doctor's approach and why (it's not only the waiting period he's just a general cunt) somehow the narrative of the entitled impatient trans person who is attacking this poor poor medical professional on an unhinged whim when really they could just accept themself and be cis and happy :( is the first thing that springs to their mind. there's not an ounce of trust in me, or anyone else in my position.

and this is all just the first step. i'm already looking into paying out of pocket for surgery because the fucking rate this is going at doing it the standard way seems a last resort more than anything. but to even get into talks about getting surgery done, in ANOTHER FUCKING COUNTRY most likely, at that, because fuck me for being born here, i of course need to be diagnosed and on hrt! haha! amazing! i can't do shit to progress any further until ONE OLD FART decides that i'm allowed! wanna permanently ruin your health with booze and smoking? sure! you're an adult! wanna get a cosmetic surgery in line with your agab? aye if you can pay for it! oh you want to get a different cosmetic surgery to improve your mental health at well over 18? now hold on there bucko we're going to need 2 doctors to sign off on that, what if youre just being an insane wackadoodle and you'll regret the horrible, horrible fate of not having titties while living as a dude. that's not a decision you can just make. have you considered spending the rest of your life unable to comfortably go outside or even move around much inside your own home instead? seems like a much safer option.

and all the waiting and frustration is one thing but the absolute lack of support is what really finishes the job. i go to my dumbass dipshit appointments and do my dumbass dipshit jester dance of how good of a trans i am and may i please please please have a crumb of medical care sir? spare a doing your fucking job sir? and after that goddamn exhausting ordeal of justifying my right to existence and well being i go home and instead of winding down i fucking do it again. no reprieve. and then i go to my room and i wait, wait, wait, wait, and wait, and it never fucking ends, and all i do is wait, wait wait, wait, wait, and i barely even get to talk to people who aren't paid to do it anymore, and i wait, wait, wait, and im slowly going more and more insane, and wait, wait, wait, and life is a fucking nightmare, and i wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, and there's no one left to ask for help, and i wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, and think about putting a hole in my skull, and wait, and wait, and wait

#personal and unhinged. not thoughtful or informative

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

harry’s condo : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent.

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it.

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break.

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before.

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt.

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever.

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child.

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life.

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today.

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth.

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth.

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code.

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace.

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs.

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment.

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time.

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town.

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips.

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes.

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers.

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change.

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional.

Why, thank you!

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day.

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot.

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture.

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent.

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth.

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites.

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out.

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest.

It happens Thursday on two occasions.

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught.

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?”

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders.

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion.

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink.

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out.

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night.

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary.

You’re going to regret that.

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows.

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly.

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite.

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever.

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did?

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable.

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what.

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.”

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container.

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.”

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks.

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…”

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship.

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.”

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.”

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box.

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.”

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp.

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night.

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle.

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully.

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red.

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.”

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.”

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp.

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.”

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently.

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait.

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth.

“Well, it fucking worked.”

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins.

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity.

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.”

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind.

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.”

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.”

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.”

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four.

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.”

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now.

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now.

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.”

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.”

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.”

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation.

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?”

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.”

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance.

“Mm-mm. What?”

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.”

He feels her heartbeat trip.

“And you know what I do to brats?”

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense.

“I fuck them until they break.”

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it.

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room.

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs.

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.”

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.”

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win.

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms.

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.”

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.”

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside.

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face.

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours).

“You drool in your sleep.”

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?”

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep.

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe�� just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit.

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips.

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.”

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it.

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.”

“Truly. His dad was hotter.”

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.”

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.”

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.”

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession.

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike.

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.”

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.”

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak.

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons.

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass.

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end.

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting.

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.”

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name.

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.”

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?”

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?”

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.”

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.”

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.”

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.”

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.”

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.”

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.”

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips.

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that.

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.”

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.”

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil.

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.”

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before.

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.”

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.”

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know.

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave.

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.”

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.”

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again.

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.”

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.”

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?”

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now.

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.”

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop.

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head.

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue.

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?”

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.”

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers.

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out.

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips.

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.”

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?”

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.”

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it.

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck.

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before.

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.”

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.”

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.”

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Whatever.”

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.”

“Wow. I feel used.”

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!”

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.”

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.”

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.”

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.”

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow.

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?”

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.”

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.”

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?”

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.”

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance.

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.”

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.”

“Oh, like you’re any better?”

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.”

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house.

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally.

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so.

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece.

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did.

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link.

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings.

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom.

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise.

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.”

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead.

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that.

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily.

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video.

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect.

“Uber for Y/N?”

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.”

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.”

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.”

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her.

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place.

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago.

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.”

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science.

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement.

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.”

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person.

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger.

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.”

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?”

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.”

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even.

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time.

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism.

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.”

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way.

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her.

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons.

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist.

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind.

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.”

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter.

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip.

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction.

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant.

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin.

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.”

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises.

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?”

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.”

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.”

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten.

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils.

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth.

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones.

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest.

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.”

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before.

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left.

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to.

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock.

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.”

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one.

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!”

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.”

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all.

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.”

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.”

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.”

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy.

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core.

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming.

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.”

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.”

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo.

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?”

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before.

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises.

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin.

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture.

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs.

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted.

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs.

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have.

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop.

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him.

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there.

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought.

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding.

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type.

“You like Hamilton?”

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate.

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly.

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth.

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?”

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.”

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.”

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!”

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?”

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.”

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.”

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?”

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?”

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face.

“Harry, I’m serious—”

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part.

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along.

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room.

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum.

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again.

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.”

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.”

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them.

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did.

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon.

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer.

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.”

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.”

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.”

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would.

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hi!! So I was listening to paper rings by Taylor Swift today and the lyric 'I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings' made me think of coops and o'knutzy. Could you write a prompt about this?! <3

This song is so perfect for Coops and it’s the best way to start of the long-awaited wedding series! Yay! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Combined with:

1. Domestic Coops

2. Remus making fun of Sirius’ initials

3. Sirius trying to make Remus moan while he’s on the phone with his folks

4. From @colored-rain: Taking Hattie to the vet

TW for mild smutty content, taking a pet to the vet, and the inherent stress of wedding planning

I: Six Weeks Before the Wedding

“Where are we even going to do this?” Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair.

Remus shook his head silently, pressing his forehead into the wooden edge of the table. “What if we elope?”

“Celeste would skin us both.”

“True. Oh, god, my dad would cry if we did that.” Remus slid down in his seat and stared up with sad eyes. “Can’t we just be married already?”

“I could get tinfoil from the kitchen and just…” Sirius mimed wrapping it around his ring finger and Remus snorted.

“Baby, I would marry you with paper rings, but I think we want them to last.”

“You like shiny things!”

“I do, that doesn’t mean I want tinfoil on my hand for the rest of my life,” Remus laughed, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Alright, let’s go through our list again. We agreed on small, right?”

“Just the team and families. We still want it to be outside?”

“Yep.” Remus checked off two boxes on the piece of paper they had been grappling with for the past four days. “Rings have already been ordered?”

“I’m doing that this afternoon. What kind of cake do we want?”

“Uhhh…an edible one?” Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a huge preference. Chocolate is really good but all the ones from the store are spongy.”

“Wow, an edible cake, so original,” Sirius teased. “We can ask Celeste what she thinks.”

“Good plan.” He paused for a moment. “Where outside will we do it? We need an actual venue. I think people would be upset if we just had a wedding in a public park.”

“The media would be all over it, too.” Sirius scrunched his nose up in thought just as their timer went off and both sighed as they headed for the door. “It’s going to be hard to focus on practice when we know next to nothing about the wedding we’ve been planning for over six months.”

“We’re disasters.”

II: Four Weeks Before the Wedding

“We’re not putting that on the cards.”

“Why not?” Sirius frowned and looked down at the mock-up invitation. “It’s our initials. It’s cute.”

Remus blinked at him. “Sirius. Your initials.”

“Do you not want my initials on our joint wedding invitation?”

“I would love to have your initials on our joint wedding invitation, except for the part where it’s the same acronym as ‘son of a bitch’.”

Sirius paused, then groaned and put his hands over his face. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“You forgot your own initials?”

“I forgot the son of a bitch thing!”

“Okay, I clearly don’t tease you enough for that,” Remus snickered, wrapping an arm around his waist to kiss his cheek. “Alright, attempt number eight is a bust.”

III: Three Weeks Before the Wedding

Sirius ran his fingers gently through Remus’ hair, feeling him shift in the darkness. “What’s on your mind, mon amour?”

“Are we changing our last names?”

“Did we…not discuss that?” Sirius wracked his brain, but it was so exhausted from wedding topics that he came up empty.

“I don’t think so.” Remus scooted around so he was on his side, facing Sirius. “Both our names are super connected to our jobs. Plus, Lupin-Black might be a little long for jerseys.”

“I’d rather not go through the whole name-change process.” There was a beat of quiet. “Though I do like the sound of Sirius Lupin.”

Remus’ breath audibly caught and he leaned closer to Sirius, nuzzling against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

IV: Eighteen Days Before the Wedding

Remus’ back hit the mattress with a soft bounce that was quickly stilled by Sirius’ weight pressing him down by the hips, his mouth skimming along all the right places on Remus’ neck. “Yes,” he hissed as Sirius ground down, their bare chests bumping together. He dipped his hands beneath the waistband of Sirius’ sweats and he shivered, nipping the hinge of his jaw.

“Wait,” Sirius gasped, pulling back to straddle Remus’ waist.

“What? Is this a flamingo moment?” Remus panted, still buzzing with arousal.

“Did we invite your parents to the wedding?”

Remus stared at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“I don’t think we did.”

“Sirius, you are literally about to—holy fuck, did we invite my parents?”

“I don’t know!”

Remus groaned and let his head fall back against the pillows before tapping Sirius’ hip and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed his mother’s number, taking a few deep breaths to collect himself as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom, how’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s going fine out here. How’s wedding planning?” Hope asked. Remus could hear her smiling.

“That’s what I’m calling about, actually. Did you—” He bit his lip as Sirius’ fingertips trailed up his thigh. “Uh, did you get an invitation?”

Hope was silent for a moment, save for a few rustling sounds. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think so. Lyall! Honey, did Re send us a wedding invitation?” There was a low humming noise as his father responded. “He says we didn’t get one.”

Remus winced. “Sorry about that. I can text you the details, if you want.”

“Will you mail one as well? I want to put it in our memory box.”

Sirius’ hand slid further along Remus’ leg, growing closer to his inner thigh by the second and doing nothing to quell his frayed nerves. “Yeah—yeah, mom, we totally can.”

“Are you alright? You sound a bit out of breath.”

“Hattie was running around and being a little crazy.” Remus covered the speaker with his hand and turned to glare at Sirius, who grinned and kissed his cheekbone.

“Okay,” Hope sounded skeptical. “So you’re not getting sick or anything?”

“Nope. Healthy as a horse.” The last word came out a little breathless as Sirius licked a stripe up his neck and bit down on the junction to his shoulder, making Remus’ eyes flutter closed. He smacked Sirius’ hand halfheartedly and felt him grin.

“How’s Sirius doing?”

“Fine, he’s fine. We’re a little stressed with the wedding planning and everything, but things are good here.” Really good, he thought as the heel of Sirius’ hand pressed down just next to his dick. He swallowed down a moan and squeezed his eyes shut. “Alright, I’ll text the details to you this afternoon love you mom bye.”

“Love you t—”

A millisecond after the call ended, Remus slammed his phone into the nightstand and pushed Sirius into the sheets, bracketing his face with his elbows. “What the fuck was that?”

“I’m just keeping things interesting.” Sirius tugged his lower lip between his teeth and smirked, which really left Remus with only one option: kissing him senseless until he couldn’t even remember his own name.

V: Three Days Before the Wedding

Sirius’ leg bounced up and down nervously and he gripped Remus’ hand as they waited in the lobby of the vet’s office. “She’ll be okay.” His voice was noticeably higher than usual and he cleared his throat. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a cough.” A cough that’s been going on for four and a half days.

Remus hummed his agreement, though he hadn’t stopped twisting Hattie’s leash in his hands since they arrived. “Just a cough. Probably a cold, or—or something like that.”

The doors ahead opened and both of them stood as Hattie trotted out next to the vet tech, who looked rather amused. “What’s wrong with her?” Sirius asked, scanning her for any signs of illness. “Is she alright?”

“She is a very talented actress,” the vet said, rubbing Hattie behind the ears. She whined pitifully and cuddled into Sirius’ side. “Have you two been busy lately?”

“We’re planning for our wedding.” Remus looked as confused as Sirius felt. “Why?”

“Because Miss Hattie here is one of the healthiest, snuggliest dogs I’ve ever seen.”

“But she was coughing.”

“She was faking.” The vet knelt next to her and petted down her back, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you, munchkin?”

“Hattie!” Sirius exclaimed, torn between relief and shock. “You little monster!”

Remus frowned and tapped her forehead lightly as he slid her leash on over her head. “We were so worried about you! Why would you do that?”

“She’s probably been sulking because you’re busy with wedding stuff,” the vet said with a smile. “Quite the drama queen you’ve got there.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius huffed as he kissed her head. “Don’t ever do that again, young lady. You’re in big trouble when we get home.”

“Thank you for your help,” Remus said, shaking the vet’s hand. “We really appreciate it and we’re so sorry for wasting your time.”

“Are you kidding? She was the best part of my day,” he laughed. “All the other techs can’t stop talking about Hattie cuddles now. Have a good one, you three.”

+1: The Lions, the Media, and the Locker Room

Word spread like wildfire in media circles, and the rumor mill had never worked harder once news of the Black-Lupin wedding came out.

Naturally, the Lions decided to have a little fun with it.

“Pots! Pots, what can you tell us about Black and Lupin’s wedding?” Four different microphones were shoved into his personal space, but James put on his best confused face.

“What wedding?”

A wave of murmuring spread through the reporters. “So you weren’t invited to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin’s wedding?”

“There’s a wedding?”

Across the room, two other interviewers mobbed Thomas Walker in his stall. “Talker, do you know anything about Black and Lupin’s wedding?”

“Who?” he asked with a perfect act of innocence.

“Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t think I know them, sorry. Are they fans?”

“Talkie!” Remus tossed him a towel from the adjacent stall, and he caught it with a grin.

“Heads up, Loops!” Talker threw it right back and headed toward the ice baths with a wink to the cameras. “Good chat, guys.”

One of the interviewers muttered under their breath and hurried over to Pascal, who was still unlacing his skates. “Dumo, when is the wedding between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?”

Dumo frowned. “Quoi?”

“The wedding. You were invited, yes?”

“Desole, je ne parle pas l’anglais,” he said regretfully. “C’est un…wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding between your teammates.”

“These words, I don’t know them.” His French accent was almost comically thick as he shook his head. “Desole.”

Out of view of the cameras, Sirius gave him a thumbs-up and reached over to high-five Pots.

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mitts2002 · 3 years

Text

Aight’ Bet

Hi this is my first time posting on here so I hope whoever is reading this enjoys!! This is a noritoshi kamo x reader where the nori and (Y/N) need a little push from their wonderful Gojo sensei to finally confess~

"Dont you think (Y/N) and noritoshi would make the cutest couple!?" Gojo screamed over the phone to Utahime who sighed in response.

"I can't help but disagree Gojo, Noritoshi doesn't seem ready for a relationship plus is the only reason you rang me really to discuss our students non existent love lives?" Utahime retorted knowing that the couple would in fact be adorable yet refusing to accept that Gojo could actually be right about something.

"No Utahime! I bet if them two were able to spend a few hours together the tension would build up so high that one of them would burst and BAM a couple would be born" the blue eyed male replied, the volume of his voice increasing with each word trying to convince her that they were the highschool sweethearts the jujustu world needed.

