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#gonna be honest i wish she had eaten all of them

bigtreefest · 15 days

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Chapter 7: Then Again

From: Bigger Houses Series

Pairing: Mountain Ranger! Ari x Reader

Summary: Everyone’s got regrets they might wish to go back and change, but then again, you would have never gotten here

Word Count: 3,304

Content/Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, SMUT, honest conversations, hiking, cuddling, soft intimate shower, oral sex (f receiving), p in v protected sex, lotsa kissing, praise and lowkey size kink, swears

Author’s Note: O. M. G. This is the first time I’ve written smut, so I wanted to make it super soft and loving like I feel really pairs for this couple. Nine months into the relationship, wowza. Talk about true love, somebody pls find me a bear of a man like this.

Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo welcome and appreciated!!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Below is the song which inspired this chapter. It’s my favorite on the entire album. It just kinda puts warmth and longing into my chest, so I hope the vibe matches what I’ve written.

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“Yes Mom, I promise I’ll be safe.” You looked into the camera of your phone as your mom looked right back at you.

“As long as you promise. I don’t want you eaten by a bear, but apparently you’ve got your own bear of a boyfriend to ward them off.” You laughed along with her own chuckle at that joke.

“Yes, Ari knows these woods well. I have no doubt he’s taking us on a good and safe route.” Your head turned away from the phone at a knock at the door.

“That’s probably him now.”

It was Sunday morning and Ari had asked you on a nice hike with him. The weather was set to be sunny, yet brisk, perfect for a rigorous walk through the mountains.

You opened the door and Ari greeted you with a kiss on the top of your head. “Morning, Duchess.”

He turned to see you were on the phone. “Oh, good morning Mrs.—“

“Ari, please. Call me mom. How many times do I have to tell you?” You both smiled and blushed at that as Ari went into your kitchen and dropped off his things. You sat on the couch, continuing your phone call.

“I knew there was something about that boy the first time I saw him. I’m so glad the two of you are so happy together. I can’t wait to come visit and officially meet him in person soon.” Ari had spoken to your mom on several occasions over FaceTime now, each time garnering more of her respect and adoration, which was rare for her. She always had sky high expectations, and you were her daughter after all, but she didn’t want you to have to face the same struggles she did, both career and romance-wise.

You rolled your eyes, thinking she wouldn’t catch it, but of course she did. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. You know I’m right. I’ll let you go have fun on your date, though. I love you!”

You smiled back. “Love you, too, Mom.”

Once the call ended, you walked over to Ari, watching him bent over and looking through your fridge. You just couldn’t resist the urge to smack the plump, ripe piece of ass in joggers before you. Just as you were winding up, a large hand went and covered both cheeks.

“I know what you’re, thinking, Angel. You’re not gonna get me this time.” He rose from his hunched position, and towered over you, eyes glinting with mischief, pairing with the sly grin on his face. Before you knew it, Ari had scooped you up and plopped you back on the couch, peppering your face with kisses and tickling your sides. You were helpless, kicking your legs from under his body, doing your best to fight off the attack.

“Ari, quit it! I give, I give, you win!” You squealed through your giggle.

Ari’s hands and lips stopped their assault, but he didn’t pull away, instead, leaning in and putting a fat kiss on your lips. “Get on your hiking boots! We’ve gotta go before it gets hot.”

You nodded and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Help me tie them?”

Ari’s head drooped down as he sighed and grabbed your boots off the floor. He could never say no to that look. He kissed each shin as he slid the boots onto your feet. “Anything for you, Duchess.”

You helped by tying one of the shoes as Ari tied the other. He was just such an expert, having to do this everyday for however many years now. Looking at the single knot you had made on your right shoe, he untied it and pulled the laces tight, making his own double knot in its place.

“You’re so much better at that than me.” You huffed. He laughed back, kissing the wrinkle away from your forehead that showed up when you were frustrated.

“Nonsense. You’re great at it. I just like ‘em extra secure.” He grabbed your hand and helped to lift you off the couch, the two of you putting on your hiking backpacks and heading out the door, ready for the trail.

Your hike was filled with amazing views and sightings of so much wildlife. You truly loved seeing Ari in his element, as well. He constantly checked on you as he led you through the winding trails, pointing out his favorite spots and, of course, stopping for snacks and photo ops.

He could tell when the exhaustion was starting to creep in, but luckily by that point, the two of you were nearly home.

As you came back, Ari started on heating up the leftovers from dinner the night before. You went out to your back porch which overlooked the rolling landscape, rich with colors of green and rocky gray, mountains graced with snow caps when you looked up at the peaks surrounding you.

Ari came out carrying two warm plates of Thai food from the good place in town and you snuggled up on the couch of your patio furniture and ate together.

He grabbed your plates and set them aside, as the two of you chatted, the sun casting a warm glow over the landscape. Ari pulled you close so your back was against his chest, his strong arms tight around your waist. He wiggled to scoot until his back was up against the arm rest, finally placing his head on your shoulder as the two of you settled.

Ari kissed your neck, his beard lightly scratching the sensitive skin, as you sat there pensively. “Ari, do you ever wish you could go back and change things? Go back to a time that was simpler, where you didn’t know what it was like to live through so many hardships? Do it all differently?” You felt his chest heave with a sigh and he exhaled out of his nose, the warm air hitting your collar bone.

Ari let the question hang in the air for a moment, thinking over everything in his life while he formulated an answer. “If I could go back, I probably would’ve held onto my old Bronco. It used to be my grandpa’s, and it was getting old, so I traded it in for the truck. I probably would’ve visited him down in Atlanta a little more, too, before he passed.”

You nodded as he hummed, thinking of more things. “I probably would’ve stuck around for graduation, finished my degree so I could become rich.”

You giggled as his chest rumbled behind you. “I’d probably apologize to Savannah for wasting her time, would’ve hung out and vacationed with my childhood friends a little more….”

“Had a little more patience, or sent a few more prayers to heaven, but I don’t know if that all was really in the cards. If it were up to me, who knows where I’d be? I look back at all of that. The heartbreaks, the hard goodbyes, they led me here.”

You turned to look up at him, his gaze distant in thought before he looked down at you. “If it was all different, though, I wouldn’t be sitting here with my whole world in my arms, stealing kisses on a Sunday afternoon. Sure, there are a few things that I might’ve changed if God put me in charge, but then again, I would have never met you.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes at his words. “Why? Is there anything you regret?”

You laughed and sniffled as you shook your head. “No. Not at all.” He used his thumb to wipe the tears falling down your cheeks.

“I feel really dumb right now. I was gonna say something stupid like buying bitcoin to be rich. Or like, maybe just not date at all until I found you. But you make a great point. I wouldn’t have come up here if it weren’t for all that. I think I love you too much to regret anything that led me here. Anything that I thought was a wrong turn definitely turned out right.”

He shook his head, laughing along with you, kissing away the rest of your tears. “Trust me, I love you more.”

The two of you sat there, basking in each other’s presence, before you began to become overly aware of the dried dirt and sweat that sat on your skin.

“I, um…. I think I’m gonna go take a shower. Get the outdoors off of me.” Ari nodded and helped you up off his lap, preparing to head home and do the same when you lingered before heading inside.

“Do you want to….join…me?” Ari sprung up out of his chair, head nodding vigorously. He grabbed the plates off the table and ran to drop them in the sink. He watched as you sauntered, hips swaying while you discarded pieces of clothing, one by one, completely naked before reaching the barn door that closed off the master bathroom from your bedroom.

Ari shimmied down his pants with much less grace, shucking off his shirt and socks, before joining you in the steamy room. He watched in awe as you stepped into the water and it ran down the curves of your body. Ari reached his hand under the stream and immediately retracted at the sting of the heat.

“God, Duchess. I love you, but I don’t think I could stand it if the lava you’re standing under burns my skin off before I even get to touch you.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Bear, it’s not that bad.”

You begrudgingly turned down the temperature as Ari joined you. This wasn’t the first time you and Ari had done anything, but it was the first time you had seen each other fully naked all at once, since you hadn’t fully had sex yet.

You turned around as Ari grabbed your shampoo, gently rubbing it into your scalp. You moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of his fingertips massaging your head, basking in the intimacy and ecstasy of the moment.

“Angel, if you keep making noises like that, I don’t think we’ll ever get clean.” You laughed as you leaned back to wash the shampoo out of your hair.

Ari leaned under the stream with you to wet his hair. You squeezed the shampoo into your hand and began to massage it into his scalp, scratching your nails through his hair just the way he liked.

“Oh, fuck Angel, that’s good.” You giggled, hitting him in the chest.

“If I’ve gotta stop, so do you, mister.”

The two of you continued to wash each other, sharing kisses and feather light touches here and there before getting out and drying off.

Once you had brushed out your hair and Ari’s, the two of you made your way to your bed, sheets freshly washed just the day before. You had your towel wrapped around your body while Ari’s hung low on his waist. Ari held your hips, looking into your eyes, as you slowly backed up until your knees gave out from hitting against the bed.

Ari moved to crawl over you, his towel coming undone as he did so. Your eyes trailed down his firm chest, to his chiseled abs, until you could see how hard he was. You moaned at the sight, watching how his dick twitched in response.

His eyes stayed locked with yours until he leaned down and kissed you, trailing away from your lips and down your neck before retracing the path with his tongue.

You shuffled under him, removing your towel and discarding it on the floor with his, adjusting yourself so your head laid against the pillows. He kissed you again, deeply, passionately, before smiling and pulling away.

“I love you. I’d never change anything about my life unless it meant I could have met you sooner just to love you that much longer.”

You could feel his heavy cock tap against your leg as he kissed down your chest, eyes never leaving yours. You watched intently, lips parted in a light gasp as he finally reached where you were yearning for his touch.

Ari’s biceps bulged when he pulled your legs apart, placing a gentle kiss on your clit. Your breath shuddered at the sensation.

“Is this okay, Angel?” You nodded and whispered back.

“Yes, please. Please keep going.”

Ari’s tongue darted out of his mouth licking a stripe up your slit. Your back bowed as he dove in, licking and sucking. You knew he called you Angel, but his tongue was heavenly.

You let out a high-pitched moan, entangling your fingers through the wet strands of Ari’s hair, using the leverage to grind against his face. He inserted a finger into you, pumping it and curling it against your spot just right. You felt your legs began to shake, but pushed Ari’s head away before you could reach your peak.

“Wait, hold on.” You spoke while still trying to catch your breath. He looked up at you in bewilderment, beard glistening with your arousal.

“What’s wrong, Duchess? Did I do something?” You shook your head, still gasping for air.

“No, no. It was so good, I just, uh…..I want you to be inside me when I come.” Ari nodded, coming back up your body to kiss you.

“Okay.” He whispered back, a soft smile on his face. “Gimme a sec.”

He ran over to his discarded joggers and fished in the pocket to find his wallet where he pulled out a condom. He returned to you in bed, taking his spot between your legs again, and rolled it on. You knew he was huge, and you’d only taken two of his fingers before, but you couldn’t help the anticipation to feel all of him.

“I’m gonna open you up first, okay Angel?”

You nodded and immediately threw your head back as Ari scissored two of his long fingers against your walls, preparing you and stretching you out for what was to come. You wailed when he added a third and Ari swore he had never heard or seen something so beautiful before. The movie that was you feeling this level of bliss from him made him feel warmth and pride through his chest. He needed to be inside you.

Ari pulled out his fingers, swirling his tongue around them and sucking them clean, moaning at the sweet taste. His eyes rolled back and he nearly came from the culmination of partaking in your pleasure up to that point. You couldn’t help but clench against nothing, watching the specks of lust within the love in his gaze after that as he leaned down and framed your face with his large hands. He leaned in to kiss you, then pulled away as his dark blue irises, thin around his blown pupils, shifted between your eyes.

“Are you ready? Are you sure?” It came out breathy and strained. He wanted this as badly as you, after taking everything step by painfully slow step for nine months together.

“Yes, Ari. Please. I just want to feel you so close.”

He nodded and ran the head of his cock

up and down your folds, gathering your arousal before perching at your entrance. He kept one hand at his base, the other on your cheek as he looked deeply into your eyes. You felt the bulbous tip breach your entrance, almost with a pop as your tight warmth welcomed Ari.

“Ah, oh, Angel, you’re so tight.” Ari nearly yelped at the feeling of being inside you. You watched as he couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter closed from the overwhelming pleasure. “I’ll take it slow, promise.”

All Ari wanted was for you to enjoy this as much as him, and when he was able to pry his eyes open to see the way your face was contorted, your eyes as sincere and pleading as his, he knew you were. He slowly pushed in further, accompanied by a deep moan from you. Neither of you were virgins by any means, but something about this moment with Ari felt like being born again, straight into delectation.

He pushed another inch in, slowly, and your hands flew to his broad back, nails digging in the muscles that firmly blanketed his scapulas. His hips jumped at the sting, pushing him in to the hilt, causing you both to brace against each other at the fullness and all encompassing warmth.

His head dipped into crook of your neck, breath fanning your collar bone and beard sending tingles through your body as he sucked on the spot that gave you chills.

Your hands ran down his back and to his ass, pulling him in closer to you, if that was even possible.

“Ari, I need you to move.” You felt him nod against you and his hips pulled out only a few inches before rolling back in.

You breathy moans were close to his ear, spurring him on to keep going faster, pulling out farther and pushing in deeper until the warmth from your core began to climb up your body again. He found a rhythm and could feel as your pussy began to clench.

“Duchess, I can feel you’re close. It feels so good. You’re always so good to me.” His praise pulled you that much closer to the edge, hands grasping for purchase across his back, slipping slightly from the thin layer of sweat.

“Fuck, Angel. So tight. It’s okay, you can let go. Let go for me.” Ari needed you to come for him. He needed to feel your body sucking him in, holding him tighter. He pulled his head from your neck to look into your eyes when it happened. He moved his thumb down to your clit, rubbing tight circles and sending you over the cliff you were hanging on.

“Oh god, Ari!” You keened, your ankles locking around his narrow hips as your entire body contracted in ecstasy. Ari wasn’t far behind, the tightness surrounding him causing him to drive his hips all the way forward and spill into the condom. He collapsed over your chest again as he grunted lowly into your ear.

The two of you stayed there for a few minutes as you caught your breaths. He pulled back, his now dry hair draping over the sides of his face and framing yours, making a small world where it was only the two of you. His silky brown locks blocked everything else out. The only thing in existence was your shared gaze, filled with hazy satisfaction and dopey smiles.

Ari leaned down and kissed your lips, and then your forehead before he whispered to you. “I’m going to pull out, okay? You stay here while I go get a washcloth.”

You nodded and gasped as you felt the sensation of the ridges of his dick passing against your walls until you were empty. On instinct you rolled over to your side and closed your legs, still sporadically convulsing from the orgasm. Ari returned and cleaned you up, pulling up the covers and crawling into bed behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you closer.

He kissed you shoulder and muttered. “I’m so happy to have you. I love you so much.”

You turned over and tangled your legs with his, pulling him in for a lazy, filthy kiss. “I love you, and I’m the luckiest person in the world. Or more like, my whole world was just in me.”

You winked at Ari as his shoulders bounced in laughter at your ridiculous statement. You were drunk in happiness, but neither of you would have it any other way. You slung your arm around his waist and nestled deeply into his chest, a satisfied smile on your face.

Next >

Bonus A/N: as Paris Hilton says, “that’s hot”

Series Taglist:

@patzammit

@hawkeyes-queen

@identity2212

63 notes · View notes

munchflix · 6 months

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MUNCHFLIX - FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S

IMDB BLURB: A troubled security guard begins working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. During his first night on the job, he realizes that the night shift won't be so easy to get through. Pretty soon he will unveil what actually happened at Freddy's.

WARNINGS: It's pg-13 dude.

RATING: It's not horror, but it is FNAF.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

Munch: SO it's time for us to watch Five Nights at Freddy's. I previewed this last night but Biscuits refused to watch it until now.

Biscuits: I don't have any tequila, I'm sad about this. I do have whiskey.

M: I unfortunately must remain sober. Everyone seems to love this movie, I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just a curmudgeon.

B: Dude it's five freddys at night. It's like that wojack meme of them pointing at freddy. It's him, the fredbear from the night. By the way this movie was announced 8 YEARS AGO. A time when I was still invested in FNAF lore.

M: I admit to knowing a fair amount of FNAF lore myself, but it kinda ends after the 3rd game because I stopped caring. Oh yeah the movie.

B: What's happening?

M: A security guard is going through some shit. It's incredibly dark. You can almost tell what's happening. He's gonna get his face eaten off by a freddy head. As is par. To make you think this is a horror movie.

B: The new Saw movie looks great! Bold choice to do a crossover with Five Nights at Freddy's.

M: I do like the look of things. They did a good job of recreating the pizzeria in all it's glory, it's very accurate.

B: Blumhouse because of course it is.

M: The opening animations an obvious nod to the games. There are SO many.

B: I like the funky synth music. It's no Toreador March, but….Josh Hutcherson has emerged from a decade of irrelevancy! Formerly known for his critically acclaimed role in Trapped In An Island with Josh Hutcherson.

There make be snakes!

M: He's a decent dude, he should have had the fame that Jennifer Lawrence had. Josh, I mean MIKE, has a sister he has to take care of and he's a security guard at…some mall. Doesn't matter. He's into dreams.

B: He hasn't aged a day, he's just acquired some facial hair. Now he's chasing some kid and his dad, he thinks he just witnessed a child abduction but actually…

M: He just beat the shit out of some dude for no reason. And now the employment department!

B: This is the kind of discrimination single dads face on a daily basis, Josh.

M: And now Matthew Lilliard, who is COMPLETELY SQUANDERED in this movie. He has never put less than 1000 percent cunt into every role and they wasted him.

B: Two months at a job? Me too, Josh.

M: His uh…job counselor is kinda sus.

B: Listen bud you have limited job options, join the club.

M: Are you suggesting we get a job at the FNAF pizzeria?

B: I wish all job counselors were this honest. The hours are bad, the pay is awful…

M: They keep not saying his last name which I guess is supposed to be a twist so we think he's Mike Afton but the twist is he's Mike Schmidt. No spoilers tho.

B: The twist is he's Michael Myers! He has a weird little sister and she does creepy things.

M: Possibly psychic. Very sixth sense going on here. Mike has a bit of a pill problem and somehow can go to sleep listening to the most annoying bird sounds in all existence. ASMR you're trapped in an aviary.

B: I remember this part of the FNAF lore. Where he has a little brother who gets kidnapped. Is this canon? I think they made this up for the movie.

M: It's not.

B: Why does he have a child?

M: It's his sister.

B: So his parents just popped out another one 20 years later???

M: Sure, why not. And now the awful Aunt and the best character in this whole movie. DOUG the lawyer. I love him. She wants custody of the sister, Abby. Mike doesn't want this. He's kind of a jerk about it though.

Doug is the most relatable character in the movie tbh

B: There has to be some sort of like…inciting factor. We gotta have some reason why he's gotta work at five nights at fredericks. He's gotta keep custody of his sister. Finally, Five Nights at Freddys is in the Five Nights at Freddy's movie. If I'm in the movie theater with my five year old son, he doesn't care about Josh Hutcherson! He wants to see the funny guy from the youtube video!!

M: Well TOO BAD! Because there's a lot more Josh Hutcherson than Freddy's.

B: What year is it?? It's implied to still be the 80's but the place is all closed down and they have an old looking tv? They gotta keep it ambiguous or people would start talking about the bite of 87 or whatever.

M: There are so many easter eggs. The celebrate poster from the game, the fucking desk fan, the training video, I could go on and on.

B: This training video is def 80's. This technology existed in the 80's btw, the government was just hiding it from everyone. Actually they're alive because ghosts and not lithium batteries but…What a great analog horror video. I'm subscribing to this channel.

M: Balloon boy jump scare! Nothing ever happens on night 1 though. So Mike is just gonna take a walky and then take a nap.

B: I can almost see anything in this fucking movie! It's so dark! It's like watching a Zack Snyder movie. Maybe in a theater it would look better...?

M: I really think it's just the fucking death of film lighting period. I do think the animatronics look good. They look really damn good.

B: They looked kinda crap in the trailer. Sleempy Mike. Now he's having more PTSD nightmares about his brother getting kidnapped.

M: But wait! There's more chilluns! In his dream, as is normal.

B: We're the children from the FNAF who got murdered.

M: You are correct. 6 am reference! Time to go home. Mike isn't paying his babysitter.

B: It's nice to have a girl who will watch his sister for free. I assumed they died in cancer/plane crash. Sparky's is a reference. That's MatPat.

M: The babysitter is sus. And her other friend and the evil aunt are having lunch while conspiring against Mike. I love Doug.

B: So the Aunt is like…the villian…the antagonist character?

M: I mean…sort of. It's possible she's in cahoots with Afton on some level but it's never confirmed. Back at home Mike is being a terrible parent again and Abby wants to go to FNAF world with him but this is a really bad idea. Now…if you were a criminal….and you wanted to make Mike look bad, when would you go trash the place?

B: When he's there.

M: Thank you. Mike is asleep again.

B: Thanks Blumhouse I can almost see what's going on in the movie. How many times are we gonna see sweaty Josh running around in a forest in this movie?

M: You have no idea. He's dreaming of the FNAF kids again because he thinks they know where his brother is. One of them cuts him and he bleeds IRL.

B: Wow I was scare.

M: And now there's a cop at the door. As is also normal and part of the FNAF canon.

B: Vanessa is a reference.

M: That's not a reference, that's part of the canon! Because why not.

B: They had to put some shit from security breach in here cos it's the new one.

M: Vanessa suspiciously knows a lot and isn't giving us any info why.

B: Mike, just Mike. No last name.

M: Vanessa is here to give us some EXPOSITION. Because fuck show don't tell!

B: It's great that all these arcade machines are still plugged in after 10, 20 years.

M: This part made me have Chuck E Cheese flashbacks.

A powerful bear...named Frederick Entertainment Fazbear

B: Playing covers of popular songs was a big thing in these types of restaurants.

M: Something something some kids went missing.

B: Back in the 80's!! Could you please tell me what fucking year it is??? This motherfucker is listening to a cassette player so unless he's some kind of hipster? I hated that scene btw. Go away I hate you.

M: Unfortunately she will be here so much more.

B: So the criminals are breaking in…after he's left???

M: Yes!

B: Even if you wanted to frame him, the CCTV footage is gonna tell them when you were there! But okay I guess?? Oh there's still money in the arcade machine? It's not like they empty those every day.

M: I love the random older man who's just hanging out with these teenaged criminals.

B: He's been bustin up abandoned buildings since back in the 80's!

M: One of them finds Chica's cupcake and it does a spooky and then Chica does a spooky. Almost all the violence happens offscreen because….pg13.

B: They couldn't make this an R rated movie because it's Five Nights at Freddy's. The people who grew up with it are all adults now but the target audience remains basically the same.

M: Bonnie does a spooky.

B: I literally can't see anything in that shot! Also appreciate the attempt to get away with a huge bag of COINS, the heaviest and least valuable denomination of money you can get. You might have 50 bucks MAX in quarters.

Also Bonnie. he's cool.

M: The point is that they're all getting murdered. Offscreen. Very darkly. And yet they did not even try to bother Mike.

B: Mike left!

M: It's been two nights he's been there though!

B: Okay…I guess.

M: Freddy bites Max the babysitter completely in half. But we only see the shadow.

B: We get Plato's allegory of the cave violence! We never get to see it directly.

Also Sparky the Dog. he's cool.

M: Back at home Abby draws more pictures and Mike Mike's all over the place while she magically finds the custody papers.

B: They're watching public domain cartoons.

M: From the 80's. Vanessa shows up at their house to tell them that someone broke into the pizzeria. She found Mike's pills.

B: The year is killing me, is it the 90's??? Early 00s maybe? If it was the 10's everyone would be on their smart phones. Is this really criminal negligence?? He didn't lock the doors to this ABANDONED BUILDING!!!?? IT'S ABANDONED!!!

M: Now Mike is gonna exposit all over Vanessa about how he takes the pills to try and remember the dream of when his brother was taken in a lucid dream every night. He's very talented to have the same dream every night.

B: I really hate Vanessa, she's completely insufferable.

M: I agree. Also can I take a moment to talk about how fucking SLOW this is. The pacing is awful.

B: I don't give a shit. I don't care about your dreams. Shut up. I'm here with my 10 year old who wanted to see the funny Fazbear on the screen and he's ASLEEP right now! That wasn't even english on the walkie talkie, when cops talk on those they don't just go GNWEUIFHB98FHNWIEFNEI

M: Your son is now 10???

B: Shut up! I don't even have a son!

M: We are halfway through.

B: I do not understand. What even is gonna happen.

M: So Mike is gonna take Abby to work at FNAF but I gotta stop for a minute because…people DIED in there. Did Vanessa find the bodies? Are the bodies still there? Did someone clean them up? She didn't even mention that to Mike????