“How could you even say that!? I get that its cute whenever they glance at each other and shy away with cute little blushing cheeks but i bet it would take more than a few hours for a whole relationship to-” “OH you bet“ Gojo interrupted an obvious smirk on his face knowing Utahime wouldn’t back down from his advances.

“you know what i meant idiot i wasn’t actually trying to make a bet with you especially after what happened last time” the black haired woman scoffed after hearing a chuckle through the phone.

“Aight’ bet! tomorrow ill bring my second years to kyoto for some training and then lets see if something happens between our precious students“ Gojo proposed excitedly as if he were a child in a sweet shop.

“you know what fine! and im only agreeing cause i know nothings gonna happen tomorrow between them i mean noritoshi is too stiff and (Y/N) always backs out last minute” utahime exclaimed not wanting to prove Gojo right. “GREAT! if i win then you will have to be my slave for 2 whole days and if you win ill be your-” “wait i never agreed to that!” “see ya tomorrow then!” Gojo had quickly rushed his farewells before hanging up relieved he avoided Utahime’s lecture.

"Alright class!" Gojo sensei yelled excitingly as he burst through the doors. This overgrown man child always had something new, it could never be a regular class where his students actually learn then were let out for a break. No Gojo Satorou had to be the most extra male on this earth and for the first time ever it worked in his second year student (Y/N)'s favour.

"What it is now?" Maki groaned with an annoyed expression on her face. No one could blame her though after all the blindfolded man put his beloved students through. "Don't be so sour maki! Be like me a sweet little mochi~ Oh and before I forget I wanted to let you all know that we will meeting with our lovely sister school for some training. Isnt that great!?" Gojo sensei had announced clapping his hands and smiling brightly.

'I wonder if training is all this is' (Y/N) thought to herself realising how sus this situation was before speaking out "wait Gojo sensei weren't we meant to learn a super secret technique today? You said that you were gonna show it us yesterday and that nothing could stop you" (Y/N) questioned as Inumaki gave a little "shake" for support.

"Well my dear (Y/N) something VERY important has come up and we must go to kyoto immediately. You have no right to deny and we will be leaving in 30 minutes so go grab whatever you kids need" Gojo sensei had practically sung before skipping out the door. What an odd man everyone collectively thought before getting up to grab whatever they needed.

30 minutes has passed and in that time panda had gathered his and maki's weapons while you and toge stocked up on cough medicine and basic medical equipment. The journey was short since Gojo had practically teleported you all there and all that was left was to approach the students.

A few figures from the distance were slowly coming into view and (Y/N) could vaguely make out that only utahime, miwa, mai, momo and noritoshi had attended this last minute joint training.

Despite the others reaching and gathering around your small group of second years giving their greetings the only thing your eyes could focus on was noritoshi’s thick black hair as it gently swayed in the breeze. Honestly it was as if the man was in a L'Oréal advert or something.

"(Y/N) stop staring we all know you both have this weird thing going on but we're here to train not flirt dumbass" Maki had whispered into your ear but little did she know that you were in fact here to flirt and not train due to a certain bet between two teachers.

“alright kids listen up! me and the wonderful Utahime sensei have set up this last minute training as its always good to train with new people and techniques. Everyone will be working in pairs“ Gojo announced before Utahime continued.

“The teams we decided on today will be Maki and Miwa, Momo and Imumaki, Panda and Mai then (Y/N) and Noritoshi. Eveyones free to do whatever they want in their sparring matches just don’t severely injure each other, me and Gojo will be watching over the matches and determine the winners“ Utahime informed all the students before they scurried off to in different spaced out areas.

"So Noritoshi how are you? Its been a while since we've last seen eachother" (Y/N) said trying not to let her nervousness show.

"I'm alright just studying and training to be honest. Although I recently started to practice cursive and can even write my own name now" he responded with pride and a small nice.

You laughed causing Noritoshi to cock his head to the side in confusion. "Is there something wrong with cursive?" His deep voice asked with clear offense.

"No no it's just that's so freaking cute and you look so happy about it too" (Y/N) teased with more laughter and ruffled his hair

"Oi don't touch my hair do you know how long it takes to do these wrap bang things?"

"Well how would I know I've never done them nori"

"Well one day I could teach you if you'd like" Noritoshi offered looking to the side trying to hide his red cheeks.

"Aww I'd love that I'm awful at doing hair to be honest so learning some new styles would be great but first we gotta get this dumb sparring match over and done with" (Y/N) moaned as she got into position.

_______________________________

An hour had flew by and the students were taking a break from their matches happily chatting away while the teachers spoke in private about their progress. “come on look at the way they look at eachother OH (Y/N) touched his shoulder SHES FLIRTIN-” “GOJO SHUT THE FUCK UP YOUR SO DAMN LOUD” “sorry but loooook they in love” Gojo cried out with fake tears in his cerulean eyes

“Alright lets just observe look theyre going to the vending machine to get some drinks like FRIENDS DO“ Utahime emphasised on the friends worried she might lose and become this awful mans slave for 2 days.

_______________________________

“Nori im gonna go get a drink from the vending machine do you want one?” “Actually ill just come with you if you dont mind” “OH sure thats fine does anyone else want anything!?” (Y/N) yelled to the whole group receiving a choir of get me this please or get me that and the single tuna mayo.

The walk to the vending machine was quiet but a comfortable silence had fallen upon the pair. It was always like this when you were around Noritoshi Kamo. Peaceful. She didnt feel the need to go the extra mile to entertain him or ensure he wasn’t bored in your presence as your playful banter and sarcastic remarks towards one another was enough for the both of you.

“(Y/N) is it me or have Gojo and Utahime sensei been staring at us more than the others?“ Noritoshi questioned unable to shake off the feeling of being watched. “Um i’m not too sure i havent been really paying attention to anything other than yo-“ Embarrasment washed over (Y/N) as the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Is that so?“ Nori smirked slightly as you swore you could drop dead right here in this moment. “No i just meant that” “Meant what?“ Noritoshi interrupted leaning closer as you fumbled through your words

“OH LOOK the vending machine is right there better get those drinks“ You quickly said and scrambled away before Noritoshi could get any closer.

“SEE Nori was too intimidating and (Y/N) ran off despite clearly wanting him! its never gonna happen today“ Utahime whispered to Gojo benhind the bushes as he shook his head. “Trust me i have faith in my wonderful (Y/N) I AINT RAISED NO BITCH“ He exclaimed in response while Utahime facepalmed.

The two young adults had collected all the drinks they needed and were ready to walk back to the group. ‘come on (Y/N) you’ve liked this man forever now and everyone knows he must like you back ITS NOW OR NEVER HOE’ (Y/N) screamed words of encouragement to herself before grabbing Noritoshi’s sleeve.

“Is everything alright (Y/N)?” “I have something ive been meaning to tell you Nori, I um like you a lot and i’d like to take you out if you dont mind” (Y/N) had practically yelled at the poor boy because of her stupid nerves and adrenaline.

The silence was broken by an angelic laughter coming from none other than Noritoshi Kamo. “Well i would’ve liked to be the one to take you out but i guess sometimes its alright for traditions and stereotypes to be broken by the younger generation” Nori responded as he walked closer to (Y/N) wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a sweet kiss. The kiss was messy and clearly new to the both but filled with much love and passion that was finally being expressed by the pair.

As their lips eventually pulled away never wanting this to end, heavy breaths filled the air and cheeks flushed but all that was interrupted by a white haired male clapping in the background screaming “YES I WIN” while the other teacher crouched to the ground tears in her eyes.

#kamo noritoshi #noritoshi kamo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #jjk noritoshi

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hangovercurse · 3 years

Text

Ice Cold Pool

Part v of the Without You series: Colson and Y/N try to return to normal, but they still don’t know what normal actually is.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing (as per usual), substance use, people not following social distancing guidelines.

A/N: Seriously guys, wear your masks, social distance, etc. I really wanna go to a concert sometime in the next 2 years.

Word Count: 2743

| i | ii | iii | iv | vi |

masterlist

It had been 4 weeks since you and Colson had made the agreement to just be friends. Obviously, there were some hiccups in this plan. Most notably that hanging around Colson reminded you of all the reasons you loved him in the first place, and thus all the reasons you shouldn’t hang around him.

You were glad to be back to somewhat normal. You could hang around your friends without feeling too much tension, you could talk to Casie (who wanted to know everything that happened), and you could smoke again.

That last one you probably shouldn’t have been so happy about, but after a month without weed, you needed it.

Of course, not everything was back to normal. You and Colson weren’t technically… speaking. Yet.

You said simple things to each other, “excuse me,” “thank you,” and even the occasional “bless you” after a sneeze. But you had yet to have an actual conversation since that night. When hanging around the guys, you tried to be as normal as possible, interacting with Colson as little as possible. You didn’t want anyone else to think you felt awkward, because then they would feel awkward and it would be a whole awkward mess.

Tonight, you were hoping to ease some tension between you and Colson. Trippie was releasing the deluxe version of his new album and was having a “covid safe” album release party. All that meant was they would party outside rather than inside and only invite half the amount of people that they normally would.

Against your better judgement, Slim and Baze convinced you to go.

“There’s not even gonna be that many people there.”

“And Trippie would be so upset if you didn’t come.”

“If I go, will you two shut up?”

“Yes.” “Yes ma’am”

“Don’t call me ma’am ever again, Slim.”

So, you made a plan to talk to Colson at some point that night about something other than all of your problems with each other. If and only if the opportunity presented itself.

So, there you were in an oversized Misfits T-shirt that looked like a dress on you and shorts that no one could see, a beer in one hand, and a blunt in the other. You were sitting at the pool edge, your feet dangling in the water, as you talked to Iann Dior about cheese.

You may have been pretty tipsy, but he was worse.

“Cheddar cheese is the worst possible flavor of cheese.” Iann shook his head, laughing.

“Absolutely not. You can put cheddar in dishes, and they taste great. Cheddar makes things taste better. Brie cheese is the worst cheese. It’s literally fucking moldy.” You giggled, taking a swig of your drink.

“You’re both wrong. Feta cheese is the absolute worse and no one will convince me otherwise.” Colson chuckled, sitting next to you.

“There is nothing wrong with feta cheese, you two are just uncultured.” You laughed, the opportunity you needed apparently presenting itself. You took a quick glance at Colson, who was about to dip his feet in the water. “Colson your shoes are still on.”

He looked at you confused, and you realized just how high he was. “So?” he asked and Iann laughed.

“Dude, if you’re gonna put your feet in the water you gotta take your shoes off.”

Colson broke out laughing at Iann’s comment, his whole body shaking with joy. He slipped his shoes off once he finished and dangled his feet of the edge.

“So, you really think cheddar cheese is the best cheese?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Noooo.” You whined, “I just don’t think it’s the worst kind of cheese. But obviously there are better cheeses.” You kicked your feet up, splashing Colson on accident.

He looked over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached his hand into the water, splashing water towards you. “Colson!” You squealed, laughing.

You returned the favor by flicking water at his shirt, at which point Iann left. “You get me wet and you die.” He said with a laugh.

Colson then cupped his hands together, bringing water up to your shirt and pouring it all over you, much to your dismay. Luckily, your shirt was black, but the water was still freezing. “Bro.” You pouted, looking over at Colson. He was smiling, but soon mimicked your pout.

“Aww, I’m sorry. Did the little princess get wet?” Your eyes went wide, and you slapped his chest. He grabbed your hand, pulling it up so you couldn’t hit him and accidentally pulling you closer to him. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, his hand intertwining with yours as he brought it back down.

“Colson…” You trailed off, warning him. He pouted, a sigh leaving his lips as he unlocked your fingers.

“Sorry, forgot I’m not supposed to do that.” You smiled a little, glad that things were slowly becoming normal. “I wanna go for a swim.” He changed the topic, standing up and pulling his shirt off.

“Colson it’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” You looked at him with wide eyes but a giggle falling from your mouth.

“Guess someone has to come in to keep me warm.” He shrugged, tugging his shorts down his legs so he was just in his boxers.

It was only at this point that you realized he was very drunk. A few moments later you felt the cold water splash your face as Colson jumped into the pool near you, coming up and running his hand through his hair.

He made his way back over to you, reaching for the beer that he left on the side of the pool. He half-stood in front of you, a needy smile on his face. “Get in the water with me Y/N.” He dragged out the last syllable of your name, causing you to roll your eyes.

“There is no way in hell I am getting in that water.” You chuckled, taking a hit of the joint in your hand.

Colson pouted, taking the blunt from you and smoking it himself. “I guess I could always just pull you in.” He grabbed your thighs and you moved backwards, fighting him.

“Colson, I don’t have a change of clothes, I’ll be cold.” You tried to squirm out of his grip, giggling.

“You can just wear my shirt or something. Someone will have something.” He shrugged, pulling you into the water.

“Colson!” You squealed before your entire body was encased in the cold liquid.

“Too late.” He said, a cheeky smile on his face. His arms wrapped around you as you turned to face the edge, ready to get out. “Noooo, you’re already in here.” He whined, dragging you towards his chest.

“Colson, it’s freezing. We need to get out.” You said, turning your head to face him.

“I don’t want to. This is the closest I’ve been to you in weeks. I just wanna enjoy this for a moment.” His head rested on top of your head, and you let yourself fall back into his chest.

You had to admit, you did miss his playfulness and his touch, and you really hadn’t been this close to him in a while. But you knew he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he wasn’t both drunk and stoned out of his mind.

You sighed, knowing you needed to end the moment, if not for your own sanity. “C’mon Col, we can’t do this. Let’s get out.”

He groaned. “We did this when we were friends before, how is this any different from that?”

You made your way to the edge of the pool. “It just is Colson.” You sighed, trying to mask the anger in your voice. You tried to pull yourself up to sit on the edge of the pool, but you couldn’t quite make it the first time. Colson, of course, took it upon himself to help you, grabbing your hips lightly to lift you up. He got out and sat next to you, both of you soaking wet.

He reached over and grabbed the shirt he was wearing earlier, passing it to you. “Here, so you don’t get sick.” He seemed to be sobering up, probably due to the cold water.

“Thanks.” Your voice was hushed, your cheeks burning with a blush that you couldn’t explain. It’s just a shirt, you told yourself. You stood up, preparing yourself to find somewhere private to change.

“Where are you going?” Colson asked, looking up at you.

“To change.” You said bluntly. “I can’t exactly strip in front of 40 people.”

Colson nodded, standing up next to you, pulling his shorts on. “Where are you going?” You asked him, a small smile on your face.

“Wherever you are.” He smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I guess I can use you to clear my path inside.” You chuckled, starting to walk towards the crowd of people near the doors of the house. As you moved through the crowd you found yourself instinctively reaching back for Colson’s hand, not wanting to lose him as you moved through the crowd. He happily took the hint and moved closer to you, his free hand resting on your hip to help guide you to the doors, though you didn’t mind as much as you should have.

You made your way through the open glass door, suddenly very self-conscious about the clothes you were wearing and the fact that you were soaking wet. “Bathroom is this way.” Colson mumbled into your ear as the loud music blasted around you. The hand on your hip led you down a small hallway until you found the open bathroom.

You went in, turning to close the door when you saw Colson had followed you in. “I gotta change, Kells. You can’t be in here.”

“Woah woah woah.” He started, clearly offended, “You never call me Kells. That’s not allowed.” You giggled, rolling your eyes. “And I’ll just… look away.” He covered his eyes with his hands, moving his fingers to form a gap.

“Colson, seriously,” You laughed, “turn around.” He thankfully did as told, and you quickly removed the Misfits shirt you were previously wearing and replaced it with his long sleeve pink shirt. It wasn’t quite as long as the other one you were wearing, but it still went down to your upper thigh and the sleeves went far enough past your wrist for permanent sweater paws. Unfortunately, this meant you would have to keep your wet shorts on.

Upon realizing this, you let out a sigh of disappointment. “What?” Colson questioned, still facing the wall.

“You can look now.” He turned around. “It’s not as long as mine.” You pouted, stretching your arms out for him to see before flopping them back down to your sides.

Colson chuckled, “I really don’t see the problem, Y/N.”

You glared playfully, “I have to wear my wet fuckin shorts.” You whined, a pout on your lips.

“I meannn, you don’t have to.” Colson said, playfully. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But I don’t know what to do to help you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, looking off into the distance. “I’m not giving you my pants, Y/N.” Another dramatic sigh. “Okay fine we’ll just go to his laundry room and through them in the dryer, okay?”

“See, you do know what to do to help me.” You smiled, grabbing your wet shirt and pushing Colson out of the bathroom.

The laundry room in Trippie’s house was surprisingly small, given his house was a small mansion. You were able, however, to close the door and pull off your wet clothes. Colson threw your shirt in the dryer as well.

You hopped up onto the washer, your legs dangling off. “You don’t have to stay, Colson.” You told him, knowing he probably wanted to rejoin the party.

“I’m good. This is much more fun than whatever’s going on out there.”

You laughed, “waiting for my clothes to dry? Whatever, loser.”

He moved towards you, his stomach touching your knees. “I’ve missed this.” He said, softly. You met his eyes with your own. “Just us doing stupid shit. Being friends.”

“We’re still friends, Cols.” You smiled, tilting your head to the side.

He sighed, “Yeah but we haven’t really been friends since…” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. “Not real friends, at least.”

You sighed, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed a little bit of space and it never felt like the right time to… talk. Like if we started talking in a group everyone would just think it’s weird.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his hand reached out to touch your waist. “If anything, I should be apologizing. It’s my fault we’re stuck in this weird limbo shit anyways. I was honestly afraid the guys would kill me if I talked to you.”

“Well, good thing it’s not up to the guys anymore.” Your voice got soft as you realize how close your faces had gotten. “And we can be normal friends again.” You added.

Colson looked down. “Yeah, normal friends.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice but failed miserably.

“Colson, we’re just friends, right?” You asked, trying to convince yourself more than him.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’re just friends.” He looked up and met your eyes, and you could see the emotions in his crystal blue eyes. “But I don’t know that I can just be friends.” His voice was soft, making your heart sink deeper.

His head was inches away from yours, his nose almost touching your own. He leaned his head to the side, his eyes traveling your face. His lips were millimeters from yours. “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll walk out right now.”

“I…” You couldn’t form a sentence with his lips so close to your own. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered.

“That’s not what I asked.” He paused, touching his nose to yours lightly. When he spoke, you could feel his words on your lips. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?”

You couldn’t answer him for a few seconds. “I don- I don’t know Colson.” You breathed out, leaning your forehead against his.

Part of you was hoping he would take matters into his own hands and just kiss you, but the other part of you knew you would regret anything that happened right now.

He jerked his head away from you, a frown etched across his face. “When are you gonna make up your goddamn mind? I can never figure out where I’m at with you.” His voice raised slightly, making you jump. “One minute we’re not even talking and the next you’re holding my fucking hand at a party. You say we’re just friends and then don’t say no when I ask if you want me to kiss you. Like what the fuck is this?” He ranted, causing your grip on the edge of the washer to tighten.

“Colson, I told you. I need time to figure all of this out. It doesn’t just happen overnight.” You tried to keep your voice calm.

“It’s been weeks, Y/N. How long do you need?”

Confusion took over your features, and then anger. “Colson do you even realize what you did? Honestly, you’re fucking lucky I even wanted to be friends. You kind of screwed me up, really bad. So, excuse me for needing time to figure out if you’re worth it or not.” Your eyes fell to the floor, suddenly very self-conscious of all the things Colson had said to you 2 months ago.

Colson scoffed, backing away from you, “Well honestly it would be a lot easier if we weren’t friends.” His words were harsh, and you were reminded that he wouldn’t change, not really. “Y/N I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice became soft, but it was already too late.

You hopped off the machine, pushing past him and pulling your damp shirt and shorts out of the dryer. With your back facing him, you pulled your shorts on and then took his shirt off, replacing it with your own.

“Y/N I’m sorry I jus-“

“No, Colson. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that my existence seems to be the bane of yours.” You shove his shirt into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” You walked out of the small room and through the house, determined to call a cab home.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Note

Yooo I’ve been reading your fic Intertwined and it is super good and giving me major moceit brain rot! Since you’re thinking about taking prompts, mayhaps moceit with something enemies-to-lovers and/or secret relationship?

Ah yay my first ever request! I wrote this as a series of vignettes because I knew if I gave myself half a chance I would go waaay overboard with it. Thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺❤❤❤

Length: 3.5k

Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag

Oh also I did try to make it obvious, but just in case it isn't, I is post Can Lying Be Good, II is post SvS, III is post DWIT, IV is immediately post PoF, and V is later after PoF

Some nights, Patton's head felt like a pressure cooker with no vent valve. The weight of his covers seemed to crush his chest, forcing him to hyperventilate as he desperately tried to pull in a full breath. Emotions swirled in his head like hot steam, a sickening mix of betrayal and shame, anger and guilt and fear. The knowledge of what Deceit had done, had tried to get Thomas to do, sat heavy in his stomach and brought the temperature up, up, up, until Patton was forced to move. He had to do something, dispel some of the steam before it boiled over into-- Well, something. Sometimes he felt on the verge of something scary and wholly out of his control, some kind of terrible explosion that would liquefy the support joints in Thomas' psyche and send all of them crashing down.

But not tonight. Tonight, Patton would scream into his pillows or pace the halls or talk to the mirror, anything to slow the roaring boil in his mind. He threw himself out of bed, bare feet touching down on the carpet, and was out the door before he could even think of grabbing something to cover up with. Not that the others had never seen him in boxers and a T-shirt, but Roman preferred to sleep in the cold and dropped the temperature accordingly.

Patton had smiled when Virgil had pulled him aside to explain what had happened. That Deceit had impersonated him and, like the Pied Piper, paraded the others behind him with a beautiful song. Thinking about it made the world tilt a little, but Patton had smiled and would have ruffled Virgil's hair if he'd thought Virgil would let him. Because it had turned out okay, hadn't it? And Patton was stupid for still feeling the way he felt. It was stupid to feel hurt that the others hadn't noticed right away. Deceit was a good actor and they had eventually noticed anyway. It was stupid to be scared. Thomas had rejected Deceit's temptation.

And then all Patton's thoughts vanished like a bursting soap bubble, because Deceit was in the hall. His look of wide-eyed astonishment was already morphing into a much more familiar expression of contempt.

"Oh," said Patton, once he'd recovered his own wits.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Deceit, who, Patton noticed with a jolt, was also in his pajamas. It was hard to be scared of someone wearing sweatpants decorated with little cartoon snakes, but it didn't entirely ease Patton's trepidation. It certainly didn't slow his pounding heart.

"What are you doing up?" Patton asked.

Deceit rolled his eyes like Patton's question was unprecedentedly stupid. "I was on my way to kill you in your sleep so I could take your place permanently." He shifted awkwardly as he talked, and Patton realized he was trying to gesticulate with his hands jammed deep in his pockets.

Patton didn't know what to say to that, so he did what he did best and smiled. He needed a way out. Forget feeling like a pressure cooker, he wanted to run back to bed and hide under the covers. He wanted Deceit to go away.

"Anyway," said Deceit, glaring, "I could ask you the same question."

Evil. He was evil. And here was Patton making small talk with him. Abiding him. "Are you sorry?"

Deceit's snake eye caught the light and almost seemed to glow under it. "Am I sorry?"

"For doing wrong." Patton scrambled to find confidence, find righteousness, conviction, faith. Anything he could use to keep Deceit at bay. "For encouraging Thomas to do wrong."

Deceit smiled, but not the way Patton had. This was cruel and mocking. He shook his head slightly as though in disbelief and almost seemed to laugh, his hands drawing the fabric of his sweats tight as he clenched them into fists. "Oh, yes, Patton, I'm so very sorry for trying to help. Yes, I repent! Shall I get down on my knees for you so you can forgive me for looking after Thomas? Hm?"

"I…" Patton took in a shaky breath. "I don't think we have anything more to say to each other. And I don't think I want to see you again."

"Don't worry," said Deceit as Patton turned his back on him, "you definitely won't."

II.

"I'm not angry," Janus said for what felt like the billionth time. He adjusted his arms where he had them crossed over his chest, huffing out a breath through his nose.

"You," said Remus, pointing at him, "have been throwing a tantrum ever since you got back. 'They're too stupid to manipulate, Remus! They didn't even listen, Remus! You're so sexy and well-hung, Remus!'"

"The are too stupid to manipulate! Is that my fault?"

"I'm just saying, you're kind of harshing my mellow."

"You've never been mellow in your life and you know it."

Remus only grinned and shook out the contents of another matchbox to add to his pile. He was planning on building a life-sized Roman out of matches and burning it in effigy. Janus remembered with a twist of guilt that Remus had seemed remarkably at ease in the two seconds before Janus had popped up and started ranting.

"Alright, since you're such a zen master," Janus huffed, "what do you suggest I do? Burn Patton in effigy?"

"I mean…" Remus held out a matchbox. "We can take turns with the Krazy Glue."

"Oh, forget it." Janus took the matchbox more by instinct than anything. "I'm going for a walk."

"You could burn down Virgil's door," Remus suggested.

Janus just shook his head and continued to stalk away. A few hours had passed since the courtroom disaster. It was now early evening and the matchstick of rage still burned quietly in Janus' chest. They were all so stupid! So naive. And it was all Patton's fault.

Janus turned the matchbox over in his hand, careful not to drop it. Scorched earth had never been his preferred modus operandi, but if Patton kept pushing back at him like this, Janus was going to shove, consequences be damned.

Oh, and speak of the angel. Janus didn't much feel like playing it coy, but he forced himself to. He leaned because against the wall, the matches still in his palm, and looked Patton slowly up and down. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Deceit!" Patton stopped dead, the smile sliding from his face. "What are you doing here?"

Janus brandished the matches, barely controlling the furious hiss building in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped once today, lost control of his temper. He couldn't allow that to happen again. "I've come to burn it all down."

Patton's eyes went wide, his gaze hot on the matches. "You should know better than to play with fire."

The knowledge of Patton's fear burned hot and triumphant in Janus' veins, filling him with the idea that he could still win something. He got closer to Patton with measured steps, slipping behind him when Patton tried to back away. "No, Patton," he purred, silky and cool in Patton's ear. "You're the one who's playing with fire."

"What…" Patton's voice shook and he cleared his throat, turning his head to try to look Janus in the eye. Janus was momentarily distracted by the freckles' on Patton's neck, the soft pulsing of his jugular vein. "What do you mean?"

Annoyed at himself, Janus backed up. The paper matchbox felt feeble in his grasp now, as feeble as his pathetic little display of power. He could bully Patton all he wanted and it wouldn't change a thing. "The Duke and I, we're the one thing you can't control," he boasted. Might as well see this through, since he started it.

"I have to try," Patton said. "My friends trust me, Thomas trusts me to keep him safe from the likes of you. I won't let you make Thomas into a liar. I won't let you lead Roman astray. But Deceit?"

"What?" Janus growled. His frustration was directed inward now, that he had thought any of this might make him feel better. Right. He should just go read Hobbes in the bath with his fire extinguisher handy.

"If you ever decide you want to… Well, be good. There's room for you at my table."

Janus crushed the matchbox in his clenched fist. If Patton applied his arbitrary standards fairly, he would see that Janus was good. But no, he was quite content to wear the blindfold of his own hypocrisy and leave Janus out to rot. "You're impossible," Janus said through clenched teeth. Before he could change his mind, he palmed the ruined matchbox into Patton's hand and turned to go.

"What's this for?" Patton asked.

Janus paused and gave his well-practiced supervillain smirk. "A promise."

Time to unleash the beast.

III.

Now more than ever, Patton was certain he was in over his head. He sat on the kitchen floor, hot chocolate untouched beside him, and stared at the crumpled matchbox in his palm. 'A promise,' Deceit had said. Patton hadn't been sure what to make of that, but he had an idea now.

Deceit was right. Patton couldn't control Remus. But that just meant he had to try harder. So now what was he supposed to do? Thomas was looking at him for guidance, but… He was supposed to ease up on judging Thomas for having evil thoughts, while simultaneously not letting Thomas be evil. Was he being too harsh or too lenient? And why did it feel like both?

"Well, well, well." Deceit's voice grated on Patton's ears. He made no effort to bolster himself, no effort to look anything other than despondent. Deceit must have been feeling truly bold to venture so far into enemy territory.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Patton asked, still staring at the matchbox. He didn't want to see that smirking face.

"Obviously not," said Deceit. "Chaos for chaos' sake was never the endgame."

"Then why are you here?" Patton asked, finally looking up. The angle and the brim of Deceit's hat kept his eyes in shadow, so all Patton could see was the mouth housing that forked serpent tongue.

"I'm here to offer you one last chance, Patton. Get out of my way."

"You can't put this on me," Patton said, looking again at the matchbox. "You said you were going to burn it down. If you're willing to hurt Thomas to get your way, then you shouldn't get your way."

Deceit twitched slightly and Patton could tell he was rolling his eyes even if he couldn't see it. "Have you heard of prescribed burns?" He didn't wait for Patton to answer. "It's when humans deliberately set fires to destroy some of the forest underbrush. Now, it seems counterintuitive, but regularly burning parts of the forest actually prevents wildfires from raging out of control. Does it hurt the underbrush? Yes. But sometimes things that seem harmless or even good are actually quite deadly if left unchecked. So a little bit of destruction actually serves the greater good. Do you understand?"

Patton furrowed his brow, trying to navigate this. "So you are willing to hurt Thomas to get your way."

"Why," said Janus, flexing his hands, "do I even bother?"

"Why do you bother?" Patton asked. He had never thought to wonder before. Evil was just evil and there was understanding it. But something in him had broken a little today; he could feel the edges of it poking at his chest.

Deceit sighed and shifted his weight. For a moment, Patton thought he might sit or kneel so they could talk at eye level but no, of course not, Deceit would never give up an advantage like that. "Because!" he said, agitated. "Because I know I'm right. I know Thomas needs me. I can help."

"If you truly loved him, you wouldn't be willing to hurt him," Patton said with conviction. That, he could be sure of.

"This is precisely why I've had to take such drastic measures!" Deceit actually stamped his foot, and Patton watched as he balled his hands into fists, the knit of his gloves straining at the knuckles. "None of you ever listen to me! You decided what I am long before I made my entrance and you only hear what supports that illusion." He took a slow, deep breath, and his voice was back to its usual silken glide when he spoke again. "I am asking you, one last time, to get out of my way."

"And I'm telling you" --Patton got to his feet so he could look Deceit in the eye-- "no."

IV.

They found each other in the aftermath, both their worlds shattered and still on fire. Janus, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. The walls around them flickered from the force of their combined imagination, showing crumbling drywall and collapsed framing, the smoldering ruin of everything they could have sworn was truth.

Janus had known that Patton was wrong about him, but he had never suspected that he might be wrong about Patton. The realization buzzed through his veins like electricity, along with a fatal determination that he and Patton were inexorably linked now.

Janus never thought he would say the words now coming out of his mouth and mean them, but Patton's magnetic draw seemed to pull them out as it pulled Janus closer and closer. "I was wrong, Patton. Maybe not about everything, but I was wrong about you."

"I did this," Patton said, gesturing at the broken-down walls. He seemed to feel the pull, too, if his gentle shuffle toward Janus was anything to go by.

Sarcasm seemed far beyond Janus' reach tonight, but perhaps not a few well-placed lies. "It's okay, Patton. Everything is okay." The flames moved in closer, consuming some of the wreckage, but Janus knew they were safe. It was all made-up, all of it. He could put the fire out if he could just focus on something other than Patton's tear-streaked face and oh, they were still getting closer and closer together. They'd be chest-to-chest soon. "I think…" said Patton. He wasn't crying now, thank God, because Janus didn't know what he would do. "Is it bad to find something beautiful in all of this?"