B: Who called the police to report the break in?

M: If they did, did only Vanessa show up??

B: Is Vanessa even really a police officer?

Vanessa is lookin pretty SUS. (that's still a funy joek in 2023, rite?)

M: That's a very good question! Mike is just like, you're gonna sleep and I'm gonna watch the monitors and this is a totally safe idea. Abby is well known to behave.

B: I'm sure nothing bad will happen.

M: I guess he's gonna clean up. If he was Nick Cage this would've been done forever ago.

B: He's gotta stop and have a cola and play pinball.

M: Actually, he's gonna nap! Because that's the responsible thing to do!

B: All the excitement from the FNAF games you love like DARK ROOMS! NAPPING! AND OFFSCREEN MURDER! Well I guess that last one is fair.

M: So of corpse, Abby wakes up and fucks off. But it's cool because of reasons.

B: Bro…is this the only way we could convey the story of the missing kids…80 sequences of Mike in the woods? A lot of the people watching this already know all this. This review makes it sound like I just hate FNAF and that's not really the truth.

M: I don't hate FNAF at all, but this movie is so utterly middling. We're halfway through and 90 percent of the movie has been Mike dreaming. But now he's out there and the animatronics are all there and alive and playing with Abby.

B: He's gonna fight Freddy with a chair.

M: Just like in the games. They're well known to be friendly to children.

B: Abby is a special psychic child.

M: Mike is wigging just a bit as anyone would.

B: I mean in real life they're wired to the stage so…yeah.

M: Freddy is still looking at Mike like, you're on thin fuckin' ice.

B: Wow this movie is jam packed with chills and thrills and I am on the edge of my seat right now. To quote Arin Hanson, "Just…something happen, PLEASE!"

M: I mean some dudes got killed but...

B: I couldn't even see it happening! Hey Abby wtf is going on btw.

M: Her friends she's been drawing all movie are apparently the FNAF kids because of course they are. How she knows them???

B: You'd better start believing in ghost stories Mister Hutcherson…

M: Mike is like hey remember our dead brother who died ages before you were born? You drew him getting kidnapped, so…explain. Was it the boy from my dreams? Oh it was?

B: Trying to use her psychic powers to solve a crime but all they talk about is a yellow rabbit. Exploit your sister to resolve your own personal trauma. I don't see this going well.

M: Back with Vanessa who is at FNAF for some fucking reason, Mike and Abby show up and Mike is like hey did you think to mention that there are ghost kids possessing the robots? And now they're gonna build a fucking fort. The animatronics too. This is a real thing that is happening.

B: How does something like that even right itself….?

M: I have no idea. I don't know why Mike is suddenly on board with all this. I would not be under there with them.

Everyone's just vibin' :)

B: Mike is finally asking questions he should have been asking a long time ago. Vanessa explains the springlocks because that will obviously be important later. And Vanessa, who was like YEAH FORT is now like HOW DARE YOU BRING ABBY HERE.

M: Who the hell are you Vanessa, that's something you should've asked like forever ago. Abby tries to strum Bonnie's geetar and gets minorly electrocuted but it's no big.

B: Oh my GOD. Sorry Abby, I'm kind of an asshole.

M: So now he's gonna do an even bigger asshole thing and call Aunty Shrew to come babysit and possibly you know…take custody of his sister so he can keep napping. Abby is not happy. The Pharmacist is the second best person in this movie.

B: He's doing dream magic because.. it's…you know. He couldn't just do this at night.

M: It is night.

B: It was just morning!

M: It took a really long time at the pharmacy okay. And now for the UMPTEENTH TIME, trapped in a dream forest with Josh Hutcherson.

B: But whyyyyyyy.

M: The ghost children are like, hey give us Abby and you can dream about your dead brother. And he's like OKAY. Mike kinda is an asshole. He immediately changes his mind but that's not how a deal with the devil works. The kids run around him uh…slicing him up for some reason.

B: And now he's in the saw trap where the first security guy presumably died.

M: Good thing it's slow moving. But he gets out becaus he's the protagonist.

B: Okay so…the bodies are still here. There's some gore. That's your PG-13 right there.

M: In the super secret room nobody can ever find but two people have now stumbled into. Back with evil Auntie, Abby is hiding in her room and Freddy is just there.

B: Frederick is in the house. You somehow didn't hear him enter even though he must weigh a ton. Like as much as a small car. He's murdered Auntie Jane.

M: And now the chillest taxi driver on earth who is somehow fine giving a ride across town to a small child and a giant animatronic.

I gifed the animatronics because they're the most interesting thing on screen but trust me, these gifs severly overstate how much they are in the movie.

B: How does Freddy even fit in a human sized car?

M: I don't know.

B: Vanessa is tending to Mike's wounds. She conveniently found him. They tried to kill him. Yeah…they do that. Why did you just leave the bodies there Vanessa? And why haven't they started to decay?

M: Vanessa is still not telling us shit. But Mike tells her that he said yes to giving Abby to them and she tells him they're gonna make her like him.

B: In the movie a lot of things aren't very clear. Vanessa tells us that the bodies of the dead kids are in the animatronics.

M: Like…how would people NOT NOTICE. But this is canon.

B: How does Vanessa know all this?

M: She tells us about AFTON.

B: The man behind the slaughter. The purple fellow. Okay, that's not canon that he's her father?

M: Hell if I know, I stopped following lore well before Vanessa showed up. Also somehow Afton killed Mike's brother.

B: Where did he put Garrett's body?? That's like SIX children now, are there six kids in each animatronic??

M: Vanessa's master plan is to taser the animtronics that are somehow being controlled by ghost children who are being controlled by William Afton. But she's not gonna go with Mike because Afton is her dad and stuff.

B: Let's fix that with a controlled shock. It's a good thing it's taking Abby a long time to get murdered.

M: Freddy considers murder and then reconsiders. Abby is being taken by Chica to the back room to be put into a device that looks suspiciously like the Baby animatronic. Meanwhile Mike is tasering Freddy and Bonnie.

B: I never understood what Chica did in the band anyway. Backup vocals? There's no way they could feasibly be playing this music with just one guitar. My suspension of disbelief is totally destroyed, Mister Fredbear. Don't you need to re-arm a taser?

M: Yep. But he gets Abby.

B: You've been an idiot about most things, Mike. To be fair. You should go.

M: The cupcake looks silly attacking but I do like it's design. I actually like the animatronics a lot and it would kick ass if they were like…

B: IN THE MOVIE!! For more than like 20 minutes of screen time in this two hour long movie.

M: See also, Matthew Lilliard. They squandered all the best parts of this movie. In favor of an hour of dream sequences. Abby and Mike again get separated but she hides in the ball pit and now….the best part of the movie. Golden Bonnie is here. Who is also Afton but no spoilers.

B: Me in the Dashcon ballpit.

M: Vanessa shows up 20 minutes late to the party with uh…nothing. I do love the way they did the whole golden bonnie thing. Though I'm really unsure about how he's controlling them? Vanessa apparently has a gun.

B: You're gonna shoot your undead father with a gun? Oh he's alive!

M: For now. He is also the job counselor. To absolutely nobody's suprise. (editor's note: biscuits did not at all realize this while watching the movie) She shoots daddy but somehow that isn't enough to activate the springlocks. Afton stabs his own daughter as Abby frantically draws pictures to show the other kids that he's really the bad guy. Afton gets all springlock failed and they drag him off into the back room.

B: Well canonically all this happened a really long time ago, but the movie doesn't care about the timeline. I always come back, yeah, way too many fucking times, bro.

M: And now everything is great and Abby is happy and Mike looks exactly the same.

B: The pacing is…so weird.

M: They stop by the hospital to see Vanessa and set up a sequel!

B: Well I mean if there's one thing FNAF really loves, it's sequels. This movie is so boring. Can we visit my dead friends some time? NO.

M: laughs Yeah, no.

B: Okay, movie SAVED by using the Living Tombstone. I'm amazed that they got the license for this.

M: I laughed out loud, I fucking loved it. It's the best thing. Oh Jim Henson's creature shop worked on the puppets, that explains why they looked so good. Final thoughts?

B: It's just…really lame. There's a couple cool scenes and some cool stuff at the end but the rest of the movie isn't worth it. There's so much rich lore, SO much lore, and a rich universe that they had an infinite well of stuff to draw on, but they made up this whole other plot about Josh Hutcherson's family problems and it's just…lame.

M: I just really feel like it's takes itself way too seriously.

B: Like terminally ill seriously.

M: And they squandered all the best parts of FNAF. The animatronics should have been the FOCUS. Not the dream sequences. Afton should have been a MUCH bigger part of this. There was so much cool stuff they could have done but it's not about that. All the little easter eggs for the fans are great but ultimately…pointless.

B: And again, isn't this supposed to be for the fans? For people who already love FNAF? But it's not really.

M: I grok that in order to reach a wider audience you gotta kinda do that but

B: The FNAF fandom is MASSIVE! The majority of it is just like…Trapped in Freddy Fazbears with Josh Hutcherson.

M: Fair.

B: And like…if you like the movie that's fine. For me it's just kinda meh. It's not something I would watch again on purpose. It just made me wanna watch Willy's Wonderland again. Not worth the 8 year wait time.

M: 8 years…and this is what you came up with?? 8 years and Doug was the best part of the movie? I don't hate it. I don't love it. I'm a fan of the FNAF games, I just feel like it's a massive missed opportunity and that people need to remember how to light a fucking film. I'm tired of Hollywood just giving us the most banal experience possible for whatever reason.

Munch and Biscuits out, yo.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf movie review #munchflix #movie review #william afton #josh hutcherson #fnaf spoilers #steve raglan #matthew lillard

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hqmillioncorn · 8 months

Text

FFXIVWrite Day seventeen: Sneaking

with @windupiceheart 's Vertical Height and B'ig Nunh (sorry)

Vertical, B’ig and Babycorn climbed the steps back up to the Eulmore aetheryte plaza. She was getting really sick of climbing these stairs. On the bright side B’ig Nunh was back and Vertical wasn’t worried anymore! The bad news was that Vertical had been the one to run out of the Beehive and decide where they were going. Which resulted in them getting lost. Again. Thankfully B’ig said he knew pretty much the right way to go from his time here. Which was good! She just wished it didn’t involve so many stairs. “Hmmm…” Babycorn never did get that pot of honey.

Babycorn had nothing to worry about it turns out!

The city of Eulmore was great! What had she even been worried about?! The people were kinda rude, sure, but the food they had was really good! It sorta had this really sweet taste to it? Whatever it was, Babycorn had never tasted anything like it before.

She loved eating meol! So much that she had grabbed as much of it as she could carry and had stuffed it into her bag. “You sure you don’t want some?” Babycorn picked up another piece of meol and waved it around at Vertical, who was walking besides her. “They’re really tasty!!”

Vertical looked down and once again shook her head. “no thanks.” This had been the fifth time in the last minute that Babycorn had asked if she wanted some suspicious bread.

“Aww! Why not? It’s really tastyyyyy!”

This was also the fifth time in the last minute that Babycorn had told her how tasty it was.

“i’m not really that hungry.”

Vertical had eaten lunch with the others earlier. It was a complementary picnic that included fruit salad, prepared by the Crystal Exarch himself. He had left a written note saying so.

Eating that fruit salad made her miss B’ig Nunh even more than usual.

“If you say soooo!” Babycorn would probably ask Vertical if she wanted some in just a few more seconds.

“try not to eat too many.”

“Hmmph?” Babycorn tried to ask what Vertical meant but her mouth was full.

“you might get a tummy ache.” Vertical warned. There was also something to be said from accepting food from such obviously rich white people. Free food that might as well have come with a giant WARNING sign on top of it.

For the first time since arriving at Gatetown, Babycorn paused her munching.

Of all the worst feelings in the world a tummy ache was one of the worst. She’s had a lot of experience with them, none of them good obviously. The small Lunya in her head reminded her what had happened when she licked those poison frogs too. Though this was totally different.

Those memories of tummy aches past was enough for Babycorn to put the meol she was currently in the middle of eating, back in her bag.

“Ummm…” Babycorn tried to think of anything that would distract her from wanting to eat more meol, “Where did Alphinaud tell us to investigate again?”

“somewhere called the beehive i think.” Vertical looked down at her hand where Babycorn had written the name of the place they were tasked to go to. Except Babycorn had no idea how to write words so she just drew a funny picture of a bee on Vertical’s hand. Which Vertical just let her do because she was cool like that.

Babycorn froze mid-step. “Y-You don’t think there’s gonna be actual bees in there? D-D-Do you???” There were too many bad experiences Babycorn had with bess. Most of them were her fault for trying to get some honey from their hives but that didn’t matter right now.

“probably not.” Vertical answered. How would she know? She’d never been here. She needed to be honest. “if there are bees i’ll protect you.”

“Are you gonna punch em’?!”

“yeah.”

“You’re so cool Vertical!!”

“thank you.” Vertical smiled and began to wonder if kicking bees would be better than punching them.

There wasn’t too much time to think about it because they had finally reached the doors to the Beehive. There wasn’t a sign on there or anything but the map that they had gotten when they entered Eulmore as servants told them that this was the place.

Alphinaud had circled the Beehive in red with twenty also red arrows pointing to it to make sure that neither Babycorn or Vertical could miss it.

Somehow they had both missed it and ended up in the gaol earlier but it's okay because they made it here eventually and no one had to know they had gotten lost getting to it.

“Yay!! We made it!” Babycorn cheered and accidently threw the map into the air. The wind picked it up and blew it all the way off of Eulmore. Vertical and Babycorn watched as the map flew away in the wind and fluttered all the way down to the ocean.

“...We don’t need that anymore right?”

“p-probably not.”

Babycorn and Vertical let out a pair of synchronized shocked gasps when a seagull snatched the map from the air. Carrying off any hopes that the wind would turn and bring the map back to them.

“any chance you’ve been leaving bread crumbs as we’ve been walking?”

“I thought about it but I’m too used to Cherry eating them behind me…” Babycorn laughed nervously and tapped her fingers together.

“Hmm.” There went that plan. “we’ll be fine.”

The pair of opulent doors leading to the Beehive opened in front of them, letting them walk right in. With nothing else better to do, Vertical and Babycorn walked in.

“Woooooow!” Babycorn looked all around with wonder sparkling in her eyes. This place looked like something out of a fairy tale! All the furniture and everything looked so fancy! Even the people sitting around looked all fancy too!

It was a little dark though but Babycorn guessed that’s what the fancy lights were for.

“wowie.” Vertical said.

“This place looks fun Vertical!”

Vertical looked over to the stage and noticed the many half-dressed people dancing to the music. “i guess.” Seeing so many people partly dressed reminded her of her bestie B’ig Nunh and how he wasn’t here. He had traveled here with her but in the middle of the magical transit here they had both gotten separated.

Good news, B’ig Nunh was on the First. Bad news, she had no idea where.

“Vertical! Vertical! Check it out!” Babycorn tugged on her coat and led her towards the bar. “They’re serving food I think! Do you think they sell pots of honey?!”

“you could go ask.”

“Good idea!” Babycorn skipped away to go ask and Vertical watched as she left. Which made her miss the shirtless cat boy wildly flailing at her to try and get her attention.

Lucky for him, Vertical’s B’ig Nunh senses had not been dulled during their separation.

Sensing something was amiss, Vertical turned around just in time to see a shirtless B’ig crying out to her. Literally he was crying while also doing his best to dance, though it wasn’t his forte.

“b’ig!” Vertical yelled out in lowercase.

“VERTICAAAAAAL!!!!!” B’ig yelled out in uppercase. Those that had just been watching the show that had no idea they were witnessing an emotional reunion were just really confused.

At that very moment a disappointed Babycorn had come back from the bar in tears. “Verticaaaaal they told me to quit joking around and come back when I order something for reaaaal!” This left Babycorn so heartbroken she had forgotten all about the dangers of stomach pain and decided to ease her sorrows by eating some more meol.

Babycorn had just taken out another meol to eat when Vertical scooped her up like a football. She let out a surprised squeak but Babycorn was just so used to being carried around by now she didn’t even question it.

What she did question was why Vertical covered her eyes as she started to run towards the stage. Which they just let her do for some reason.

“Why are you covering my eyes?” Babycorn asked between bites.

“don’t worry about it”

Sad to say she was a little worried about it. “Are we gonna get on stage and dance too?!”

“no. sorry.”

“Okay that’s good.” Babycorn would have rather jumped off of Eulmore than dance on that stage. Her stage fright would have not let her do anything but freeze up like a popsicle if someone put her on that stage.

Vertical closed in on the stage and B’ig discreetly danced his way closer to her until they were finally pretty much face to face with each other. “I missed youuuu!” B’ig was still crying and dancing in an effort to not raise any suspicions.

“me too!” Underneath her eyepatch Vertical was tearing up too. “okayy buddy let’s go home.” There was going to be a lot of catching up for Vertical to do. How much did B’ig really know about their current predicament? Surely the Crystal Exarch wouldn’t mind giving another long explanation again.

“Vertical they took my clothes. :(“

“then let’s go get them back.”

Babycorn managed to sneak a peek at who Vertical was talking to. While she recognized the voice she had no idea why Vertical was talking to this weird half-naked cat boy she had never met once in her entire life.

For the sake of simplicity, B’ig’s clothes were currently being kept backstage in the Beehive. Sneaking backstage proved to be as easy as just walking into the Beehive itself. Vertical and B’ig tried to look as unsuspicious as they could while walking through the

What wasn’t easy was for Vertical to keep her hands over Babycorn’s eyes. Babycorn didn’t seem to mind or suspect there was anything wrong with being continued to be carried and kept in the dark (literally) she was used to this by now.

“Who are you talking to anyway Vertical?”

“b’ig nunh.”

Babycorn was confused. That guy she saw didn’t look anything like B’ig Nunh! Where was his funny hat and his cool vest? His pants were all wrong too! For starters he was actually wearing a pair. Babycorn let Vertical know all the inconsistencies.

She felt like a real detective!

Meanwhile B’ig was a little hurt that one of his friends didn’t recognize him. It broke his little heart.

“its because they took his clothes.”

“Ew! So he’s naked right now?!” Babycorn put one of her hands over Vertical’s. She really didn’t wanna see something like that!

“I’m not naked!” B’ig protested. “Only my shirt is gone!”

“Eww!!!!!!!” Babycorn munched louder.

B’ig noticed Babycorn chowing down on some more meol. “Don’t tell me you’re actually eating that stuff?” He had been offered meol on his very first day here but he had politely refused it, sensing that there was something off with it.

“Yeah!” Babycorn took another bite of her meol. “It’s tasty!!”

It was well known among Babycorn’s friends that if Babycorn found something tasty there was a 50/50 chance that it was actually tasty, the other half meant that it probably tasted something like mud or something.

“if you didn’t eat meol what did you eat?” Vertical asked. She hoped that he hadn’t gone this long without eating anything. She hadn’t saved anything for him to eat!

B’ig Nunh sighed, for a long time. “I still had some raw spaghetti that Babycorn gave me so I just cooked some of that and tried to make it last as long as I could. I also had to eat all the sandwiches I was holding on for you!! I’m sorry Vertical!!!” Those sandwiches had been the first to go.

Vertical gave B’ig a sympathetic pat on the head. “it’s ok.” There would be other sandwiches but just one B’ig Nunh.

“Stop right there!”

Vertical and B’ig (and also Babycorn) froze in place. Right in front of them was a eulmore guard, how they had failed to notice him was a question that would mostly likely never be answered.

“Who are your patrons?”

“Celric!” B’ig answered without missing a beat. He nervously looked at Vertical to see what she would answer.

“same.” Hopefully this guard wouldn’t look too deep to find out that she was lying.

Babycorn continued eating meol without a care in the world. “Lord Vauthry” She answered.

The guard looked almost scared to hear Babycorn say that. “I see. Carry on then!” Then just as quickly as he showed up. He had left again into the vague backdrop of this scene. All three of them held their breath as he walked away, only breathing easy once he was out of sight.

“That was close…” B’ig wiped some non-existent sweat off his brow.

“yeah……..” Vertical set Babycorn down on the ground but made sure she was still covering her eyes. “by the way where did you even get that name from? doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I don’t know!” Babycorn shrugged, “Just popped into my head!”

As it turned out B’ig’s clothes were being conveniently stored in a supply closet way in the back of the backstage way past the dressing rooms.

Vertical and Babycorn stood guard of the closet while B’ig changed inside.

“Um Vertical?”

“yeah? what’s up?”

“How are we going to break out of this place?” Surely they couldn’t just walk out of here with one of their dancers? Could they?

“i’m going to pick both of you up and run really fast.”

“Ooooh! Ok! Sounds fun!”

What could go wrong?

#ffxivwrite2023 #Babycorn #Vertical #B'ig #sorry to do this to him statty #babycorn cant see a shirtless big nunh this is how hes censored #i dont actually remember what they serve at the beehive do they even say??? hell if i know #drinks thats what they serve i guess #i dont know if they serve other food thats not meol there probably yeah but i couldnt resist the joke #as you can see shes eating a lot of it #babycorn wouldnt know its a club like that unless you told her shes not perceptive but she knows what it is i swear #i dont think vertical had thancred eyepatch at this point right??? idk

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somerpmemes · 2 years

Text

Hilda S2 Starters

Change as needed

“Wait, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“You never told me about that.”

“It all turned out in the end.”

“Such is the life of an adventurer.”

“I mean, I don’t tell you every little thing that happens to me.”

“I’m a bit of a wild card myself.”

“A little loud, but thrilling nonetheless.”

“Wow, you can really see how far the city stretches from up here!”

“Safety waits for no one!”

“That’s the last time I let you take the scenic route.”

“Today isn’t what I hoped it would be.”

“But if you want to make history, you have to make it happen.”

“Go for the ankles!”

“Wait… did it work?”

“How much worse can our luck get?”

“No offense, but I’d really like to avoid being drowned or eaten.”

“So, we’re running away and assuming new identities then?”

“Back to disrespect me further?”

“Do you know anything that pairs well with pink coral?”

“Explanations aren’t really my strong suit.”

“Update! It’s not going well.”

“We’ll need a photo shoot.”

“You can’t take credit for that!”

“Looks like this is gonna be harder than I thought.”

“Something weird is definitely going on here.”

“The secret room has a secret room?”

“We don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

“Time doesn’t lie, dearie.”

“This is highly irregular.”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“This was very stupid of you.”

“She’s accomplished and scary.”

“This should be entertaining.”

“That felt cool.”

“How did you know how to do that?”

“There’s always time for tea.”

“I find it’s always easier to really see things when you’re looking down the sights of your favorite crossbow.”

“What a wonderful demonstration of witchcraft.”

“What are you listening to?”

“You brought a stowaway?”

“Oh, sweet independence.”

“That doesn’t look like the recommended course.”

“It’s getting dark, we better make camp.”

“What? I like lite rock.”

“Just built wrong, I guess.”

“All in all, your injuries are not that bad.”

“The thing about bravery is, I’ve not got any.”

“Time to take today by the horns.”

“Foolish plants! No grass will stand in my way!”

“What a bracing chill!”

“Okay… something’s amiss here.”

“I don’t know what I expected but it was not that.”

“This does not seem to be going that well.”

“Fear was holding me back and I was holding you back.”

“This is grim.”

“It’s just a lot of nothingness, right.”

“Well, this is creepy.”

“I don’t get many human visitors.”

“I bake now.”

“I’ll be outside, taking photos of birds.”

“Okay, there’s literally nothing here.”

“I knew you were up to something!”

“I still think you’re crazy but I guess you’re not dangerous crazy.”

“We’ve got to get there as quickly as physically possible.”

“Please don’t take offense, I just had this feeling that you might try and stop me.”

“I wish I hadn’t asked.”

“I’m finally on the brink of doing something wonderful.”

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“This isn’t your world!”

“We’re going to miss our chance!”

“You see the best in people, I think that’s a good thing.”

“It’s one of the world’s greatest mysteries.”

“You’d think they’d have that all figured out by now.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Must we sneak out the window?”

“If we use the front door, it’s not sneaking out, is it?”

“Seems combat is the only option.”

“I’m great at looking at things.”

“I’ll need you with me, for protection.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to come.”

“I’m a bit sick of looking at them, to be honest.”

“You’re on your own from here.”

“Such sweet redundancy.”

“I don’t know if that was a question or…?”

“All this lying is going to catch up with you.”

“Wow, they are really bad shots.”

“What? I thought everybody knew that.”

“This is beginning to sound like an insult.”

“We have to investigate.”

“I suppose that’s within the letter of the law, if not the spirit.”

“My, you’re good with loopholes.”

“You’re a bit young for the night life.”

“The past is the past, you don’t mess with it.”

“I never knew I had it in me.”

“Will you stop pulling me?”