And there it was. The contact. Their foreheads touching, their hands intertwined. The two survivors of the wreck, drawn toward each other like magnets. "Very bad," Janus murmured, and he knew that Patton knew he was trying to talk himself out of what he did next.

He kissed Patton.

It was a terrible thing to do, probably his most selfish act to date. Here was Patton, devastated and willing to take whatever comfort he could find, and Janus was taking advantage. Even he had morals, but, oh, this was nice. He hadn't realized just how tense they had been with each other until it all suddenly snapped. And Patton was kissing back and had released his grip on Janus' hands so he could wrap his arms around him. Janus pulled away. "I shouldn't have done that," he said. "You don't need that. "

"Am I that bad at kissing?" Patton asked innocently.

"You didn't want that," Janus explained. "You're upset and you're not thinking straight." Patton was still holding him and despite the tear tracks still gleaming on his cheeks, he looked amused. Something ached at the back of Janus' tongue. "You don't want me."

Patton kissed him again, sweet and chaste this time. "Tell more about how I feel, Janus."

"I--" Couldn't think, couldn't think. "You--" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Short-circuit. "But I-- You don't--"

"I didn't learn anything today," Patton said, "but I think I realized something that I've always known. Does that make sense?"

"This doesn't solve all our problems," Janus said. This couldn't be real. He couldn't allow himself to delight in this, not when it was going to go away. "You still don't approve of my methods and I don't agree with yours. We're going to disagree."

"You think I don't disagree with the others?" Patton asked and was that hope in his eyes. Here in the fire and ruins, here at the end of the world, Patton had hope. "I want to make this work."

Janus kissed him. This felt like less of a decision and more of a necessity, like breathing.

"So you believe me?" Patton asked when they parted. "You trust me?"

The answer was already yes despite the fear eating away at Janus' insides. It was more like a thrill than existential terror, and on some level he knew he must have been high on endorphins and adrenaline. "I trust you. But Patton?"

"Yeah?"

"What do we do now?"

"We make it work."

There was something undeniably thrilling about seeing Janus in secret. But mostly, Patton just felt awful about it. Sneaking out of his room at night like a teenager was fun, tip-toeing down the hall to hide away in Janus' room definitely had a sort of teen movie appeal to it. It was the pretending that made Patton feel all sick and guilty.

"You look tired," Roman said. He still wasn't back to his vibrant self, but Patton had vowed to be gentle with him until he found his footing again.

Patton was tired. He and Janus had spent most of the night just talking, innocent as could be, both tucked beneath the covers of Janus' bed. He tried and failed to think of a good pun, something that might distract Roman. "I was up kinda late, I guess."

Roman nodded. It was just the two of them that morning, Virgil being a late sleeper and Logan having been increasingly reclusive as of late, despite his reconciliation with Patton and the others. "I'll make you a coffee. Something fancy. Dare I say, the best coffee you've ever had."

"Oh," said Patton, cheeks heating up. "You don't have to!" Guilt flooded his chest at the idea of taking advantage of Roman.

"I'm offering," said Roman. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll make one for myself, too."

That did make Patton feel better, if only a little. He sighed as Roman got up from the table and started bustling around in the kitchen. These days, Janus was always on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to risk ruining Roman's good mood by bringing up such a painful subject, but… Patton couldn't keep going like this.

Hiding the relationship had of course been Janus' idea, but Patton couldn't deny the safety of it. For the first time, he realized how Deceit and Self-Preservation could share an identity. And while Patton knew his reasons were noble, he also understood that lying hurt. His friends would be devastated regardless of how they found out, but the destruction would be much worse if they found out accidentally.

"Something's bothering you," Roman said when he got back, holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream covered in chocolate shavings.

"I don't want to talk about it," Patton said.

"C'mon, Padre, we've talked about this. Sharing your feelings doesn't make you a burden. Especially if I'm asking."

Oh, Patton really didn't deserve Roman. "I know, kiddo, I just-- I'm not ready yet."

"Is this about J-- Him? Because I swear, if he hurt you, if he did something--" Roman cut himself off, and Patton appreciated that he looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I promise I'll tell you when I'm ready," Patton said.

"I suppose that's all I can really ask," Roman said with a nod. "Well, I'll be here when you're ready. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks, Roman." He was still having issues with negative self-talk, but Patton didn't feel like nagging him about it today. So he smiled and picked up a spoon to scoop up some whipped cream. "You're a good friend."

When Roman wandered off to go work on a new creative vision for Thomas, Patton booked it to the Other living room (he was no longer comfortable thinking of it as the Dark Side). While he wasn't exactly on friendly terms with Remus yet, he might be able to navigate a conversation with him if required.

But thankfully, Janus was sprawled out on the couch reading a book of blank verse poetry and Remus was nowhere in sight. “Everything okay, angel?” he asked, tilting the book down so Patton could see his eyes. He sat up so Patton could sit next to him, cuddling closer when Patton put an arm around his shoulders.

Patton fidgeted with the hem of Janus’ capelet. “I’m thinking I want to, um…” He paused, looking for the right words. “Bring you up? See what the others think about you coming around every once in a while. Or all the time.”

Janus stiffened. Patton rubbed his arm. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled at the idea of having me around.”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with them!” Patton said. He had learned, more through hints and inference than anything Janus had outright said, that Janus was deeply afraid of rejection and guarded his heart closely. “I just want… I want to stop lying to them and I want to stop sneaking around.”

“It’s safer this way,” Janus said, nudging Patton.

“But it’s not fair to them or to us to keep going like this,” Patton said. “I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Janus asked archly, one hand inching up Patton’s thigh. “You’ll be my hero?”

“You don’t need a hero,” Patton said, putting his free hand down on top of Janus’. “If you decide to go off on them, what you’ll need is a referee.”

“That is true,” Janus said, and Patton noticed with a rush of affection that he was trying not to smile.

“So can I?”

Janus turned and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Yes, angel. But only because you’re cute.”

#moceit #spicyanswer #spicywrites #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #i wrote most of this on my phone so let me know if you catch any typos or formatting errors!

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biletdoux · 3 years

Text

waiting: physical therapy | d.sc

Rating: G (in this part)

Genre + Tropes: non-idol!au, romance (angst, slice of life)

Warnings: mentions of a car accident

Length: 1.2k+

Summary: Sicheng is a creature of habit.

Note: it’s a little late, but i’m back!! i swear i’m working on my other works as well, i’ve just been a little caught up with school and work ;; this one is for @odentist and @adamfoolcry bc ilysm!! i know i’ve been absent, but you guys are in my thoughts always. thank you for putting up with me!!! it means a lot and i’ll work on being better at keeping in contact<3 also, i know not many people read my works, but i’m always super grateful toward the people who do <333

Masterlist // [Previous | Next]

part iv: physical therapy

Sicheng has physical therapy every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning from 09:00 to 11:00. He arrives at each session exactly 15 minutes early every time and although the receptionist who registers him varies depending on the day, Minho is always there to greet him with a bright smile. Sicheng would then set his stuff aside in a designated locker for the day and he’d start off the morning with some light stretches before the actual session started. This has been his routine for the past few months now.

Today is no different.

“Sicheng,” Minho grins with a tap of his electronic watch. “Eight forty-five on the dot as usual.”

Sicheng shoots a small smile with an acknowledging nod of the head in reply as he rolls his wrists and starts loosening his ankles. His joints ache and creak in ways that bother him more than it should and his stiff muscles hiss in protest. Sicheng understands he should be grateful that he could at least walk and stretch on his own, but he can’t help but become bitter when he remembers his old lithe self. Minho is oblivious to Sicheng’s inner machinations as he mirrors him and does his own set of stretches.

Sicheng is a dancer. Was. Is. Sicheng will be a dancer again. One day. Yes, one day. Definitely. Hopefully.

While at heart, Sicheng will always be a dancer, his body is broken and won’t move in ways that it once did. Minho helps build him back up two hours at a time, three days a week, but Sicheng knows his body will never go back to the way it used to be prior to the accident.

Sicheng remembers waking up with a hazy mind and heavy limbs. The bleak whiteness of his room and bed sheets blinded him as he struggled to register his surroundings. The plastic nasal cannula delivered heated high flow oxygen through his body and the wires attached to his body alerted the nearby nurses of his rousing. They came in and took a set of vitals before talking to him sweetly, as to not alarm him too much, but his head ached and Sicheng still can’t recall much of what happened the first few days he came to.

The doctors said a lot of things, but Sicheng extracted that he was lucky.

Among other things, the impact left him with two broken ribs and a punctured lung. They told him he was transported to a nearby hospital just in time before his left lung completely collapsed, but his spleen had ruptured, requiring emergency surgery to prevent further internal bleeding. There was moderate trauma to his head, resulting in cerebral contusions and swelling, but they determined his central nervous system came out unscathed. Sicheng’s mind and recollection was still foggy and tattered, but they assured him that it would return. Perhaps in pieces, but one by one it should come back.

Sicheng was bedridden for over a month and required an additional month of intensive in-patient hospital rehabilitation from his injuries and deconditioning before he was even cleared for discharge and out-patient rehabilitation. The doctors were surprised by his progress and had a positive outlook on his prospect, but Sicheng knows.

Things will never be the same.

Sicheng enrolled in the best out-patient rehabilitation his insurance provided for him and that was how he met Minho, a ray of sunshine and the epitome of positivity. Minho’s relentless encouragement lapped at Sicheng’s bitterness and eventually wore him down. Now Sicheng finds himself looking forward to their sessions together, despite having to face he’s no longer who he was.

“Are you ready?” Minho asks. “We’re going to work on strengthening today.”

During his first session with Minho, Sicheng still wobbled on his feet. The hospital sent him home with a walker and pair of crutches, but Sicheng found it insulting when pirouettes and grand jetés used to come as second nature. Minho introduced himself with a fervor that had Sicheng wincing. He didn’t want to be here, especially when it meant entrusting his recovery with some happy-go-lucky sap.

Sicheng gave Minho the cold shoulder the entire session and completely ignored any suggestions or advice. This went on for a few more times until Sicheng almost collapsed one day from pushing himself too hard despite Minho’s warnings. His legs were cramping and his lungs felt like they were going to burst. Sicheng nearly toppled over had it not been for Minho there ready to steady him at a moment's notice. Minho said nothing as Sicheng heaved in long and heavy breaths as his skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat.

Minho was quiet and didn’t say much. Sicheng appreciated him for not rubbing too much salt in his wounds.

During the last twenty minutes of that session where Minho was helping Sicheng with stretches, he broke their strained silence.

“Sicheng, you have to be kind to yourself and allow yourself time and patience. I know it’s tough, but things will come back. The mind may forget, but the body always remembers.”

Sicheng didn’t say anything back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to scoff back like he would at any other tacky saying and ever since then, he grew to have a quiet respect and even tentative friendship with his physical therapist.

Sicheng looks forward to Friday sessions the most. Usually they do strengthening most of the time and today is no different. It’s harder on his body than other sessions, but he enjoys the steady ache of his muscles afterward. He views it as a sign of progress and Sicheng takes in greedy gulps.

Sicheng finishes today’s sessions on autopilot, barely noticing the minutes that flew by until it was time to stretch. Minho helps push and hold positions when Sicheng can’t and he’s grateful.

“Hey what’s up with you today?”

“Hm?” Sicheng is flat on his back and Minho is supporting his right knee to Sicheng’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Dunno,” Minho hums thoughtfully as he switches to stretch Sicheng’s left leg. “You just seem tired.”

“Oh. I’ve been having trouble sleeping I guess.”

“Will talking about it help?”

Sicheng ponders his offer for a minute before a soft grunt escapes his lips. His left leg is always stiffer than his right and Minho is pushing it today. “No, I don’t think so, but I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Try to get good rest though, it’s crucial for recovery.”

Minho understands Sicheng enough to know exactly when and where to push, physically and personally. A comfortable quiet settles between them until the session is over.

Sicheng cools down in the locker room before heading out and waving goodbye to Minho and the receptionist of the day.

By 11:20, the sun is out and the streets are busy. Sicheng has to block out rays of light from his eyes as he looks up to see the buildings to decide what the next move for the day will be. Maybe some lunch?

He ponders quietly to himself before noticing a tap on his shoulder and turns to see a girl.

“Sicheng, is that you?”

Note: oooof, this one isn’t as whimsical and fluffy as the other cause it has lots of exposition, but finally mores stuff is revealed about sicheng!!

#nctcreations #cznnet #neowritingsnet #NCTmentary.net #winwin scenario #winwin fanfic #winwin angst #nct scenario #nct fanfic #nct angst #wayv scenario #wayv fanfic #wayv angst

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staranon95 · 3 years

Text

DinCobb Week Day 1: Clan of Three (SFW)

@dincobbweek is finally here! ive never participated in something like this before so hopefully i don’t run away with any of the ideas lol. anyway, here’s my version of Clan of Three

AO3 Link

i could never stay away (not this time not from you)

“This was well earned, partner.”

The Marshal Vanth hefts the Mandalorian armour onto Din’s speeder. The man no longer seems to be morose at the fact of losing the armour and seems rather relieved that it’s all over.

“It was a good fight,” Vanth says, looking out over that half carven carcass of the krayt itself. “I hate to see that it’s finally over.”

“I thought you would be happy to see the threat to your town is over,” Din says as he secures the armour to his speeder. He covers the slab of meat while he’s at it, and the Child turns his ears down now that his easy source for a free meal is covered.

“I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the krayt.” Vanth sends him one of those easy smiles in Din’s direction, and Din has to look to the speeder, setting his hands on the helmet. “Listen if you ever find yourself in the area.”

Din nods once. “I’ll have to take you up on that drink. If it’s still available.”

“Hey, I hope our paths will cross again. But you got a friend in me, partner.” He extends his hand and Din reaches up to shake it, and it remains for a time, Vanth squeezing reassuringly before he slides his hand away in what can only be a deliberate move. “Oh, and you tell your people it wasn’t me that broke that thing.” He points to the Rising Phoenix before he’s walking off, armourless and relaxed, towards his people and the Tuskens.

Din sets his hand on the helmet and rubs his hand down over the crown of it. When he hears the Child coo next to him in a questioning tone, he realizes he’s still staring at Vanth’s retreating figure and the lean lines of his body.

He turns to the Child. “What do you think?”

The Child tilts his head, ears flicking upward.

“Want to get back to the ship or stay for the night?”

“Abwa.”

“That’s what I’d thought you’d say. Hold on.”

He lifts the Child and sets him in the bag that sits on the side of the speeder. The Child knows what’s coming and hunkers down as Din mounts the speeder and ignites the engine for the long road back to Mos Eisley.

This time his journey only takes a matter of hours rather than a full day. He knows where Mos Pelgo is now and it’s a fairly direct route through the rocky outcroppings and shifting dunes. Four or five hours by speeder? It’s not a bad ride, and he’s left undisturbed throughout the entirety of it, pulling into Mos Eisley just after the twin suns have passed their zenith.

He’s looking forward to the cool embrace of the Razor Crest. He can’t say he likes Tatooine for it’s sun and heat, and his flight suit and beskar’gam do not make for a cool system to work within.

He swings his leg off of the speeder and lifts the cover off of the krayt meat as Peli Motto approaches him.

“I take it your trip was a success?” She marvels at the slap of meat and snaps her fingers at her droids to come over and handle it.

“In more than one way,” Din says as he begins to take his equipment off of the borrowed speeder in an effort to return it to the Razor Crest.

“Oh! Mando, before you go.” She holds her hands up and looks to the Child expectantly, and Din nods. “Aha, come here you little womprat.” The Child extends his arms to be picked out of the bag, but his attention is still on the meat and to where the pit droids have carried it to an open grill. “So I guess you found it then? Mos Pelgo?”

“I did indeed.”

“What’s it like out that way?”

“Small.”

“Well, that’s frontier towns out there for ya.”

“Do you know of the town’s Marshal at all? Cobb Vanth?”