“Don’t make out like this is my fault, you did it too!”

“Uh, I really don’t think time is on our side, ___.”

“Am I doing the right thing?”

“I wasn’t thinking about the consequences back then.”

“I can say with some certainty that that was the longest 35 minutes of my entire life.”

“Told you I wouldn’t be long.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin trying to explain this.”

“You snooze, you lose your shoes!”

“Well, this is new.”

“You are the legal owner of this creature, correct?”

“You know, it’s not a good idea to wander into a forest if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“Sometimes it’s better to retrace old steps than it is to forge new paths.”

“We keep moving, however long it takes.”

“Come back a bit, you don’t need to get so close to the edge.”

“This got steep fast.”

“Just watch your footing and move very slowly.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“If this is what you want then you should go.”

“It’s the way of the world for things to change.”

“But that’s all it is, memories.”

“Things are going to be different from now on, I promise.”

“I’m certain that house wasn’t there yesterday.”

“If they didn’t want us to come in, they should have locked the door.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“I don’t usually trust food that isn’t candle-based.”

“Perhaps that was not the best plan.”

“That’s terrifying! Tell me more.”

“What have I told you about screaming in the middle of the night?”

“You didn’t tell me that they glow.”

“You owe me so much candy.”

“Wowzers.”

“The great big world is calling me, ___, and I’m gonna heed its call.”

“Say, you’ve got a nice face.”

“So, somebody is in trouble?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity for mischief.”

“All of this could have been avoided if you’d just read the footnotes.”

“That can’t be a good sign.”

“I don’t think this is normal.”

“I haven’t had this much fun since I don’t know when!”

“I don’t get out much.”

“Not the weirdest thing that has happened to me today.”

“It’s been another long, eye-opening, somewhat harrowing day.”

“This is very odd.”

“Looks like we’ll have to settle this with combat!”

“Do you ever feel as if you’re surrounded by people who just don’t get it?”

“The important thing is it worked.”

“Magic is 99% focus and only 1% hocus pocus.”

“We’ll be able to see where we’re going when the sun is up.”

“An abandoned pie. Now that’s eerie.”

“But it’s still so dark.”

“Come on, I think we should make a move.”

“I was just being dramatic!”

“This seems like the perfect time to panic!”

“Really? You want to do this?”

“That’s all the waiting I can do.”

“I can’t tell if we’re being rescued or if we’re about to get eaten.”

“Let’s not run.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can endure this place.”

“It’s sort of unnerving that you’re here.”

“I’m sorry about everything.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, then how do I know you’re safe?”

“You really don’t wish I was different?”

“I’m not getting out of bed for a week.”

#starters #rp starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #rp #rp meme #ask meme #Hilda

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springvaletales · 2 years

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((Session 25 is wrapped!))

Asahi’s Player is under threat of a tornado tonight so she wasn’t able to attend. I know you’re gonna read this, friend, so stay safe!!

We decided to do a shorter, lore-focused session tonight, and a longer, more combat-oriented session the following Saturday, as we all have more time, then.

“That was five minutes ago, and this is a new me.”

“That’s when Death goes “NO. You’ve killed too many people!” and takes you away.”

Ena’s Player: “Can I stay unfucked for 25 seconds?!”

Bagelby’s Player: “Request denied.”

We returned to the party in the Tailwind Inn, taking shelter from the ongoing chaos of a city mid-coup outside.

The children Thiori had been playing with were all called back to their parents, so he squeezed himself into a booth seat to start writing a letter which he’s already told me about in confidence oh no

“You can ask Commander Zhul almost anything about the city - he did grow up here, you know.”

Bagelby decided this was a good time to ask about the lighthouse he’d fallen head over heels for back in the harbor, and did so by repeating the word “Lighthouse?” in Orcish several times.

The Chi’daamvariim Lighthouse is less of a lighthouse in function and more of a guard tower, as the city harbor is already very sheltered and well lit.

Due to not having to worry about bad weather, the lighthouse’s staircase spirals along it’s outside, rather than it’s inside.

Zhul recalls that the staircase was closed off to civilians after one of his academy classmates broke through the rusty railing at the top and fell to their death.

Bagelby is now determined to ‘hop the turnstile’ and climb the lighthouse.

“We’re at war - you can do whatever you want!”

After waking up from his nap, Michael marched right up to August and demanded to know which one of them had punched his mother.

Ena began stress flower-crown braiding.

For story reasons, Ena has a class-specific cantrip that allows her to summon a single flower of a random type per minute, purely for flower-crown making.

“It’s not that Bagel’s not a snitch - he just don’t remember!”

Thiori got up from his table, walked over to Michael, gave him a cookie the size of a dessert plate, and then sat back down.

Michael - having eaten no real food for a couple weeks - broke up the cookie and inhaled it like Cookie Monster on a binge.

He then demanded the recipe.

Thiori sold the recipe for 10gp, knowing full well that he had made the cookies with no real recipe and had no idea how to make them again.

He rolled an 8 to remember the original recipe, but then rolled a 17 to bullshit a new one that was almost as delicious.

Meanwhile, August and Asahi tried to comfort Ena, and try to convince her to talk to Michael.

Ena - still very deep in a crisis - politely declined, and plopped a flower crown on August’s head.

August gave her a wholesome hug, which Ena returned….before beginning to braid another flower crown behind August’s back.

Michael made eye contact with Ena from across the floor, and she immediately froze like a deer in headlights.

“Anybody would be grumpy after several weeks in the spider room.”

“You do still have the amulet in your slime pocket.”

Bagelby pulled out the Amulet of Dry Bones he took off of the spider mutant to ask Michael about it, and Michael - already intimately aware of what the amulet is and does - immediately leaned away.

“Please put it back in your slime pocket.”

Thiori’s Player: “How does Michael know what a slime pocket is?”

Me: “Well, it’s a pocket full of slime - it seems self-explanatory.”

I’ll be honest, I don’t remember where the slime pocket came from.

Bagelby: “Sometimes I wish I could divide into halves and quarters. Let me try!”

Bagelby: *strains really hard*

The ram horns he still has from drinking a random potion up on the prison level: *fork at the ends*

Bagelby: “I did it!! Guys, guys, look!!!”

There’s something about Ena’s voice that Michael just…likes. He doesn’t know why.

Asahi now has, like, four separate flower crowns on her head. Ena won’t stop.

Michael asked Ena if he could have a few flowers, hoping to break some of the tense atmosphere by joining in on the crown making,

Bagelby’s Player: “Is this just the D&D version of “Taken?!””

Me: “No. It’s a shitty knock-off of “Taken” because I’ve never seen the original.”

“Michael looks like he wants to talk about it, but you did sell him a delicious cookie recipe, so he’ll let it slide for now.”

When Michael asked about Ena’s family, she mentioned her dad being a tree - Michael noted that this would make for an interesting childhood, and Bagelby said, “well, yeah. It’s yours, too!”

Thiori promptly picked up Bagelby in one crab claw and carried him away, with Ena in hot pursuit.

“You’re lucky I rolled a 2 for Michael. He didn’t hear a damn thing!”

Michael, to Vashael: “Where did you find these people?”

Vashael, to Michael: “Technically, they found me…”

Bagelby tried to get out of trouble for his slip of the tongue by introducing the party to Maritza.

Bagelby: “You have to swear on the slime pocket that you won’t get mad.”

Ena: “We’re swearing nothing on the slime pocket.”

Thiori: “Please don’t make me touch the slime pocket…”

The party still does not know about Maritza.

August tried to distract Michael from the slime conversation by asking him about his magic, and rolled high enough on persuasion for Michael to admit that he doesn’t know the actual source - most people believe that he gets them from his mother, Velenna, and since unsourced magical powers tend to make people nervous, he doesn’t tell them any different.

Cue a two minute debate on which party has the copywrite to the name “Royal Panes”.

Ena outright asked Vashael what STDs you can catch from dragons, and if not for Michael separating them, Vashael would have decked her.

The lore was dropped for a short time to debate dragon STDs, and why the fire genasi was turning purple after fucking the dragon, but not anyone else.

To settle the matter, Bagelby cast Remove Curse on Ena…but it had no effect!

Thiori found out that the purple parts of Ena are ever so slightly cooler than the pink parts of her.

New theory: Fire genasai frostbite?!

Ena was escorted to the fireplace to sit and flame on for a while to see if she could warm herself up.

Bagelby, Michael, and Vashael went off to the inn’s storeroom to see what food could be scrounged up.

August, to Ena: “You know, you don’t have to antagonize Vashael anymore…I think you’ve made your point.”

There was a candy maker in August’s homeland with a cousin by the name of “Billy Bonka” who used to make delicious candy that would sometimes ‘go wrong’ and have strange effects.

Meanwhile, Bagelby and co found a fully-stocked kitchen; Michael got little star eyes and started to drool.

Finding a cookbook, Bagelby leafed through it to find a good recipe, while August cracked a chicken egg into Ena’s hand to see if she could cook it.

Ena: “I’ve been slimed - I’ve been SLIMED!!!”

Michael, watching Ena fry an egg in her hand: “That’s so fucking cool…”

Ena, remembering how he said the exact same thing the first time she showed him: “aaaaAAAAAA-“

Bagelby was mildly offended to find that the cookbook had no good slug recipes.

Ena, about life in the Feywilds: “You lose gravity on Tuesdays.”

Bagelby: “And you never know when it’s Tuesday!”

Ena plopped the fried egg into Michael’s hands when it was done, and after juggling it for a bit (because it was nice and hot), Michael popped it right in his mouth.

Thiori is horrified by Michael’s lack of table manners.

August gave Michael one of the knives she forged in the Feywild, and then tried to convince him that the Eldritch Blast spell was called “Acorn Blast Canon”. He almost believed her.

August, loudly: “Gee, we really could use someone who’s good at larceny!”

Bagelby, skidding into the room: “What do I need to steal??”

We were then derailed for a few minutes on the topic of medieval clothing and how tailored it was.

Ena, tired of waiting for the others, cast Prestidigitation on Michael - it won’t provide him any protection, but it looks good.

He called it ‘edgy’, so she changed it for something brighter, with leaf and acorn motifs.

Bagelby talked the human guard into telling him where an armor shop was on this city level, then cast Invisibility on himself, and took a leisurely stroll down the block to go steal some armor for Michael.

“Y’all have too many crisis. You need to put some back.”

Being just one Hobgoblin, Bagelby grabbed whatever armor he could from the shop - that being:

a blue and grey breastplate made of steel-backed leather with shiny copper rivets

a green leather and iron cuisse with dark copper rivets

a red bracer of hardened leather with iron buckles and rivets

a dark red kidney belt of hardened leather

…and headed back to the inn.

For context: Michael now looks like this:

We wrapped up there to let people get some sleep, and we’ll potentially all be back on Saturday to pick back up!

#OOC #Quarantine D&D

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i-cant-sing · 3 years

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Yandere RE8: TRP Part 4

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 5 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Uhh... hello?"

You looked at the woman standing in the stairs. She was wearing a dark veil that matched the rest of her outfit- oh shit, that's a funeral outfit.

I really did pick a bad time to come here, didn't I? She's in mourning, she sees an intruder, and her day went from bad to worst. Yep, she's gonna kill me.

You took one look at the woman and then at all the possible exits: the doors- no, they'd be too heavy to move and what if they're locked? The window- but I'd have to jump out and just because it looks cool in movies to jump through glass, doesn't mean it'll work, Y/n.

So, the only option was to eliminate the threat. Or maybe... defuse it.

"This is your doll, right?" You asked, pointing at the doll, judging by the lace designs on both of their dresses. The woman didn't reply. "It looks like its been... used a lot. To be honest, she's very different than most dolls I've seen, definitely a lot more spookier." You nervously giggled, hoping she didn't mind. "But... she looks like she's been loved. A lot. Despite being broken from a lot of places, someone still took their time to fix her." You smiled sadly, remembering your own doll that Mia had ripped. "Wish I had someone like that. To sew up the wounds and fix them."You mumbled, not really sure if you were talking about your doll or yourself.

"Your doll, she's- she's very pretty. My sister would've liked her." You began. "Which is why I'm here. My family, we were in an accident- I know it was wrong of me to come here without permission, but I need to find my sister, Rose and my father, Ethan." You took a step closer. "They both of have blonde hair. Rose, my sister, she's just 6 months old. She was dressed in a baby pink onesie, bundled up in a blanket. My father, Ethan, he's about this tall and has big blue eyes. I think he was wearing a jacket, with blue denim jeans. H-have you seen them?" You asked, eyes full of hope and voice laced with eagerness.