“Cobb Vanth you say?” Peli looks to the sky and then turns her attention to the Child. “Can’t say I have. The name sounds familiar, though. There was a rebellion a few years back before the second Death Star went—” she uses her free hand to mimic an explosion “—it could’ve been one of his names I was hearing.”

Din hums. He wonders if she’s recalling the story of the Mining Collective that attacked Vanth’s town, but Vanth seems the type to have been in the rebellion business awhile. Sticking up for the small folks. Building something out of nothing. Giving everything he has to those he’s decided to protect.

Including giving up a set of Mandalorian battle armour even if that armour could’ve saved him countless more times.

“So are you heading out tonight then?” Peli asks.

“I was thinking . . .” He trails off and looks to the ship then looks at the armour he clutches in a bundle.

He never did take the Marshal up on his drink.

“I think I might stay for a few days yet,” he says. “There are still some unfinished matters I have to see to.”

“Ah, well, that’s the charm of Tatooine then. Everyone’s itching to leave ‘til they realize there’s more to it than meets the eye. Some of the old timers like to say everything starts and end on Tatooine but that’s only because they’ve never been anywhere.”

Din knows he has a promise to keep. To find the Child’s people and bring him to them. And his own personal drive of locating Mandalorians, his tribe, his own people.

If he has a people.

“At least stay for a bite to eat,” Peli says. “Seems like the kid here is wanting to have something too.”

Din nods. This is something he can do.

There are many things in his life that would be categorized as unfinished business, missed opportunities and the like. If he has to admit it, he would say he’s tired—tired of the grind, of the running, of fighting, and it’s been a long time since he’s connected to someone so quickly like Vanth. Not since Cara Dune perhaps but their professions will lead them in different places. Vanth is here. He’s welcoming and he wants to see more of Din.

And Din, well, he wants to see more of Vanth. How he learned to use the armour. What it was like for him to use the Rising Phoenix the first time.

He might not be a Mandalorian, but he does possess certain traits and qualities a Mandalorian would themselves be admired for.

What if there’s something there? What if there’s a connection?

He can’t know unless he tries.

He sets out just as the first sun touches the horizon. The armour is safely stowed on his ship to make his travel lighter. The Child is safe in his bag, peering out across the sand as they race across it once more, coming into Mos Pelgo just after the suns have set. The town is clearly celebrating the defeat of the krayt and the new peace between them and the Tuskens. The cantina in the center of town is a lively and bright affair, and for a moment as Din pulls the speeder in front of it, he wonders if he shouldn’t have come. It’ll be a lot of attention on him, and he has no intention of being worshipped as a hero. That’s not who he is.

He lifts the Child out of the bag and holds him in his arms. He’ll likely be crushed if they head into the cantina with how full it appears to be.

He walks up the steps and into the cantina and immediately heads turn towards him.

“Hey! Look it’s the Mandalorian!”

The breath in his lungs feels tight at the sudden rush of attention, for people looking his way and wanting to greet him, but then he sees one person cut through the crowd easily—Marshal Vanth.

He’s still dressed as he was—red shirt, cargo pants with a blaster sat in a holster on his hip. The only thing he has removed is his scarf, exposing the lean line of his neck.

“Mando!” He looks genuinely surprised and happy to see Din, a bit pink in the cheeks from imbibing a touch too much spotchka perhaps, but he seems steady on his feet even as he claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon! What brings you out this way, huh?”

“I, uh, thought I’d might like to take you up on that drink.”

Vanth’s face splits into a wide grin. “Thought you’d never ask, darlin’. Come with me.” He slings his arm over Din’s shoulders, leading him through the full establishment and keeping the others at bay. “Leave him be, ya vultures.” But it’s all said in good jest and soon Din is being shown to an empty booth far to the other side of the cantina where he and Vanth can sit in peace.

“You mind if I?” Vanth holds up his hands towards the Child, and Din hands him over. The Child is already reaching for Vanth, and they did become close with one another while they negotiated a deal with the Tuskens. It’s why he chose Vanth to look after him if things were to end poorly. He knew, deep down, that Vanth would care for him. Just as he cares for this town and everyone in it.

“I was gonna miss this little fella,” Vanth says. “He sure does pull you in with those big eyes, now doesn’t he?”

“He has,” Din says, but his eyes are on Vanth himself and how relaxed he seems now, like a huge burden has been lifted. He looks happy to be here, and Din wants to bask in that for a little while longer.

They end up talking for a bit, Vanth more often than not and Din less so. Vanth doesn’t seem to mind that Din doesn’t talk about much, but when Din does talk, Vanth looks at him and listens. He asks questions. He asks for clarification if needed. But he listens, and Din doesn’t know about the last time when someone listened like this.

And as the night draws on and as the cantina slowly empties, Din is beginning to feel a deep-seated weariness settle into his joints and bones. The fight is over and now he must rest but—

“I got a spare room,” Vanth offers. “Could get something together for the kid here.” The Child has fallen asleep in the crook of Din’s arm, his ears downturned despite the hum and drum of the cantina.

“I don’t mean to put this on you.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. Just being a good neighbour. And I’m still the Marshal here. It’s my duty to look after folks. Come on. I won’t hear nothin’ about it.”

He follows Vanth to his house, this little place partially sunken into the ground as is Tatooine fashion. It’s a small place, but more space than Din is used to or has been treated to in a long time. Vanth sees that the Child is set down in something of a makeshift crib, and then it’s just the two of them and no one else.

Vanth stretches and rubs at the back of his neck. Then he turns his gaze to Din. “So what now, Mando? You looking to stay for a while?”

“For now.” He looks to the photos hanging on Vanth’s walls, the bookshelf covered in more knickknacks than actual books, the striped blanket over the back of the couch. “I feel as if there is unfinished business between us.”

“Business, huh?” Vanth brushes past him and sits down on the couch, looking relaxed and inviting. “Anything business you want to discuss right now?”

By the way he’s looking at Din, he knows what Din is meaning by the use of business.

“I’m not sure,” Din says.

“Well, lucky for you I’m a patient man. Now come here.” He pats the cushion next to him. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, I want to get a better look at you.”

Din feels himself flush and he moves slowly, deliberately, and sits down next to Vanth.

“There are a lot of things I can offer,” Vanth says. “But it depends on what you’re looking for.”

“And what if I’m not sure?”

“We take things at your pace.”

It’s a lot to consider yet what this halt in Din’s quest, but he thinks he needs this. He thinks he needs Vanth more than he realizes. Needs the respite. Needs the comfort. Needs the support.

He had offered that all to Vanth in the beginning, and now Vanth is here to repay the favour.

“My pace.”

“Mmhm.”

“Then I think it’s only right you know my name. It’s Din.”

Vanth smiles. “Nice to have it, Din. Call me Cobb.”

#dincobb #din djarin #cobb vanth #dincobbweek #dincobbweek2021 #dincobb week #star speaks #star writes #mandalorian

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falling-fineline · 3 years

Text

Rest It On Your Fingertips

(Cake Hoodings one shot)

hi! you can call me elle!

this is my first cake ever one-shot!

ive never written anything like this before so please be kind and i did write this in 2 days while i was high and horny and thinking about calum and luke.

the following one shot does have references to self-harm so tread lightly.

other than that, this is just a angsty smutty fluffy mess! hope you like it! please reblog or like this post if you do or you can read it on ao3

come talk with me! im swear i dont bite! xx

“Heeeeey, you said I could have the last puff,” Luke whines, sticking out his bottom lip.

Even from right beside him as he pulls on the rooch, eyes hooded, Calum can see how chewed up his boyfriend’s bottom lip is. His teeth working relentlessly ever since the two of them started smoking after their show. For a brief moment, Calum wonders why the other was so nervous as he turns to face luke on the bed, slowly mo0ving his left hand to grasp Luke’s chin. Leaning in, the older bloke blew the last of their shared joint into the other's lips.

Calum’s lips lingered on luke’s for just a moment before he leant back on the headboard, admiring Luke’s side profile as he exhales out slowly, the smoke curling around in the air in front of them. Casted by the low lamp light, Luke’s nose looks more fairy-like against the stark shadows.

Luke hums contently, eyes closed, a huge grin on his lips. Luke tilts his head back as he too leaned back against the headboard, relaxing into the wooden board as the high seeps through him. He’s on the good side of buzzed, feeling warmth circling through his veins, slouching further into the mattress.

Calum glances and notices that Luke has his eyes closed. Feeling unusually brave, (probably from the weed), Calum leans in and licks a bold strip up the side of Luke’s left cheek. His tongue runs along Luke’s beard, getting a loud open-mouthed laugh bursting out of the blond.

“That tickles!” Luke’s shaking shoulders from his laughter bumps into calum’s black vest cladded chest.

Luke’s black leather jacket hung in the bathroom to air dry out the smells of a 2 hour show. The blond lad’s red silk button up looked blood red under the warm hotel room lights. Calum can’t help but run his hands slowly down from Luke’s chin, trailing down the button band, first through Luke’s chest hair, fingers moving on to clink his finger nails against the bottoms, small clacking sounds is barely heard over the sound of music that’s playing from calum’s Bluetooth speaker.

Luke’s eyes flutter open as he senses the warmth radiating off calum’s hands casting over his chest as it hovers there, actions paused for a moment.

Today was Calum and Luke’s one month anniversary of when Calum asked a shy looking luke out, a blush painted on the blond’s cheeks as the younger lad had nodded fervently with a huge his playing on his lips. His lips. Which were nervously being bitten. Why was he nervous? It could be because of the conversation they had this morning.

Luke had clung longer than usual when they had their morning cuddles. When Calum asked his boyfriend what was on his mind, the blond took a breathe and answered into calum’s stomach.

“I want us to finally have sex tonight..After the show. Like all the way. I want to celebrate tonight. I want you in me, Cal.” Luke’s voice had tapered off toward the end, getting more and more anxious the longer he went on. Calum had scooped Luke into his arms and hugged him tight, lifting the other off their feet. Luke had laughed open mouthed like he does when he’s happy.

Fast forward to now, where Calum can clearly see the blond’s growing bulge that’s hidden under cotton white Calvin klein briefs. Clearly ready for their first time together. Calum noticed that Luke always got horny when they got high. Whereas Calum got mellow, calmer, more observant of his surroundings. And it wasn’t until recently that Calum caught on that yes Luke was affectionate but he was also trying to flirt with Calum when he was high. Having the edge off from the weed had helped Luke’s courage and self-esteem a lot.

Calum had also noticed that Luke’s hands unconsciously played with the bottom hems of his briefs, pulling them down further his pale thighs whenever they rode up from movement.

“What’s got my pretty boy’s head all worked up?” Calum asked the blond lad across from him. Both hands coming down to hold and steady Luke’s nervous pair. Although every other part of look is hot to the touch, his hands remain cold. Poor circulation do to his nerves probably.

“I’m nervous of how you’ll… react.” Luke said into his chest, head bowed down to hide his face from Calum’s view. Hands squeezing shut under calum’s tattooed pair.

“React to what?”

In the dim bed side light that’s casting over Luke’s face, it looks as if Luke’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears, holding it back for the sake of show. The blond's cheeks grow hot in embarrassment even though he doesn’t know why because he’s cried in front of Calum before.

“You’re my best friend, bandmate and boyfriend, babe, you can tell me anything that’s on your mind and hopefully I’ll help you alleviate your troubles.” Calum strokes his thumb across the backs of Luke’s hands to try to ease him down, try not to get him too worked up. His other hand came up to stroke across the bottom of Luke’s left eye and swiped some tears away.

“I’d like to keep my shirt on if that’s alright with you.” Luke said firmly, looking up into calum’s eyes to communicate his conviction.

“Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with, pet.”

Luke blushes a light shade of pink at the pet name. And, with new found courage, the blond closes the distance between their lips. Mouths working together, the kiss begins at a slow tempo, hands roaming bodies as lightly as the afternoon wind sweeps over red dessert peaks and valleys. The kiss turns breathless when Calum’s hands wander past Luke’s perky nipples, erected due to the immense pleasure and connection he’s feeling between them. The brunette takes his time kissing down Luke’s torso, nuzzling his face into blond curly chest hair to get a breathless laugh from Luke.

Usually, when the two of them get intimate, it’s usually Calum receiving pleasure while luke eagerly gives it. They have had their fair share of dressing room quick blowjobs. And it’s not that Calum doesn’t have love to give back. He has so much actually, but luke always pushes his hands away or if the blond does get really eager for relief, he keeps his briefs on while Calum sucked him off.

Calum never questioned Luke on why he keeps certain clothes on during sex, but he chalks it up to Luke slowly opening up to him and being more and more comfortable when the two of them get intimate.

So when Calum goes to remove Luke’s briefs, he looks up to the blond and asks “Is it alright if I take this off for you?”

Calum can feel the blond’s muscles tighten then release for a moment before he answers with a quiet “yes”.

Agonizingly slow, Calum takes off Luke’s briefs, Luke lifting up his bum to help his boyfriend with the process. When they get settled again, Luke’s briefs thrown beside the bed, Calum finally understands why Luke had been nervous about. Or really, Calum sees them.

Thin messy white lines of healed scar tissue line Luke’s inner thighs, strokes beside one another in a somewhat orderly fashion. Not one of them are any longer than 5cm in length, but the sheer amount of them made beside one another is jarring. Calum feels Luke’s eyes on him as the brunet takes it all in.

“Y-you don’t have to… pay any mind to them.” Luke’s voice trembles a bit as his left hand goes to grab a hold of calum’s hand, grasping it tightly.

Calum’s eyes are filled with unshed tears as he softly uses his free hand to stroke over the fading scars. There’s roughly 30 odd lines riddled into Luke’s fleshy skin, on each thigh.

In a quiet whisper, Calum asks “Can I know when it started?”

Luke answers a while later. “The breakup with her was hard for me to… process. And then when we came off tour, I was all alone in my house and I-… it was like I was in my own personal purgatory. It was Ashton that actually found me in my bathroom,” The blond gulps, eyes casted downwards. “after I had cut myself particularly too hard, I had panicked and called Ash. He came into my house but for a while I didn’t open the bathroom door for him. I was so ashamed. I was scared too though. So the fear brought me to opening the door for Ash and when he saw how pale I was, how unwell I was, he asked me to move in with him for a while. Until I got back on my feet.”

The blond lulled his head until it landed in the crooks of calum’s shoulder. Calum leans his head into Luke’s for a moment then speaks.

“Luke Hemmings, I love you so damn much. You are the strongest person I know and you’ve come so far. So so far. You are a bright light in my life that I look forward to seeing and loving every single day. So Luke, will you let me take care of you tonight?” Calum’s hands start to sweat as he waits for the blond to answer.

“Yeah, alright.” Luke whispers, closing his eyes as he moves to get settled on the bed with a pillow put behind his head.

Calum’s about to stick his pointer finger into his mouth to lube it up with spit when Luke’s eyes snap open and he grabs a hold of calum’s hand mid air. Luke slowly recloses his eyes as he sticks calum’s pointer finger into his mouth, pink lips surrounding his knuckle. A low moan is hummed around calum’s finger as Luke lows down at Calum, where he’s lying his head on Luke’s hip, eyes hooded but Calum can see a glassy sheen to Luke’s eyes that tell him that he’s feeling mighty good right now.

That sparkle in his eyes, coupled with the low moans emitting from the blond’s mouth has got Calum frantically giving himself a quick squeeze to relieve some pressure.

Taking his finger out of Luke’s mouth, Luke eagerly watches his boyfriend strategically lube his other fingers with the slick split luke provided. Once Covered optimally, in one swift motion, Calum inserts a lubed up pointer finger into Luke’s hole as his mouth grabs a hold of Luke’s dick and swallows him down, sliding his finger in matching the slow pace.

Luke’s eyes are glued to the brunet, mesmerized, as his boyfriend enthusiastically bobs up and down his hardened cock, slick with spit. Calum pops off Luke’s cock and starts jerking him off in a more rapid pace, his fingers gaining speed. Somewhere between Calum playing with Luke’s balls and Luke, he swears to God, moaning out calum’s name when his fingers curve and hit his prostate, calum’s got 3 fingers in luke.

“so…fucking deep” A moan breaks out at the end of his sentence and Luke’s hips jerk up unconsciously, trying to shove his cock into the back of calum’s throat.

Calum’s gagging on it, sloppy sounds emit from the bed that would make anyone blush if heard. Calum loves how Luke’s fully letting himself feel the high and the pleasure of being pleased for once. A silent moan fits on the blond’s lips as he says “I need you, right now, please” It comes out like a breatheless whine towards the end but seeing luke ask for what he wants is turning calum on more than he thought was possible. Calum let’s Luke’s dick slip out of his pink overworked mouth to speak.

“you want my cock in you, pet?” calum’s voice is hoarse and so fucked out it’s the hottest thing Luke’s every heard. Calum takes out his 3 fingers, just to shove them back up to his knuckles as his tongue licks a strip up Luke’s being cock, pre cum spewing from the tip and onto his stomach. Luke’s hazy mind didn’t register the question that was directed towards him until a moment later. Luke’s gaze wanders from his dick up to calum’s moving mouth, and sees his own pre cum is gathered by the side of calum’s left side of his lips. Luke feels himself get impossibly harder at the raunchy sight.

“what?” Luke asks, speech delayed.

“I asked if you’re ready for me now, babe.” Calum sits up, adjusting his seating position so his own erection isn't squished. Luke was so caught up in his own pleasure that he forgot about his boyfriend.

A frown forms on the blond’s lips as he reaches for calum’s bulge. “Baby, I’m sorry I-“ Calum kindly swats Luke’s sloth like hands away before he cuts him off.

“I said that I’ll take care of you tonight, didn’t I? So that’s what I’m gonna do, will you let me?” Calum brings a hand to run through the blond locks in front of him.

Luke nods, so Calum takes his hand out of Luke’s hair, sets it beside his head on the pillow. The other hand jerks himself off a few strokes. Lining up his cock, Calum leans down to kiss Luke as he pushes in slowly, to the hilt.

A low groan escapes from Luke’s mouth as a moan comes out of calum’s as he resists the urge to pull out to pump back in again so early.

“You feeling alright, love?” Calum breathes the words onto Luke’s lips as the blond nods and says “Move.”

Calum wastes no time and pumps into Luke like all the times he’s fantasized about this moment in locker room showers.

Luke’s got his eyes scrunched shut, his legs bouncing around calum’s round hips. Soft “uh uh uh’s” stream out of luke’s pink lips. Luke tightens his legs around Calum, all while he sticks his tongue down calum’s throat, wrapping both hands around calum’s neck, holding him there for a moment.

They kiss fervently, Like tasting himself on calum’s lips. They kiss as if tomorrow will never come and tonight is the last chance to show their love for each other. Calum shifts his hips, circling them in a way that’s got them both moaning a string of curse words at the pleasure.

The sounds of skin slapping on slick skin echo around the walls as the sounds of harry styles’ tune Medicine starts to play.

Here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Treat you like a gentleman

Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline

I think I’m gonna stick with you

Here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Rest it on your fingertips

Up to your mouth, feeling it out

Feeling it out

Calum swirls his tongue around Luke’s mouth, playing tag with the blond’s active tongue.

I had a few, got drunk on you and now I’m wasted

And when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you tasted

Calum’s steady rhythm rocks into Luke, a rhythmic thud can be heard as the headboard bangs against the wall.

If you go out tonight, I’m going out ‘cause I know you’re persuasive

You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it

We’re getting dizzy, oh, we’re getting dizzy, oh

La la la la la

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

Luke begins stroking his own cock, his mind muddle by the weed and absolute euphoria he felt running through his veins. Heat began to gather in his stomach as his orgasm began to build.

Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes

Tingle running through my bones

The boys and the girls are in

I mess around with him

And I’m okay with it

“Where to do want me to cum?” Calum pants into Luke’s right ear, hips never tiring their movements as they ram into the blond’s hole, skin slapping on skin.

I’m coming down, I figured out I kinda like it

And when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you ride it

“cum inside me, please cal, I want you to cum inside, I want your load in me god I want it so bad please please please.” Luke sounds so gone, speaking mindlessly, words meshing into the next, slurring speech. Calum pulls back his head and sees that Luke’s already looking at him. His blue eyes are bleary, constantly glancing from side to side, trying to focus on calum’s warm brown ones. Pupils blown, can barely see where the baby blues have gone in the heat of ecstasy. Sweat seeps into the pillow under luke’s head, moisture on his forehead. Curls unruly and matted against his face. Mouth hanging open has he’s pounded by his boyfriend. Luke Hemmings looking like this, fucked out and on the edge of climax, was a sight for calum’s sore eyes only.

If you go out tonight, I’m going out ‘cause I know you’re persuasive

You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it

We’re getting dizzy, oh, we’re getting dizzy, oh

La la la la la

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

I had a few, got drunk on you and now I’m wasted

Luke cums with a shout of calum’s name, eyes scrunched shut as his body spasms with pleasure. He paints his stomach with his spunk, white goop sticky on his stomach and chest. Although he slumps back onto the bed a little bit, he pulls calum’s head down beside his and starts whispering into the brunet’s ear, under the sound of music playing.

If you go out tonight, I’m going out ‘cause I know you’re persuasive

You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it

We’re getting dizzy, oh, we’re getting dizzy, oh

La la la la la

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

“I want you to fill me up, Cal, release your load into me, let me milk you out cal, milk you out with my tight tight hole. I wanna feel you pulse in me cal, Calum, Mmm.” Calum pumps one final time before he buries his face into the crook of Luke’s neck, teeth grabbing onto flex as he cums inside Luke’s hole, teeth biting down momentarily. That’s going to leave a mark. Oops.

As they both come down from their highs, Calum pulls out of Luke slowly. White spunk drip out of Luke’s hole into a small puddle onto the bed sheets.

Luke cuddles into calum’s shoulder, chest rising evenly as it falls with each breath he takes. Minds coming down from their own orgasmic highs.

“Thanks for that. I felt so good. So..loved.” Luke blushes a bit at his remark, then a small grin settles on his lips. He turns around onto his stomach, still lying on Calum. Calum eyes crinkle before he speaks.

“I love you and I want you to know that your light shines brighter than the gold glitter you put on your eyelids before you go on stage. Your light is so unique and irreplaceable. I look forward to loving you more and more each day so please, stay.” Calum annunciates the last word with a soft peck of his lips against the blond’s.

Luke does continue on. Staying by calum’s side, in the band, in the world. He surrounds himself with the loved ones he had once convinced himself that they didn’t love him back. He is well loved by all, especially Calum.

Some days are harder than the others, with Luke bed ridden for days on end. Boxes upon boxes of tissues are used up to soak up at the tears he’s got to shed. Or he’d be numb out of his mind, staring out the bus window, trying to actually See what’s in front of himself and not just noticing it.

Other times, he takes petunia out for walks and works out with Calum and goes to the studio with Ash and plays Mario Kart with Michael.

Luke takes it one day at a time.

#cake hoodings #cake 5sos #cake #luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #self harm #established relationship #smut #drabble #one shot #breakdown #fanfic #RIOMFT

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randombubblegum · 3 years

Note

My desire to criticize Awsten vs my fear of setting off his rejection sensitive dysphoria (which he definitely has). It being a side effect of ADHD which he said he was “diagnosed with as a kid but it doesn’t bother him anymore”... as someone with ADHD Yes It Does.

It’s so hard to criticize him without hurting my own feelings because I understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. I understand why he gets his feelings hurt so hard and why his mind doesn’t want any less than what it wants.

I see myself do this kind of stuff because of my ADHD and I too get into spirals where people only praise me because they know I’ll get pissy if they criticize me so I GET IT but SOMEONE needs to talk him down, no matter how hard it’ll be on him.

I’ve had an AWFUL feeling about 300E since the beginning. Awsten has said that there’s no bad blood between the band and Hopeless and Hopeless has agreed. He genuinely just doesn’t want to be considered pop-punk. Thing is, 300E doesn’t CARE and they never will. They will never care about Waterparks. I wonder if Geoff and Otto even wanted to move to 300E considering they like bands in the scene more than Awsten...

Fandom felt so full of life from the band. It was so jointed together. Otto and Geoff felt THERE. It felt like Waterparks and not The Awsten Show. Fandom was so Album Like. It had a distinctive era. It was a THING. What even is this era?? I’m gonna guess every song is gonna be similar to Reboot. I like Reboot but... only on its own as its own thing. I wouldn’t if it was an entire album that sounded like that

If Awsten wants to be discarded from the pop-punk label so bad then he should get rid of Geoff and Otto and be solely autotune and synthesizers and he should stop screaming in songs. If he hates it that much... but he’s not going to right? So how much does he actually hate being pop-punk

I have a feeling they’re gonna pull and All Time Low when this album flops and go crawling back to Hopeless

this is a bit of a doozy of an ask but honestly i agree with a lot of it. i am also, like, super super super SUPER sensitive to rejection, like its actually a problem, and this isnt the first time ive seen it floated if awsten has it too (from people who have it). im inclined to agree? its a really common symptom of adhd and he has said he has that, so.

adhd and the rejection-based socialization it leads you into is really hard. it fucks with your thought patterns because your dopamine reward center is broken and it makes praise feel AMAZING and perceived slights almost unbearably painful. i dont want to ~diagnose~ him from afar, but if even a little bit of that is true for his lived adhd experience, i get it. i do. it explains a lot about why he does what he does sometimes. it makes it very hard for people who care about you to tell you “no”.

300ent has an easily googleable history of fucking artists over and tightly controlling when and how they can release new music..... that really makes me nervous if awsten signed with them to get AWAY from that........ ive always been rly worried that 300 doesnt seem to be helping them do anything as far as band promo or like, merch fulfillment goes and i think its maybe the case :( and yeah well literally never know what geoff or ottos thoughts on the move were or even if they had any lol....

and you KNOW awsten will never, ever let on that anythings wrong, if it is!! hell spin it to be positive and look like hes on top of the world because thats what he does!! if youre just on his twitter, seeing him act cool and everyone around him praise him, why would you ever think anythings wrong?

id sort of argue that fandom felt like “the awsten show” way more than dd, or even ent did....... lots of solo interviews, lots of interviews where awstens the only one talking or he ribs on otto and geoff kind of... with bite..... but i agree that it was much more cohesive as an era and a promo cycle, at least so far. i agree lol i like reboot okay but its like my least fav track on fandom and i also wouldnt want a whole album styled after that..... i mean its a personal preference, but still

i worry a lot about awsten pulling a brendon urie here but theres no way to guess how far hell go with it, i guess we just have to wait and see :[ i will say though, and i really doubt im alone in thinking this, that i like waterparks BECAUSE ITS A BAND and not just awsten..... i like geoff and otto and their interactions. if i wanted a solo artist id get behind like idk harry styles or something

#i feel a reasonable amount of concern !#neg #long post #Anonymous #mail time!

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mangekyuou · 4 years

Text

LET ME IN ━ﾞ

⁺◟ CHARACTERS . . . kujo jotaro fem!reader holly ‘ joseph ‘ suzi q ‘ jolyne mentions of the crusaders

⁺◟ GENRE . . . angst fluff oneshot

⁺◟ SYNOPSIS . . . 1989 was a scary year for jotaro. from the threat of his mother dying to going all the way to egypt to fight a vampire who took over his great great grandfather’s body. when coming back to japan, he finds out about, ( y/n ), the principal’s daughter’s who had brought his work home and took care of his mother while he was gone. after getting to know her, he does something he has never done before, let someone in and tell them how he’s feeling.

⁺◟ TRIGGER WARNINGS . . . mentions of death ‘ mental illness ptsd ‘ depression

⁺◟ WORD COUNT . . . 4.7k.

⁺◟ COMMENTARY . . . i originally didn’t plan for this to be this long. i have NEVER written so many words. oh wow.

Tap...tap...tap, the bamboo well sounded to the right of a young schoolgirl dressed a purple uniform, the ascot on her uniform being dark blue with a small mermaid tail on one the sides that her mother had stitched into it to make the young woman stand out, despite her will to never stand out.

School had let out a few hours ago, and she, ( y/n ) was tasked with heading to the Kujo household to give Jotaro his homework for the past few weeks.

The tall, muscular delinquent had pretty much disappeared from their school. He just up and left, without a word. Leaving his grades and fanclub to somewhat suffer, which was where ( y/n ) came in.

One of the top and most well behaved students at their school, trusted by the admiration. She was known for her good girl status across the campus. But she was fairly timid, quiet and, very reserved. If she spent half as much time as she did focusing on her work, she would have more friends than she did.

But what could you expect from her? It was expected of her. Her father was the school’s principal, while her mother was a college professor. She was expected to be smart and top of her class. Anything lower than that would be unacceptable. It was stressed to her from a young age from both of her parents as well as the rest of her family, as they had high expectations for her future, hoping she would become a doctor or a lawyer, even if she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life after high school at this point.

Now the principal’s daughter stood in front of the luxurious Kujo home, coming just from school, holding a large vanilla folder full of worksheets, handwritten notes from her very own journal that she copied onto her own loose-leaf paper because she ran out of printer paper at home and she was too scared to ask her mother for more, and many more papers that served as guides that would help Jotaro with all of his homework and studies since he wasn’t in class for the lessons.

She didn’t want to be here. She barely even knew the guy, only having any a handful of encounters with him.

He was her lab partner for a physics project once, but the two never talked after that. They had barely talked during the project. She tried to introduce herself and he blew her off, wanting to do the project alone. But he came around in the end, helping her but he wasn’t in school the day the two had to present as he was rumored to have been arrested the night before for beating a group of thugs to a pulp.

She always felt weird around him, like she was unwanted and she understood, trying to stay out of his hair often the project but at the discretion of her father, once again here she was having to meet the cold individual because he didn’t trust anyone else to do it.

In his own words: “You two are classmates. I’m sure he’ll be happier to get his work from a classmate rather than a teacher. And you’re one of the only students who doesn’t fangirl around him.”

Right, his fangirls who were both envious and angry at ( y/n ) for getting the chance to go to Jotaro’s home and give him his homework. It’s not like she wanted to do it anyways.

The property was quite gorgeous, and quiet. In a way, too quiet. She crossed the wooden bridge, walking to the home. She felt nervousness fill in her chest, as her heart began to race. She clung on tightly to the vanilla folder, as she approached the door.

Now face to face with the door, she knocked slightly, hoping and praying no one would answer the door, but she was wrong.

A sickly-looking fair headed woman with the prettiest blue-green eyes. Her skin was as pale as paper and beads of sweat decorated her forehead. She looked not only sick but in pain.

“A-Are you okay?” The young girl asked with a look of concern washing over her face.

The fair headed woman gave her a weak smile, “Y-Yes. I’m just a little tired. Luckily, I was already heading to the door when you came. C-Come in...”

“B-But I haven’t introduced myself ye―” She began, stopping midsentence as she watched the older woman’s eyes roll to the back of her head, as her body gave out from under her.

“MRS. KUJO!” She dropped the folder, quickly grabbing Holly before she could reach the ground. Her weak arms barely being able to hold the woman up. She quickly recovered herself, wrapping one of Holly’s arms around her shoulders and leading her over to a futon that sat in the middle of the floor and placing her down gently, “Easy does it.”

Holly opened her eyes, reaching up for her head, “What...what happened?”

“You passed out at the door, Mrs. Kujo, and I caught you before you fell. You only blacked out for a minute.” She placed the back of her hand to Holly’s forehead, feeling the extreme warmth, “You’re burning up. Have you seen a doctor? Do you need me to call an ambulance.”

“N-No! I’ll be okay...please don’t worry about me.”

“It’s kind of hard not to. You fainted at the door. And you’re here with a high fever all alone. Is Jotaro here with you? Is that why he hasn’t been coming to school?”