Please, please let her have seen them. God, please.

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't reply, but she did turn her head towards the left window. You didn't know whether she was telling you to get out of her house or signalling that they are out there, but you knew you had to leave.

Nodding, you slowly walked towards the window, your heart beating faster as you prayed that this wasn't some sort of trap, hoping she wouldn't attack you from behind because that would be like... really shitty.

But you left the house unharmed, and without looking back at the window because you didn't want to jinx it, you walked towards the forrest once again, thankful that the sun had finally came out.

Where are you guys?

You had been walking for a couple of hours now, the sun had been a bit warmer today, which was good since you hated the snow that surrounded you now. You looked at the map, tracing the path to your new destination. The Salvatore reservoir. It seemed like it would take you a day's journey to get there, and you sure as hell weren't seeing any lake in sight.

God, when will this nightmare end?

You decided to sit on a stone and take some much needed rest. Your feet ached from all the walking, and your calves were cramping. You rolled your head, popping it from the side, before taking off the rifle that had been weighing down, stretching out your arms. Digging through the little back pack you bought from Duke, you pulled out a thermos of coffee and twinkie. You don't know how or where he got it, but Duke had filled your bag with a couple of snacks; saying its for his loyal customer.

So, here you sat, in the middle of the snowy woods, eating a twinkie and drinking a lukewarm coffee. Both didn't taste good, but they're gonna keep you alive so, no complaining.

After drinking the coffee, you rested your head against a tree, recalling last nights events as you waited for the caffeine to kick in.

You tried to make sense of what happened when you got... locked in the basement. You thought you had forgotten about her, Angel. Guess not.

Wait- didn't that lady lock me in the basement? Maybe, she didn't look very hostile, her creepy doll looked scarier than she did.

You laughed at the irony. You always made fun of the horror movies where the family would become so attached to the most horrifying doll, and you'd scream at their stupidity, And yet here you were, falling for the cliche as you found comfort in that creepy doll.

Man, I'm really losing it here.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you tried to come up with the next plan. But the warm coffee had lulled you right to sleep, which was dangerous but you were too tired to care.

Just for a couple of minutes...

You woke up to the sound of growling and heavy steps. And as soon as you opened your eyes, you knew you had definitely slept for far longer than a few minutes. But that was not of concern at the moment. No, it was the source of the growling that had woken you up.

Just about 40 feet away from you were lycans. Plural. Not one, not two, but 5 lycans, and one of them was a really big one.

You held your breath as you watched them wander around; they hadn't spotted you yet, and if you stayed quiet, you hoped they would just go away.

Stilling yourself as much as you could, you watched them with wide eyes. One of them started to walk in your direction, it wasn't looking at you, which meant that it hadn't seen you, but he would if he kept on walking this way.

God, I know we haven't been on good terms, but like c'mon, you gotta give me a break. Please, I love you? Come on, you know this is not how I want to go.

You sent a silent prayer, and perhaps it worked, since the lycan suddenly turned the other way, joining its pack as they started walking deeper into the woods.

Slowly, you began to gather up your things, silently shoving them in your bag, one eye on the lycans and the other one making sure that you don't accidentally drop something that'd cause noise.

Fortunately, you didn't. You swung the bag over your shoulder, and took a step forward, careful not to step on any twigs.

Maybe God did love me. All that time in church-

THWACK!

You jumped back as a huge sheet of snow fell from the trees in front of you. You whipped your head towards the monsters and they all had stopped dead in their tracks. Slowly, one of them turned and if they hadn't heard the snow fall, they'd definitely heard the way your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Then, it growled.

Motherfucker.

You pulled out your gun just as the two of them began running your way. With a quick jump to the side, you dodged them and shot them two times each. Hearing your gun fire, the other two began running your way too, while the larger one stayed behind as it watched. This time, as you shot one of them, the other managed to kick you in the chest hard, throwing you against the rock. Luckily, you didn't hit your head, as you rolled and shot it dead.

Spitting out the blood, you looked back at the last lycan who had already started running your way. You began loading up your gun with trembling hands, but just as you aimed, the lycan took a giant leap and knocked the gun out of your hand.

Fuck.

The giant grabbed you by your neck, lifting you up high before throwing you across the ground. You wheezed, scrambling up to your feet as you began running away from it, its heavy steps following you. It roared angrily behind you, and that only made you ignore the burning pain in your chest as you ran faster.

But of course, God had decided to make you live a cliche horror movie, because you tripped over a fucking branch, making you fall on your stomach. You flipped over instantly, and saw your nightmare come true as the lycan jumped on you.

On pure reflex, you punched it square in the face, which you doubted hurt it more than it hurt you, if anything, the monster was momentarily perplexed, but that was enough for you to slip from under it.

But you were only able to take a few steps away when it suddenly grabbed you by your neck and lifted you up again, snarling as it began opening its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp teeth at you.

God, if you're hearing this, I'm converting to atheism because I did not need this today.

Looking at the horrifying lycan, you prayed one last time before you were eaten by it. Surprisingly, your life did not flash before your eyes, which you were kinda grateful for because you did not need to relive that before your death.

But that moment didn't came. No, what came were familiar moans of pain, and then the sound of a drill, followed by blood splattering on your face as the lycan was sliced vertically from the head to the toe by the aforementioned drill.

The lycan fell to the ground, revealing the pair of soldats that killed them and behind them a smirking Heisenberg, who rested against a tree, tipping his hat at you.

You were far too shocked to say anything, and after a few seconds, the man walked over to you, blocking the view of his monstrous creations just mutilating the lycans.

"So... that was a bit traumatising." He started, chuckling at your stunned face. "You okay, kid?"

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck-

"Yeah." You took his hand, and he helped you up. You groaned at the pain, touching the tender side around the chest where the lycan had hit you. Yeah, you probably broke a rib.

Heisenberg helped you sit down on a tree stump. "Hmm, that bastard kicked you hard didn't it." Wait- "But that was a phenomenal punch you threw at it. Nearly made me burst out laughing."

"You were watching? Why the fuck didn't you come in before!"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you could really handle yourself- which you were pretty good at, but then you lost your gun and it was kinda an unfair match from there on." He pulled out some pills from his coat. "i was just passing by when I saw those lycans moving away. Thats when I pushed the tree which made snow sheet fall and you know the rest from there on."

Your eyes went wide. "You did that on purpose? What the shit, Heisenberg-?! Fuck." You doubled over in pain, clutching your ribs, heaving.

"Shh, stay still, kid. Here, take these. They'll help with the pain." You eyed the bottle before popping two in your mouth. Hey, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have saved me from the lycan. "I just wanted to see if you were worth the trouble, and as it turns out, you are."

"You didn't have to almost kill me to see that. And now I've lost my gun. And I don't have any money to buy a new one. I doubt Duke gives freebies." You huffed out.

Heisenberg rolled his eyes. "God, you sure do whine a lot. Here-" He dropped a tiny pouch in your lap. "There's some coins in there. That should be enough to buy you a new gun. And for fucks sake, get a gun with more rounds! You don't have time to be loading a gun mid battle." He huffed. "So, where are you going now?"

You rolled your head from side to side. "Well, I went to the Beneviento house. Didn't find Ethan or Rose there. Now, I'm going to the lake."

"The lake? Huh, well if you survived Donna, then Moreau should be a piece of cake. You got the map? Let me show you the short cut, it's not far from here." You gave him the map and he showed you the directions.

"Where are you going then?"

"Mother Miranda called. Don't worry, I'll keep our meeting a secret." He then nodded at you. "Alright, I'm off now."

"Wait!" Your voice stopped him. "I don't know when I'll see Duke again. And I don't have gun, so what if another pack of lycans come?"

Heisenberg slumped his shoulders as he let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I gotta do everything by myself." He dog whistled and one of the soldats stopped maiming the lycan and ran to Heisenberg. "From now on, you're gonna listen to her."The soldat looked at you and nodded. "If she tells you to kill, you kill. If she tells you to die, you die. Follow her around and keep her safe." The soldat nodded. Then Heisenberg turned to you. "He's already dead, so don't worry about throwing him in danger. Oh and also, just take him into the sun every once in a while so that his engine can recharge. You'll know when he needs the sun."

You were baffled. "Wait, Heisenberg- how the- what the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

"Figure it out, kid. Think of him as a guard dog."

You looked at the soldat then at Heisenberg's retreating form, then back at the soldat.

"So..." The soldat stared at you. "You got a name?"

"Handsome." You nodded to yourself as you trudged, using the soldat's arm to support yourself. "That's what I'm gonna call you. Handsome. What do you think?"

The soldat was wearing a metal contraption over its eyes, so you couldn't really tell what it was feeling.

"Well, you don't seem to have any complaints, so from now on, you'll respond to the name "Handsome". Do you understand?"

The soldat nodded.

You laughed. God, the pain meds were either making me stupid or everything else funnier.

You looked at the map again. Just a couple of more minutes and then a right turn. And then you should see the lake- god, this map was confusing as hell.

"So..." you wondered what you should ask the cyborg. Oh right. "You seen Ethan? Blonde man, crazy big eyes. Or a baby, Rose?" The man shook his head no.

Sigh. What else could I ask him? What about how did he die? No, what if that's triggering? I can't handle a Terminator right now. And I don't think I should ask him about his past or anything that'll cause him to have a existential crisis. Ah! I've got it!

"Hey, how do you see?"

The soldat looks down at you for a few seconds then points at his metal contraption.

Wait- is that sarcasm?

You scoff. "Of course, you see with your eyes! I meant, with the whole metal thingy covering them, how do you- oh, there's this vision specs in them."

You smiled. "Hey, you're kinda like Cyclops, yknow-" you were cut off as Handsome suddenly pushed you to the ground, turning on his drill.

"Wait, shit- you don't have to be Cyclops! We can talk this out-" but Handsome was focusing on something else, and that's when you saw it. Two lycans.

Handsome ran and easily maimed them to pieces, I mean, you had to look away from the horrific scene midway.

The soldat returned five minutes later, covered in blood. He extended his hand and you reluctantly took it, letting him support you as you began walking again, your heart still beating like crazy.

But you calmed down when you finally reached the lake, the setting sun gave serene feel to the entire reservoir. You inhaled deeply before looking at Handsome. "Lets go down there." You pointed at the lake.

You were both sitting at the wooden broadwalk, your legs hanging off the ledge. You looked at the water, it wasn't crystal clear, but you could see some fishes swimming around, so at least it wasn't dangerous to life. You looked at Handsome, then at his drill and you realised he was still covered in blood. "Lets get you cleaned up, hm?" You said, pulling out a rag from your bag and dipping it in the cold water below. You began with cleaning up his drill, then dipping the rag back in cold water and cleaning his chest and his other arm.

"Good job back there, Handsome."You smiled as Handsome nodded. "Heisenberg was right, you are kinda like a dog. Hmm, I wonder if..." You tested your theory as you petted him on the head. "Good job, Handsome!" But the soldat only tilted its head in confusion.

"Hmm, perhaps not." You cupped the cold water in your hands and washed your own face, You looked at your reflection in the water. "You wanna go for a swim? I don't mind." Handsome shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of swimming either."

Handsome stared at you. You scoffed. "Oh so you pretend you don't understand what I say, but you want to hear the story? Fine, but I'm only telling you because it might be important later."

You both stared at the water as you began your story. "Well, when I was 15, I had snuck out of the house to go to a party. It was at this rich girl's house and I knew she didn't like me, but I was surprised when she had invited me to her place. Yes, a red flag I should've seen from miles ago, but I was young and dumb and desperate to climb the highschool social hierarchy." You chuckled. "Anyways, long story short, one of the guys there pushed me into the pool because I don't know if they thought it was funny to see me drown? By some luck, I managed to grab onto the pool ledge and pull myself up. I immediately left the party, embarrassed and cold and on the verge of breaking down. Then on the way back home, there was this car following me and then some weirdo catcalled me and tried to get me in his car. Now, scared for my life because I watched a lot of Criminal Minds, I ran all the way home, praying that he leaves me alone. I think he stopped when he saw a Range Rover following him, but I don't know. I just rushed back home." You sighed. "You know what happened next? I bursted through the front door, slamming it shut and I turn around to see my dad in the living room, looking surprised to see me. He stood up and looked me up and down and then said, "Y/n? You're drenched completely. And you're messing up the floor. You know what? Mia's in the bathroom right now, why don't you go upstairs and I'll clean up here. You know how she gets when there's water on the wood." And I was just so shocked, that I didn't say anything and went back upstairs. Once I was in the shower, that's when I broke down crying. I almost drowned, almost got kidnapped and my father was worried about me messing up the wooden floor? Hell, he didn't even ask me why I was coming home at midnight." Your tears fell into the lake, making small ripples. You chuckled, "God, I always wondered how tired he must've been from work that day to ignore all these visible signs of distress. I always hated his job, you know? They made him work way too much." You looked at Handsome who was looking at the lake. "Anywho, now you know I can't swim so, save me if I fall into this lake, okay?" He nodded.