Holly eyed the girl up and down, noticing her school uniform, “Oh...you must be one of Jotaro’s classmates. He’s not here now and he won’t be here for a while. Did...did you come here to bring his work to him?”

“Yes, is that...is that okay?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want my boy to get behind on his school work.”

The girl lowered her head slightly, “I...I brought extensive notes for him as well, so he could understand the lesson despite not being there for it. If he needs more help, I’d be very happy to help him.”

“What’s your name?”

“( l/n ) ( y/n ), why?”

“Because I wanted to put a name to your face and so I can tell Jotaro who brought his work when he comes back,” Holly said with a smile. For a sickly woman, she sure did smile a lot. She struggled to sit up.

“M-Mrs, Kujo! You should lay down so you don’t hurt yourself,” ( y/n ) warned the woman, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder gently. Holly laid back down, letting a pained whimper.

“I...I should go. I’ll pick up the notes and worksheets and I’ll leave them on the table for Jotaro.”

Holly took ( y/n )’s hand into her soft one, putting her free hand on top of their joint hands, “Could you do one thing for me before you go?”

“Of course, anything.”

“Could you make me shogayu? I could really go for some.”

The young girl nodded, “Of course. It will only be a second.”

And she did just that, making the older woman shogayu. The best damn shogayu she ever made all for the mother of one of her classmates because it made her feel warm on the inside watching Holly smile.

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. Before ( y/n ) knew it, the sun was beginning to set and the moon was beginning to rise. She had gotten lost in conversation with the fair headed woman. It was the best type of conversation to have, one where you could talk about just about anything.

Holly had told embarrassing childhood tales of Jotaro, even some from her own childhood. Even at one point, ( y/n ) had opened up to Holly about her struggle with her own family and she listened. No one had ever listened to her before, at least not like Holly did. Here she felt like she was her own person and not the daughter of her parents.

Much to her dismay, she had to go home. But she made sure that wasn’t the last time she had met Holly.

Many more days after that, she returned to the home to check on her, each day she had gotten worse and it had scared her. She had made a new friend who was getting worse and worse by the day. She watched as random men from some unknown foundation came in and hooked her to IVs and many other machines to keep her breathing.

Seeing Holly like this, broke her. There she sat, on her knees in front of Holly’s futon, the sound of beeping from the machine and sniffles filled the now silent room. She had been since school had let out, her backpack was tossed across the room as she ran to Holly’s side to keep her company. Even if she was out cold, she still wanted to be there for her when she woke up. She held onto her hand, just like the first night she met the hair headed woman, how Holly held onto her hand, as she softly sang Japanese lullabies her own mother sang to her when she was sick.

The last few days were the worst, being told that Holly was on the verge of death and she didn’t understand why. She was told nothing. What was killing her? Why was she dying? Why were all these people from this organization here? What was going on?

She didn’t understand. Not even when a much older woman had walked in, claiming to be Holly’s mother. ( y/n ) didn’t talk much, only worrying about Holly’s condition. She had cried over someone else’s mother than she had over anything else. She had never experienced loss and she was afraid to.

Not only was the thought of losing a friend and mother figure on her mind, but the scary reality that Jotaro could be gone and his mother could die without even getting to tell him that she loves him one last time.

But her thoughts had disappeared one day.

It started out just like any day. After the dismissal bell had sounded through every room of the school, the girl rushed to grab her things, shoving them into her backpack and practically running out of the school and to the Kujo home.

Just as she reached the bridge, she halted. Standing on the other side was the tall stoic boy.

Jotaro was back.

There he stood in all his glory. He wore a purple tank top, his arm wrapped in a cast, a sling around his neck to hold it up. His upper arms on either side were decorated in red and purple bruises and elastic bandages. Even without his jacket on, she still recognized those bright blue eyes of his. That is of course without paying attention to his hat.

He noticed the panic and sadness in her eyes. But it wasn’t because she pitied him. He knew why she was here. She was here to check on his mother. He had become aware of her visits to his home from his grandmother, Suzi Q, who even told him, “there were even nights where she didn’t leave and slept over, but she always made sure to leave early in the morning so her family wouldn’t go out looking for her”.

To know that she cared for his mother so much, to come every day after school, it surprised him. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, it warmed his heart. And he knew that that was exactly reason she stood on the other side of the bridge right now, to see if Holly had made it.

He stepped to the side, giving her a clear walkway. He shoved his one hand into the pocket of his pants, looking away from her, “She hasn’t stopped talking about you since she woke up. She’ll be happy to see you.”

( y/n )’s ears peered up at the mention of ‘her’. She knew there was only one person he could be talking about. A look of glee replaced her look of panic and sadness, as she ran across the bridge right into his arms, hugging him gently, careful not to hurt his arm.

“Get off,” He said coldly, returning to the boy she knew. She did as he said, running toward the large home, calling out to Holly who met her halfway, pulling her in for a tight hug.

Dinner was fun that night, Holly inviting ( y/n ) to stay and take a seat between her and Jotaro. Holly quickly introduced the young girl to Joseph who had thanked her profusely for taking care and keeping his only baby girl company for as long as she did.

Jotaro had struggled slightly with his meal, the young girl had offered to help. Even after he declined a few times, she still helped him. And he watched her. Not in angry or annoyance, but in admiration and astonishment. From what he had recalled about his minimal encounters principal’s daughter, he wasn’t very nice to her. But here she was, in his home, trying to help him eat. And for the first time in a long time, he let go and allowed her to help him.

In the following weeks, she helped him get back on track with his studies, taking things slowly as he still injured and often would zone out when she was talking.

Unsure whether to ask him or not, she had asked his grandfather Joseph and she learned the truth or at least part of the truth. Her inability to see Stands had made it hard for the old man to explain some parts of what had happened to not only Jotaro but him and a friend they made along the way to Egypt.

She learned of the deaths of three.

Avdol.

Iggy.

Kakyoin.

All friends of Jotaro’s. Dead. Gone. Never coming back. He can never see them again. Never talk to them, never tell them how they made him feel. Joseph was mumbling on about survivor’s guilt when it hit her. He wasn’t only hurting physically but mentally as well. It was all too much for a 17-year-old to handle, let alone an adult! But yet here he was, trying to push onto the next day. Acting tough, like nothing ever happened.

She knew it was wrong to just bring it up if he didn’t want to talk about it with her. I mean who was she? Just a classmate of his. She wasn’t a friend. She wasn’t family. She was just a classmate who helped him on the side to help get his grades back up.

But she couldn’t lie and pretend she didn’t know, especially when the death of his three friends was beginning to affect his grades again. And so she told him.

“Jotaro...if you ever need someone to talk to...about anything...anything at all...I’m here for you and I will always be here for you. And I hope you know that.”

Though he didn’t say anything that day, he took her words and held onto them.

Weeks had passed since then and they were now about to graduate. She was top of the class, followed closely behind by Jotaro, who was only a point behind her.

Just by pure coincidence, the two had gotten accepted into the same university in America. He was going into marine biology, and she, law. According to Holly, it was somehow fate trying to tell her something but she blew it off and prepared for her great big move to America which would be happening soon.

During the night, on her last week in Japan, there was a light tapping at her window, waking her up. It was Jotaro at her window. She opened the window, asking him if something was wrong. Not only was it pitch black outside and probably past midnight, but he had never done this before.

But her questions were answered when she looked into his eyes, not seeing that tall, stoic man, but a sensitive young man who has been through a lot. He opened his mouth and reminded her of her own words, “( y/n ), do you remember you said I could talk to you about anything?”

“Of course I do, Jojo.”

“Are...are you available to talk right now?”

How was she going to say now? She allowed the man to climb into her bedroom, closing the window behind him. And he told her everything, from start to finish, beginning to end.

He told her about his Stand, Star Platinum, and the first time it had appeared. He told her of seeing Star’s true potential and when he learned of what a Stand really was. He told her of the friends he made along the way, the friends he had lost at the very end before coming home. He even told her why he left and why Holly was sick.

The man was sobbing by the end of it. She, not knowing how else to comfort him, pulled him in for a hug, allowing him to let out and thanking him for trusting her with such information. Though he found himself embarrassed for crying in front of her, she tried to let him know that it was okay to cry sometimes.

“Thank you, Jojo.”

“For what?”

“Letting me inside, letting me comfort you, letting me hold you.”

But that was all in 1989.

It was now 1999.

Ten years had past and the two were still inseparable.

Well, almost.

The now much older woman let out an annoyed whine, as she leaned against the side of the brown desk. She placed both of her hands onto the surface of the desk before scooting up onto it, much to the dismay of the man sitting next to her who was concentrated on a stack of papers in front of him.

“Jojo, I finally get some time between cases and you head off to leave us again?”

“I don’t particularly want to. Joseph wants me to.”

( y/n ) folded her arms across her chest, letting out a huff, “I forgot. Joseph’s illegitimate son is all the new rave. I know Grandma Suzi is taking it rough. I wonder how Mom is taking it.”

“I’m not sure and I don’t think I want to know right now. I’m only going to Morioh to investigate. I’ll be back before you know it,” He added, his eyes still scanning over the papers in front of him.

She rolled her eyes, “You always say that. You and this Stand stuff. I don’t think I’ll ever understand and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You could have married a girl with a Stand.”

“But I didn’t. You’re the perfect one for me.”

He had proposed a year and a half into their relationship, the pair getting married at the young age of 20. He had married his best friend and the woman who listened to him. A year later the pair welcomed their first and only child, Jolyne, Holly being the one who picked out her name.

Even at a young age, she had developed Jotaro’s personality and a modified version of his catchphrase, which annoyed her mother, hoping she would at least develop something from her.

In reality, she did. She developed ( y/n )’s annoyance toward Jotaro’s frequent absence. Oh, and her eyes.

The man took his wife’s left hand into his own, looking down at her wedding band and diamond engagement ring. She always wore both. Why just wear one when both were gorgeous? He continued, “I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Stand or not, you’re the only woman I want. Not for your looks, even though you’re the most beautiful woman alive. Not for your talents, even though you’re the most talented woman I know. Hell not even for your job, even though you’re the best damn lawyer on the face of this Earth. I love you because of your personality, because you’re my rock, you’re the woman who I trust my life with.”

“You’re only getting soft on me because you know you’re going to be gone for a while, don’t you?” The woman questioned, trying not to swoon over his words. It had worked many times before but now this time. They had been married for eight years now. She knew him inside and out.

He was smart enough not to answer, kissing her knuckles.

“You’re unbelievable, Jojo. But you flatter me. Do you really trust me with your life? Even if I don’t have a Stand?”

“You’re the only one I will ever trust. You said it yourself back when we were teenagers. That night when I came to your door, I let you inside. I let you comfort me. I let you hold me. And I don’t think I could ever do that with another person, let alone another woman,” He answered truthfully, pulling his wife of eight years from his desk, onto his lap.

( y/n ) giggled, “You’re still my stoic romantic. I love you, Jojo.”

“I love you too, ( y/n ).”

The woman wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate, loving kiss. He kissed back, wasting little time, wrapping one strong arm around her waist, pulling her as close as he could get. His strong chest had collided with hers, their fragrances intermixing with one another to create a new one, love.

He could feel her warmth, and she could feel his. It wasn’t often he would let her kiss him like this. It was always a simple peck on the cheek or sometimes on the lips.

She missed this. She missed her husband.

In marrying him, she knew he wasn’t the most affectionate man, so when he was affectionate, she didn’t waste a single touch, a single hug, a single kiss. She had always waited for it. And when it came, it had always made her giddy like a little child, this moment they shared in his office.

Interrupting their kiss, a small ‘yuck’ sounded from a crack in the door. Jotaro had pulled away from your lips, an audible whine leaving her lips. Jotaro looked toward the track in the door, seeing their daughter peeping at the two of them with a look of disgust.

Seeing as now she was caught, Jolyne’s eyes widened before she rubbed her eyes and opening the door. She faked a yawn, stepping into the office, “Mommy, I had a bad dream―”

“Jolyne, no need to lie. We both know you were standing right there the entire time. No one else is in the house but the three of us.”

The young girl, put her small hands behind her back, “Maybe...maybe there’s someone else in the house.”

( y/n ) raised an eyebrow, “Someone else in the house? Like a monster.” A small devilish grin appeared on her face. There was something about that grin that made set a flame inside of him. He knew what she was doing and decided to play along.

Jotaro hummed, “There might be a monster in the house. I remember seeing it on the way to work just when I stopped in Jolyne’s room to kiss her forehead before I left. He was in the closet.”

Jolyne’s eyes widened once more at the mention of a monster being in her closet. She stood frozen, as parents continued to relish over seeing some kind of monster. Her mother continued, “I think that was a different one. The one I saw was under her bed. It had long skinny hands with razor-sharp claws. It even asked me if it could eat her and I said―”

Before she could finish, Jolyne ran into her parents, pulling them both in for a tight hug as she sobbed, “MOMMY! DADDY! PLEASE DON’T LET THEM GET ME! I WON’T SPY ANYMORE! I WON’T BE BAD! PLEASE! DON’T LET THEM GET ME!”

“J-Jojo. There are no monsters. We were just messing with you. Daddy killed all the monsters,” ( y/n ) explained, trying to soothe the now sobbing Jolyne.

Jolyne sniffled, “Really?”

Jotaro kissed his daughter’s head, “Yes, I did. No monsters will ever get to you. I promise. Monsters...they’re scary but we have to fight them sometimes and if I didn’t fight the monsters I did, I wouldn’t have met your mother and you wouldn’t be here. After fighting the real monsters, I fought monsters that were in my head.”

Jolyne gasped, listening to her father, “Monsters can get in your head?”

Her father nodded, “They get in there and they stay in there. They suck the life out of you and remind you of what went wrong.”

( y/n ) listened closely, watching as Jolyne had slowly retracted her arms, climbing into her mother’s lap. Jotaro reached up slightly, wiping away the tears that had fallen from Jolyne’s emerald green eyes, which reminded him of what used to be. He continued.

“And when monsters get in your head it’s hard to get them out. Sometimes...people don’t get them out.”

“What happens when the monsters don’t come out?”

“It depends. Sometimes that person, goes a while they move on to a better place,” He tried to explain, not wanting to explain the concept of death to the seven-year-old.

Jolyne blinked, “But they come back, right? They have family and friends so they can’t leave, right?”

( y/n ) looked to her husband, noticing the sudden change in his face. She knew this was a sensitive subject. Though he claimed to be over the death of his friends, she knew he wasn’t. You don’t just get over the death of someone close to you.

To this day, he often woke up in cold sweats from nightmares about his trip to Egypt, seeing his friends die before his eyes and not being able to do anything about it.

His most recent nightmare being one about his own wife and daughter become victims of DIO. Hearing their screams and cries had stuck in his mind and wouldn’t leave. He...he broke out into tears in his sleep. ( y/n ) had woken him up from nightmare, and he hugged her tighter than he ever hugged her before. He even brought a sleeping Jolyne into the master bedroom, so he could watch over the most two important women in his life.

( y/n ) opened her mouth to speak, but Jotaro was quicker, “Sometimes, they don’t come back and they can’t come back. But when you have the right people to talk to and you have someone at your side, they can get better. I got a little better because your mother helped me fight my mind monsters.”

Jolyne looked to her mother in amazement, her eyes sparkling in joy, “Mommy, can fight mind monsters?! That’s so cool!”

He nodded in agreement, “She is really cool. She’s very cool. And I’m so happy I met her and opened up to her. And it was all because of―”

“GRANDMA!” Jolyne interrupted him, holding her small fists in the air with stars in her eyes. ( y/n ) ruffled her daughter’s hair gently, kissing her cheek, “I’m going to go make dinner―”

“No need. I already made it,” Jotaro chimed.

“But you didn’t...”

“Yeah! I’m ready to eat!”

With the flash of light, the couple’s emerald-eyed daughter had bolted out of the office.

( y/n ) was suspicious, “You stopped time to make dinner, didn’t you?”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. You’ll never know.”

She smiled at her husband, taking his hat off and putting it on her own head, “I’ll be taking this, Mr. Kujo.”

The man stood up from his chair, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into his broad chest once more. He took his hat back, before unraveling his arm, earning an eye roll from the woman, “You’re such a tease, Mr. Kujo.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass, Mrs. Kujo.”

“But you love it.”

“You’re damn right, I do.”

A now annoyed voice spoke from the door, “Yare yare dawa...CAN YOU TWO STOP KISSING AND COME EAT?! I CAN’T REACH THE PLATES!”

⁺◟ BACK TO NAVIGATION . . .

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king-finnigan · 4 years

Text

5 times Jaskier said ‘goodnight’ and 1 time he didn’t

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist!

Warning: major angst!

***

It’s weird, preparing to go to sleep, while the world around him is filled with sound. Sure, he’s used to the wind, to the forest creatures in the woods, to the birds. He’s even used to the sound of waves in the distance, sometimes. What he is not used to, is the sound of breathing on the other side of the fire, of someone tossing and turning in a bedroll they had to borrow from Geralt because they were horribly prepared for sleeping outside, the sound of a light and quick heartbeat, filling his ears.

Everything about Jaskier is loud, and much, and there. He’s always making noise, whether he is aware of it or not – he’s either always humming or singing or tapping or playing his lute. Or he’s fidgeting or stretching or breathing or living with a beating heart so loud and there Geralt can barely even think.

He’s always liked his silence, he’s always enjoyed being alone – he tells himself – he doesn’t need a travelling companion, and he definitely doesn’t need a friend for the love of the gods. He’s a Witcher. Witchers don’t make friends. And people definitely don’t latch onto a Witcher’s side and follow him around, proclaiming to be his friend. Not from his experience.

And yet, Jaskier’s there. By his side, following him around, disturbing his peace with his singing and fidgeting and his godsdamned beating heart, so loud in Geralt’s ears, as he tries to sleep.

More noises – of Jaskier tossing and turning on Geralt’s spare bedroll, of a heavy sigh, of joints popping as the bard stretches – and suddenly: “Goodnight, Geralt.”

The Witcher realizes with shock and horror that he’s already used to the sound of Jaskier’s voice, and he turns his back to the fire, clasps his hands over his ears, desperately trying to block out the noise and that strange, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

He doesn’t say anything back.

II.

He’s gotten used to the sound of Jaskier, by now. The singing, the humming, the fidgeting, the tapping, the talking, the breathing, the thump thump thump of his irrational heart. Sure, sometimes at night, when the rest of the world goes quiet, Jaskier still fills his ears with his everything, but during the day, it’s gotten easier and easier to block it out.

The problem, now, however, is that he no longer wants to block it out. Which has to be the stupidest fucking thing Geralt’s ever heard of, to be quite honest. The lone wolf, who’s starting to ache for the chattering of the songbird. Although, sometimes, when he sees Jaskier threatening to stab people who have been talking ill of his music or his Witcher (because apparently Geralt is his Witcher, now), or when he sees him scaling down walls in an attempt to escape a lady’s bedroom and their unwanted intruder, he doubts that the bard is a songbird. A badger, maybe. Or a fox.

At the very least, he’s annoying. And growing on Geralt. Great.

He’s now lying on his bedroll again, staring up at the stars, trying his very hardest to ignore Jaskier’s too-loud heartbeat and the fact that it speeds up every time he turns onto his side and faces the Witcher. Must be some sort of heart defect, he decides.

One other thing that’s changed since he met Jaskier, a few months ago is-

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Goodnight, Jaskier.”

-that he’s started to say ‘goodnight’ back.

III.

Of course there was only one room left at the inn. Of course the room only had one bed. Of course neither of them wanted to back down when offering the other the bed. Of course it was cold, anyways, so sleeping in close proximity was a good solution to keep Jaskier from losing his toes.

Of course Jaskier’s heartbeat is loud and fast and slightly irregular. Of course Geralt feels a strange ache in his chest, of course his arms are painfully empty. Of course Jaskier plasters himself to Geralt’s side, burying his face in the Witcher’s neck. Of course the bard’s heartbeat becomes so loud and fast, it’s hard to hear anything else. Of course Jaskier sighs contentedly. Of course he says ‘goodnight’.

Of course Geralt closes his arms around the bard. Of course he says it back.

IV.

He fucked up. He really did – badly, too. The heartbeat on the other side of the bed is loud and fast and slightly irregular, but not in the way he’d gotten so used to. He apologized for what he said on the mountain, of course he did, but he still feels like it isn’t enough. Jaskier’s strong and loud heartbeat, his slightly hitching breath, and the hurt in his scent tells Geralt it isn’t enough.

The fact that Jaskier hasn’t said goodnight yet, also tells him he needs to do more, do better. But he doesn’t know what to do, really. He supposes that, with hard work and dedication and enough apologies, his and Jaskier’s friendship might one day be at least a ghost of what it used to be.

But he wants it to be more. He wants to hear that already quick heartbeat speed up more whenever Jaskier looks at him, just like the way it used to. He wants those blue eyes to look at him without judgement, especially when the rest of the world seems to be unable to stop calling Geralt a monster. Especially when he himself seems to be unable to stop calling himself a monster. He wants back what he used to have- what he didn’t realize he had, until it was too late and it was gone.

But there’s so much to fix, so much to regain, he doesn’t really know where to start.

Or maybe he does.

He sighs softly. “I’m sorry, Jask.” He’s never called the bard that, except inside his own head. Jaskier’s heartbeat speeds up a bit, and, thank the gods, not in a bad way.

“I know.” Does he?

He sighs, softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Geralt.” At least he said it back. Maybe not all is lost.

“I love you.”

Jaskier laughs lightly, burying his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck. “I know.” It comes out a bit muffled. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“I want to keep saying it.”

He can feel Jaskier smiling against his neck, can feel him littering his skin with little kisses. “I love you, too.”

“I know.”

Jaskier laughs, smacking Geralt’s chest lightly. “No need to get cocky about it, Witcher.”

Geralt smiles, rolls his eyes, but can’t help but tighten his arms around Jaskier. “Go to sleep, Jask.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier’s breath fans against his skin, soft and warm and slightly tingling, his fast and loud heartbeat nearly deafening Geralt, and he decides it’s his favourite sound in the world. “Alright, fine. Goodnight, love.”

His heart might be about to burst from his chest, because really, there is no other explanation for the warm and fuzzy and full thing he feels inside. The loud pounding of Jaskier’s heart tells him his love might be feeling the same way. “Goodnight, Jask.”

+ I

He’s lost count of the decades they’ve spent together, and if it hadn’t been for Jaskier’s white hair, the wrinkles in his skin, and the trembling of his once so sure and steady hands, he wouldn’t have paid any mind to the years, wouldn’t have cared about them. Because, truly, he’ll never be able to get enough time together with his love.

But it’s coming to an end, that time, he knows. He knows from the wheezing in Jaskier’s throat, he knows from the creaking of his joints, he knows from the heartbeat that seems to be slowing down more and more. He just won’t accept it. Because as long as his love tells him goodnight every day, all is fine and all will be fine.

He sighs softly, contentedly, as he holds his love close in their bed. The evening is winding down, into the night, and out of their window, he can see the stars glittering in the sky. Jaskier can’t see them anymore, though, his eyes no longer what they used to be, so Geralt describes it to him.

“Hmm, sounds lovely,” Jaskier whispers, once-smooth voice like sandpaper, as his trembling fingers trail over Geralt’s chest. “Not as lovely as you, though.”

Geralt grins, pulls his love closer. “You’re insufferable.”

He feels Jaskier smiles against his skin. “Look who’s talking, Witcher.”

He sighs again. “I love you, Jask.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

He can hear Jaskier once-deafeningly loud heartbeat start to slow down again, as he slips into unconsciousness, slowly, softly.

“Goodnight, Jaskier,” he whispers.

Jaskier doesn’t say it back, and Geralt is left alone in the deafening, ear-shattering silence where Jaskier’s heartbeat once used to be.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #500 followers celebration #drabble #5 + 1 things

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angst-king · 3 years

Text

Misery love Company pt 5

(mention of vomit, and ablelist behavior

It had been a week and a half since Katsuki had eaten a proper meal, or felt normal. His entire body had felt like it was burning but that wasn’t because he had a fever, oh no he was cold to the bone but his bones were hurting so bad. Moving hurt so much, moving also made him incredibly dizzy to the point where he collapsed once or twice. These dizzy spells were accompanied by nausea, chest pain, his heart feeling like it would explode from his chest, feeling very hot and then suddenly he’d drop.

Today had been the last straw or well tonight was the last straw. Katsuki was miserable, laying in his bed unable to be comfortable at all with how sick he was. A trash can next to the side of his bed in case he got sick but. Even just moving to get sick into the trash can made Katsuki feel very faint. Like now, Massaru was helping Katsuki who was busy getting sick into the trash can for what felt like the millionth time this week which made Massaru wanna take Katsuki to the ER but. Katsuki had been brainwashed by Mitsuki into the idea that he just needed to sleep it off but. This time Mitsuki wasn’t home and Massaru was too anxious to care especially when he heard Katsuki gasping for breath, clutching his chest, and whimpering to the point of tears running down his flushed red, and pale pink face. Massaru had to hold Katsuki up when the other’s eyes went back and he went limp, he knew the other had fainted again but this time he listened to his gut. He quickly grabbed everything he needed, and pulled Katsuki out of bed and into his car, and left for the emergency room.

When he got there he carried Katsuki in and allowed them to whisk his son away. Of course they had to ask the usual questions as well as some other ones but other than that Massaru was left in the waiting room. That lonely sickeningly white walled waiting room. Massaru knew he needed to call Mitsuki even if he didn’t want to know how his wife would most likely react though a piece of him hoped she would have a shred of selflessness to get off of work to come and see him.

Ever since Katsuki’s condition began to make an appearance Mitsuki hadn’t been reacting to this well. She’d been rather dismissive about Katsuki’s complaints of pain, and rather passive aggressive with her replies. Then when Katsuki started getting sicker and sicker she wouldn’t even be bothered to help him. It was as if that was a job completely beneath her. Telling Katsuki to stop being weak or lazy and that he could do it himself.. The frequent fainting spells weren’t helping, making it even more difficult for Katsuki to try and help himself. It finally got to the point where Katsuki could hardly sit up without needing to immediately lay back down because he was gonna pass out. Mitsuki ignored everything and passed it off as puberty, being a wimp, growing, needing to take care of himself. All her words were laced with a coldness that made Katsuki feel so weak.

Making the decision, Massaru called his wife and told her what had happened and, to put it frankly, her response wasn’t very empathetic or motherly. “Ugh what the hell! I told you not to Massaru!” “i-I know dear but come on, the kid fainted again and he hasn’t been keeping down almost anything but gatorade, and he’s in pain.” “Katsuki is just weak Massaru, he just wants attention and is playing it up to get it!” Massaru was getting fed up with his wife’s protests and replied in an annoyed tone.“Mitsuki, our son couldn’t even sit up on his own without blacking out. I don’t care if you think he’s faking, if you truly loved and cared then you’d come over here.” He hung up before she could reply as he didn’t want to hear another word from her at the moment. Still alone in this waiting room, waiting for any information on his son’s condition was making the man anxious. It felt like hours, upon hours, but it had only been one hour but. Time in here seemed to feel like forever, it went by so slowly yet too quick at the same time.

Finally, a doctor walked over to him smiling. “Mr Bakugou?” Looking up he sees the woman coming over to him and he gives a sigh. “Yes?” He says as he stands up, the woman approaches him and starts. “We’ve got your son Katsuki, stabilized the best we could here. We did some testing after learning his symptoms and well, the results aren’t great…” The way the woman spoke, Massaru had a bad feeling from the start, but said nothing allowing the woman to go on. “Mr Massaru, let's sit.” She says, now he’s feeling more and more anxious about the possible news. Nodding he sits down in the chair he started in while she sat beside him turning to face him. “Your son could’ve died tonight if you didn’t bring him. He was that sick.” That made Massaru want to be sick himself, the feeling that if he waited a day or two longer, Katsuki could’ve died. Still Massaru didn’t know how the boy could’ve gotten so bad or what was wrong with him, so he asked. “Wh-what’s wrong with Katsuki?” His voice wasn’t very strong, it was strained with concern and fear. “Well your son is sick, and I don’t mean that he has the flu, he’s chronically ill.” It hadn’t hit him completely but hearing that his son was chronically hit him but. How could his son just suddenly fall ill like this though? Even with a chronic illness, shouldn’t this have appeared when he was younger? So he asked what he was thinking “shouldn’t this appear when he was younger?” “Well some things probably did but they never manifested like this or he did and the doctors just dismissed it as something else.” Massaru couldn’t help but feel guilty, his son could’ve been suffering for years and this is how he finds out. Twiddling his thumbs unconsciously and asking “So what does he have?”

“Katsuki has H.E.D.S which is called Hypermobility Ehlers Danlos syndrome. This is a connective tissue disorder that allows your son to be very flexible and have very elastic yet very thin skin. Due to him being very flexible and having lots of collagen his joints are very loose which means he can easily dislocate things and have horrible body pain from it.” Taking this information Massaru had more questions. “How could this condition almost kill Katsuki? Or is there more to this than just horrible body pain?” “Well I’m glad you’re asking these questions because, yes there is more to this disorder. How I explain this is I call this the H.E.D.S expansion back because this disorder has the possibility to contain multiple other disorders and problems and. For Katsuki those other disorders seem to be POTS and Gastroparesis. Though gastroparesis is a theory I’m not totally solid on that one but it's a good possibility that he has it.” This was so much information coming at him at once but he wanted to know how these conditions would have ended Katsuki’s life. So Massaru asked for the doctor to explain the second ailment. “POTS stands for postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. Which is a heart condition in which standing or sitting up can cause the blood flow to pool away from Katsuki’s head and make him faint. It can also cause lightheaded-ness, chest pain, shortness of breath, anxiety, fast heart rate, tremors, nausea and vomiting. These symptoms can become very exaggerated during a flare up, which explains why his heart rate was so high but his blood pressure was low.” Massaru silently let everything sink in until he asked1

“so your theory about Gastroparesis? What is that exactly and why do you have a theory for this?” “Well Gastroparesis is a fancy word for stomach paralysis. It's when the nerve that controls the stomach’s contractions that move food from your stomach to your small intestine has stopped functioning or maybe the sphincter of his stomach to his small intestine won't open properly. So his body is digesting things way too slow which can cause lots of pain, bloating, nausea, the feeling of being constantly full or not hungry. SInce his body isn’t digesting his food correctly that means that he’s not absorbing any nutrients through what he eats by mouth….so if he does have gastroparesis they may have to find another way to provide him nutrition.” All of this was a lot for Massaru to grasp but he could also do his research but. Then he had another question. “So how are you guys going to treat my son, what are the plans?” “Well Mr Bakugou, I suggest that your son be transferred to a long stay facility because his condition is not good and we can’t do what a pediatric long stay hospital can do.”

That’s when he knew Katsuki’s world had officially turned upside down. Massaru couldn’t help but feel terrible. If he had waited any longer, if he’d listened to his wife, they may not have woken up the next morning to see Katsuki with a pulse. If he hadn’t listened to his own instincts Massaru would have never forgiven himself. Now his son was gonna have to be transferred to a long stay hospital and he knew Katsuki wasn’t gonna take this well at all. Still he wanted to see Katsuki and knew this information would be accepted better than it would coming from him than the doctor. “We can admit him, but can I see my son please?” “Sure, he should be waking up. He did faint on us when we had to get blood drawn and hooked him up to some IVs. Your son definitely has anxiety around needles, I can tell you that for sure.” She chuckles a little while standing up from her seat, Massaru follows suit and is led down the hallways to find Katsuki.

#Katsuki's part #chronically ill Bakugou #sick bakugou #abusive mitsuki bakugou #chronically ill BNHA au #chronic illness au #Bakugou having POTS #Bakugou having H.E.D.S.

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