You guys sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a question popped up in your mind. "Handsome?" He turned his head towards you, only to see a mischievous smile on your face. "Are you seeing someone?" The man turned his back to the lake, making you laugh. "Ahh, so you like someone. Tell me, is it someone from the village?" The man further turned his head away from you in embarrassment. "Oh come on, tell me! Is it a girl?" He nodded reluctantly, making you punch his arm. "You dog! Does she know?" Handsome shook his head, making you smile. "Tell you what? As a payback for saving me back there, I'll help you get her. I'll be your wingman, Handsome, hm?" He nodded a bit enthusiastically.

"We all deserve good things, Handsome. No matter how we look, or what we are, these things don't really define one's self worth. Its our intentions, you know?" Handsome didn't know, but he nodded anyways.

"Good. Now, lets go check out this place. Keep an eye out for Ethan and Rose, okay?" You told him, not knowing someone was already watching the two of you.

So... thought?

What did you guys think about Handsome? I'm gonna post a pic of him soon if you guys want.

Part 5 is here.

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thearvariblues · 3 years

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The Mysterious Case of Jaskier's Immortality

Word count: 3601

“So nice to see you again, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, putting on one of his many fake smiles.

“Jaskier,” she replies with a smile that almost looks genuine but Jaskier is pretty sure that it’s not. Which she confirms a few seconds later by saying: “Shouldn’t you be dead already?”

“I see you’re as kind as always, my dear. But don’t you worry, Geralt is doing a very good job when it comes to protecting me.”

“Hm,” Geralt sighs resignedly, clearly regretting his decision to spend the night in an inn instead of the middle of a forest.

To be fair, it was Jaskier who suggested it, claiming that he refused to be eaten by angry drowners, no matter how many times Geralt tried to explain to him that the probability of finding a drowner in the middle of a very dry forest is extremely low.

If Jaskier knew they were going to run into Yennefer in the inn, he would have risked the drowners.

“I don’t doubt that,” Yennefer smirks. “But seriously, how old are you, bard?”

“No idea. I stopped counting after fifty, I think.”

“You know, you don’t look fifty,” she says.

“Oh, well, my mother had an elf lover before I was born, so there’s a fifty-fifty chance that I’m not gonna age anytime soon. Sorry,” Jaskier smiles again, sweetly – and this time, it’s genuine.

“As if,” Geralt grunts.

“I’m sorry, dear?” Jaskier blinks.

“Come on, Jaskier, it doesn’t work like that. You’re a viscount, that means your father must have been a viscount, too.”

“You don’t know much about nobility, do you, Geralt?” Yennefer snorts.

“Hm,” Geralt grunts. “Still, he’s not a half-elf.”

“Let me guess, you’re a Witcher, therefore you could smell it if I was? I hate to break it to you, dear heart, but you’re going to have your nose checked.”

“You’re not a half-elf, Jaskier,” Geralt repeats. “You’re not immortal, you just… look young.”

“Yeah, right, you got me,” Jaskier shrugs. “I just look good because I moisturize. Happier now?”

“Much,” Geralt nods. “See? You can be honest if you want.”

“Yup,” Jaskier nods. “Honesty personified. Now please excuse me, I need to go and moisturize some more. Internally. With ale.”

“I’m actually a mermaid, you know?” Jaskier grins the next time he’s asked, this time by a very confused and very old Valdo Marx.

“A siren, Jaskier. Not a mermaid,” Geralt sighs, praying to Melitele to give him strength. “And you’d know that, of course, if you actually were a siren.”

“Just so you know, the term siren is actually quite offensive to my people.”

“You mean idiots?” Geralt chuckles. “You’re not a siren, Jask.”

“Can you prove that I’m not?”

“Well, last week you tripped and fell into this creek that was like… knee-deep, and you nearly drowned.”

“I was in shock!” Jaskier proclaims dramatically. “But I have a proof that I am, or at least could be a siren.”

“What proof?”

“Well, my lovely voice, of course!”

“Not as lovely as you think it is,” Valdo Marx snorts.

“Come on, Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, ignoring the old troubadour. “You have much better voice that any siren I’ve ever heard.”

“Geralt of Rivia!” Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “Was that a compliment?!”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. “I didn’t mean…”

“Really though, Jaskier,” Valdo says. “How?”

“That’s a secret I’ll take to the grave, I’m afraid,” Jaskier grins. “Once I manage to reach it.”

“Keep on with the bullshit, Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “and you can reach it tonight.”

“Fifty years traveling with him, and he still thinks he can scare me. Cute, isn’t he?” Jaskier laughs. “Oh, Geralt you could never.”

“Try me.”

“All right, I’ll tell you my secret,” Jaskier winks at Ciri, who lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve got this neat… magic ring.”

“Hmmm,” Ciri observes. “Looks like a normal signet ring to me.”

“Well… Yeah, well, it looks like it, all right, but actually–”

“Jaskier, I was born a princess. This is clearly a Pankratz family signet ring.”

“Damn,” Jaskier groans. “Like father like daughter, eh?”

“Sorry,” Ciri shrugs.

“I got myself cursed.”

Triss Merigold lifts an eyebrow.

“Somebody cursed you to live forever, is that so?” she asks and her voice is almost dripping with disbelief.

“More like cursed me,” Geralt murmurs.

“Oh, shut up, Witcher, you know you couldn’t live without me,” Jaskier smiles brightly, and Geralt has to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling back.

“Hm,” he says instead.

“Eloquent as ever,” Jaskier nods.

“Would you like me to...” Triss clears her throat. “You know, try to lift the curse?”

“No!” Geralt yells before he can stop himself.

“See?” Jaskier beams. “You could never live without me!”

“A bruxa,” Jaskier repeats to a young man who claims to be his son, but looks older than his supposed father.

“You’re not a bruxa, Jaskier!” Geralt whines.

“Excuse me, and how would you know?”

“Because I’m a fucking Witcher?!”

“Well, you’re clearly a fucking horrible Witcher if you haven’t noticed until now!”

“I think I’d notice if you tried to sneak out of the camp at nights to feed,” Geralt comments, crossing his hands. “You can’t even sneak out to take a piss, Jask.”

“Maybe I do that on purpose!”

“Besides, bruxae are mostly women.”

“Mostly being the important word here.”

“Fuck’s sake, Jaskier. You won’t even eat a piece of meat if it’s not so well-done that it’s almost cremated.”

“Do you know how disgusting the blood is, Geralt?!” Jaskier groans, and then immediately blinks when he realizes what he just said. “I meant…”

“Case closed,” Geralt nods, satisfied.

“Oh, dear,” Jaskier mutters. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Uhm, my lords, if I may,” the young man says.

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but if you’re aging like a normal human, you’re probably not my son,” Jaskier shrugs. “Sorry. I get it why your mum might be confused, though. It was quite a night, with at least four–”

“And that’s enough,” Geralt says, grabbing Jaskier by the collar and pulling him away from the man. “You know, lifting the curse seems like a good idea now.”

“There isn’t really a curse, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs.

Geralt sighs, his lips curling into a tiny smile that Jaskier cannot see.

“Thank fuck.”

“You see, we were in a crazy mage’s tower and I saw this bottle and I thought it was slivovitz, so I drank it, but it seems that it actually was some sort of an immortality potion,” Jaskier explains to a lady at the ball, whose grandmother he’d apparently fucked once, when said grandmother was still a young, unmarried woman.

Geralt only blinks, because it’s the first truly plausible explanation for Jaskier’s mysterious immortality.

“Oh, that must be so horrible to watch everyone you love die!” the woman nods enthusiastically. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it in private?”

“Of course, my dear…” Jaskier smiles. “Just… wait a second. How old is your mother?”

“Forty-seven, why?”

Jaskier’s lips are moving silently for a few seconds while he counts, and then thy turn into a wide grin.

“No reason, dear,” he says, offering her his arms. “Shall we?”

When Jaskier and the lady flee the ball, Geralt pulls out his flask of White Gull and pours its contents into his empty tankard.

So, a potion…

“There is no such thing as an immortality potion, Geralt,” Yennefer shakes her head.

“How can you be so sure?” Geralt asks. “Maybe this mage really did find a way to at least make the human life longer!”

“And why would he do that?” Yennefer scoffs. She has been doing that a lot since she finally ended their relationship for good about twenty years ago. (He later found out that she had left him for none other than Triss Merigold, but Yennefer still doesn’t know that he knows, and he’s having way too much fun with it to break the fact to her. So right now, he is pretending he doesn’t notice that Triss is eavesdropping on their conversation behind the door leading to Yennefer’s bedroom, and that he absolutely believed Yen when she claimed that the loud thud a few minutes ago was caused by a cat.) “We are immortal, Geralt, unless killed. There is no reason for any of us to make a potion that would make a human live forever.”

“Well, perhaps this mage fell in love with a human and wanted them to stay with him!”

Yennefer pauses, inspecting Geralt from head to toe and back again, and then she sighs.

“Oh, Geralt. Really?”

“Really what?” Geralt blinks, genuinely confused.

“Oh,” Yennefer murmurs. “Oh, no. Really?”

“Really what, Yen?”

“You mean you don’t… Oh, dear gods. Really?”

“Yen, I swear that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Geralt grunts, frowning.

Yennefer rolls her eyes and tries counting to ten to calm herself down. She doesn’t even get to three before Geralt’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed, Geralt,” she nods solemnly. “Fuck, indeed.”

“I found a djinn, he granted me a wish,” Jaskier says when Geralt asks him, about five minutes after his meeting with Yennefer. (He agreed to use a portal to get to the bard as soon as possible. A fucking portal!) The bard is sitting in a tavern and eating his dinner, utterly undisturbed by the sudden appearance of an angrier-than-usual Witcher.

“You never mentioned a djinn,” Geralt growls. “And after your last encounter with one, I sincerely doubt you’d engage with another.”

“You clearly don’t know me at all–”

“Besides, Valdo Marx, as far as I know, had an apoplexy while fucking a young student on his desk, and I don’t think you’d ever let him die like that if you had a choice.”

“You see, that was kind of a my mistake, since I didn’t specify the time and the circumstances of his apoplexy in my wish, so…”

“What was your third wish?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your immortality, Valdo Marx dropping dead, that’s two. What was the third one? And don’t even try to mention the Countess de Stael, since you’d have to dig her up first.”

“That was disgusting, even for you, you know that, Geralt?”

“How are you immortal, Jaskier?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Jaskier puts a piece of bread in his mouth and grins.

“Maybe some other time, Witcher.”

“I am a fae,” Jaskier replies a day later.

“You’re not a fucking fae, bard.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you fucking lie, Jaskier. All the time.”

“Fuck. Didn’t think of that.”

“You see, there was this artifact–”

Geralt closes his eyes, turning Roach around.

“Let’s consult Yennefer about this.”

“Oh, mother of…” Jaskier whines. “All right, no artifact, there was no artifact! Geralt, I’m telling you, there was no…”

“You’re not a succubus.”

“But it would be a perfect explanation, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re not succubus, because if you were, you’d know that a male one is called an incubus.”

“Oh, you and your stupid Witcher terms again.”

“You’re not an incubus, Jaskier, because if you were, I could never let you near Eskel.”

“All right… Explain, please?”

Geralt grunts.

“I’d really rather not.”

“A dragon,” Jaskier grins victoriously.

“No,” Geralt says, shaking his head.

“No,” Jaskier agrees with a sigh.

“You know you could just tell me the truth and be done with it, right?”

“Hm… No.”

“All right, enough is enough,” Jaskier growls that night in their rented room, tossing his doublet aside. “You’ve asked me three times today, Geralt. Why the sudden interest in my immortality?”

“As you said, enough is enough. You’ve been traveling with me for what, a hundred years?”

“A hundred and four.”

“Yes, and you still look the same as the day I met you in Posada!” Geralt growls. “And it drives me mad!”

“It wasn’t driving you insane for at least fifty years, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“Fuck off, bard. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”

“But you do, Geralt,” Jaskier says, taking a step towards the Witcher. “Why?”

He’s standing in Geralt’s personal space, his chemise half undone, and he’s watching Geralt with those sincere blue eyes, and Geralt can’t fucking think…

“Because I love you, you idiot!” he snaps. “Because I fucking love you and I need to know if I can love you, or you’re gonna just drop dead one day without a warning!”

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, his lips forming into a huge, happy smile. “Oh, fucking finally.”

“Fucking… what?” Geralt blinks, his arms suddenly full of an enthusiastic bard.

“I love you too, you silly Witcher,” Jaskier laughs. “I’ve loved you for a hundred years! Well, a hundred and four, but who’s counting?”

“You…” Geralt mutters.

“Silly, silly Witcher,” Jaskier repeats, pressing his lips against Geralt’s in a kiss that could be described as chaste, or at least the chastest Jaskier has ever been capable of. “We’re going to Lettenhove in the morning.”

“We are?”

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier whispers. “See, I’ve told you the truth about the source of my immortality once. But I think you need to see it to believe me.”

“Wait, you have? When?” Geralt asks. “Was it the artifact? Just tell me, I promise I won’t make you consult it with–”

“Shut up now,” Jaskier says, kissing Geralt again with way less chastity than before. “And in the meantime, believe me this – you can keep loving me, and I’m not planning on dropping dead anytime soon. Also, I’ve spent the last hundred years imagining fucking you senseless, so if you’re not opposed to the idea, perhaps we could, well…”

The kiss that this idea gets him is as far from chaste as one could possibly get.

And Jaskier definitely isn’t about to complain.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Geralt asks as they march towards the Lettenhove castle’s gates. He tugs at his doublet’s collar, way too tight for his liking. He’d much rather walk in there wearing his usual attire, but Jaskier insisted that Geralt must look presentable if he wants to meet his family.

It turns out that it only takes a single I love you to turn the bard into a manipulative bastard. Who would have guessed?

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jaskier replies, grinning cheerfully. “And stop frowning, you’re gonna scare the servants, love.”

“How long it’s been since your last visit here, Jaskier?” Geralt says, his frown deepening. “Who rules Lettenhove now, hm? Aren’t you only going to be a distant relative, a great-great-uncle risen from the grave?”

“I sure hope not,” Jaskier chuckles, stopping in front of the guards by the gate. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Viscount Julian, here to see the Viscountess Madeleine.”

“How can you still be a viscount?” Geralt blinks when one of the guards promptly disappears inside.

“We kind of decided to, you know, share the title,” Jaskier shrugs. “Seemed fair. Besides, father, well, the former viscount, insisted that I inherit the title, but he never mentioned anything about Mads not inheriting it, so…”

“How could your father have known who the viscount is going to be in almost a hundred years?”

“He really didn’t,” Jaskier chuckles. “See, it will all start to make sense once you meet her.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

The guard returns a few minutes later, telling them that the Viscountess will meet them in the garden.

Geralt, knowing a thing or two about nobility, think it’s a little weird, but isn’t about to protest. He only thinks he could have left the fancy clothes at the tavern.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Jaskier chuckles when Geralt voices this thought. “You look gorgeous.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned it a few times. But I didn’t have to look like that, because we’re going to meet the ruler of this land in a fucking garden, and–”

“Julian!”

A woman in a long white dress throws herself at Jaskier, who happily catches her. Geralt’s first instinct is to reach for his sword, only to realize that he (luckily) left it in the tavern – because Jaskier insisted, of course.

“Madeleine,” Jaskier chuckles. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Oh, yes. Shocking, isn’t it?” she laughs, pulling away from him, and for the first time, Geralt truly looks at her.

The woman is shorter than Jaskier, slim, and her dress is much, much simpler than Geralt would have expected considering the fact that is supposed to be a viscountess. She has dark, long hair and her face is so beautiful that it almost – but only almost – takes the focus off her pointed ears.

“Lady Madeleine,” Jaskier grins, “may I introduce Geralt of Rivia, my Witcher. Geralt, this is Lady Madeleine, the current ruler of Lettenhove and my younger sister.”

“You’re…” Geralt blinks.

“A half-elf, yes,” she nods. “Julian! You haven’t told him?”

“Hardly my fault. I really tried,” Jaskier shrugs. “But he just wouldn’t believe me.”

“So you brought him here to prove it to him, rather than to visit your beloved sister? You are a horrible, horrible sibling, Julian!”

“Your… sister,” Geralt mutters, all his thoughts speeding through his head, colliding and falling down, one over another.

“Yes, we definitely share a mother,” Jaskier confirms. “Most likely a father, too, and trust me, it wasn’t the old viscount. Madeleine got the elvish looks, I only got the non-aging bit. Well, apparently.”

“But…” Geralt blinks. “Your father. The title.”

“Yen was right, dear heart, you really don’t know shit about nobility,” Jaskier snorts. “But I admit that even though our dear departed noble father knew that Mads wasn’t his daughter, obviously, it never occurred to him that I might not be his true son.”

“But you don’t age!”

“In his defense, that only became clear after his unfortunate passing.”

“And you aren’t going to start to age anytime soon,” Geralt mutters. “You really aren’t.”

“Told you so, didn’t I?” Jaskier winks, letting go of his sister and wrapping his arms around his lover instead.

“I… I…” Geralt stammers. “Fuck.”

“Maybe later, love,” Jaskier smiles. “Madeleine, my dear, wouldn’t you say that my return calls for a feast?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I have started the preparations the second my spies informed me that you have crossed the border.”

“Oh, so we have spies now?”

“It’s really only a net of nosy old ladies, but it works wonders,” Madeleine laughs. “I must admit, though, that I was only planning a feast to celebrate you coming home, but now I see we have a much better reason to party. Tell me, brother, did you finally get your stupid Witcher?”

Jaskier smiles brightly, turning his head to Geralt.

“Yes. I finally got my stupid Witcher.”

“Party,” the Witcher in question growls. “Is that why you made me dress like a pompous prick?”

“No, that was because while I find your usual self extremely attractive, you still look much better when your hair is properly combed and you’re not covered in monster blood.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums, but wraps his arm around the bard to hold him close.

“Oh, yes, about monsters,” Madeleine says with the most innocent expression Geralt has seen since Ciri broke Vesemir’s favorite vase at Kaer Morhen. “You see, we have a tiny problem with a cockatrice…”

“Right,” Geralt nods. “I’ll go grab my armor from the tavern.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have already arranged for your things to be brought to the castle. And your horse,” she adds before Geralt can even open his mouth. “You can leave for your quest as soon as the servants get here.”

“So much for you not being covered in monster blood,” Jaskier sighs.

“Hm,” Geralt grins. “Lady Madeleine, I suppose you happen to have a bathtub somewhere in the castle?”

“Of course. In fact, there is a private bathroom right next to Julian’s bedroom.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier purrs. “You know me so well.”

“Yes, and I expect to get to know you even better. In another hundred years or so.”

Jaskier laughs, pulls Geralt closer to him and kisses him.

“Another thousand years, I’d say.”

“What… the… fuck?!” Geralt croaks, staring at the smouldering remains of the cockatrice that would have surely killed him if Jaskier… If Jaskier…

The bard looks at his hands, then at the cockatrice, and then back at his hands again.

“Geralt? I have a feeling that I’m not really… A half-elf.”

“No shit.”

“I think I might be… Uhm…”

“Oh, shit,” Geralt whispers.

“I suppose, uhm, you know…” Jaskier stammers, wiping his palms on his trousers like he could wipe away the feeling of literal flames shooting out of them mere moments ago.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to consult this with Yen.”

“Splendid,” Jaskier sighs. “Can it at least wait after the feast?”

“After more than a hundred years of you not even knowing, I think one feast will be fine.”

“Thank the gods. Madeleine would kill me if I tried to leave now,” Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s go, then. We need to get the fried monster remains out of your hair.”

“You’re… I was fucking right! You’re not a half-elf!”

“Yeah, you’re a great Witcher,” Jaskier nods, grabbing Geralt’s arm and dragging him away from the monster. “Didn’t notice I was secretly a fucking mage, but otherwise a great Witcher.”

“Explains a lot, though.”

“Does it now?”

“Yeah. I always had a thing for mages, you know.”

“Oh, Geralt. You’re such a fucking idiot,” Jaskier chuckles.

“Made you laugh,” Geralt shrugs, smiling.

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m so, so gonna drown you in that bathtub.”

“My love,” Geralt grins, “you’re more than welcome to try.”

***

Tagging @lottelorelei - I’m sorry I always forget to reply to your lovely comments, but believe me, they always put a big smile on my face! :)

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #my fics #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #idiots in love #immortal jaskier #non-human jaskier #they're stupid your honor #they share a single braincell #and yennefer has the custody of it #also madeleine hyland is jaskier's sister in this

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niksfics · 3 years

Text

↬ WHAT COULD NEVER BE

↬ PAIRINGS: bokuto x f!reader? (Side) atsumu x f!reader

↬ WARNINGS: nothing really. Just some heart wrenching angst, bokuto is careless with your heart I guess

↬ SUMMARY: you fell in love with your bestfriend but your bestfriend has never felt that way about you.

↬ A/N: I totally did not cry while writing this pft

↬ WC: | 1.7K |

My first year at Fukurodani had been lonely to say the least. I had been new to the area wheras everyone else had gone to middle school together, and I'd been the odd one out. The cliques had already formed leaving me to fend for myself.

My second year though I'd seen a flyer for the boys volleyball team needing a new manager. I signed my name against my better judgement and hoped for the best. When I'd shown up to the first practice game after a talk with the coach, I had realized signing that flyer was the best decision I'd ever made.

Bokuto Kotaro a second year -at the time- like myself was just a ball of energy. He was an honest to god enigma. Being around him was just intoxicating, a rollercoaster you never wanted off of. We got along fairly quickly and him and the rest of the boys had made my second year a little less lonely.

In my third year I was always greeted in the halls, by my fellow classmates who'd known me because of Bo. When he'd learned that I was basically friendless in my second year he'd gone around and introduced me to just about everyone he knew. Eyes shining with love and happiness. That was the third time my heart had skipped a beat because of him.

By the time I realized the butterflies in my stomach increased as the months went by in my eventful second year, the more I realized I was falling in love with my best friend. My heart thumping against my rib cage every time he'd look at me. My skin lighting on fire as his skin brushed against mine. My breath catching in my throat whenever he'd look at me a certain way, or whenever he leaned down to whisper something in my ear. He made me feel breathless and I could never get tired of it.

The day I realized my bestfriend, Bokuto Kotaro, just might not be in love with me as well was the day I'd stayed late after practice to put some of the equipment in the storage closet. I'd been proudly wearing his jacket. It swallowing my body because that's just how big he was. He'd rounded the corner into the closet and smiled at me sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Y/n, I was wondering," he'd paused and my heart beat against my chest almost as if it was gonna burst right through my skin. The breathless feeling coming back and I felt myself starting to smile until he'd finished his sentence, "well uhm... I was wondering if I could have my jacket back, Koyuki is cold and I don't want her to freeze," my smile dropped in an instant. The way he'd said her name, it was.. well it was different than whenever he said anybody else's name. "Oh yeah sure Bo, lemme just put this stuff down really fast," I'd turned from him nose stinging from the tears welling up in my eyes, and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat down. Suppressing every single emotion in my body.

I'd handed him his stupid jacket back and slammed the door closed as I watched him drape it over her shoulders and she smiled brightly at him.

I should have known then. Known that he was falling head over heels for akaashi's twin sister, because when bokuto falls in love it's not quiet, its loud and powerful and passionate and it'll swallow you up if you let it.

Koyuki akaashi did just that. Let his love consume her like the raging fire it was. They were a beautiful couple. A match made in heaven.

She was beautiful and confident. His personal little cheerleader. She was undoubtedly the most wanted girl at our school. She was perfect for him. I knew that. I felt it, and I tried my damn hardest to be so happy for him. To love him differently. The way he loved me. Platonically. I watched them fall in love.

Watched him kiss her with a passion I only dreamt of feeling from him. They held looks of love whenever they looked at the other. The hardest part though. The hardest part was she was the kindest, sweetest girl you'd ever meet. A heather. No hidden agenda. Nothing like those girlfriends in the cliche best friends to lovers trope books. She welcomed me as a friend and fully supported me as bokutos bestfriend. She was impossible to hate, and how could I hate her when she was the reason my best friend smiled the way he did. The reason his breath caught in his throat just the way mine did.

When we graduated and I'd become a cheerleader for the MSBY Black Jackals, because I'd promise Bo to not leave his side. Promised I'd followed him to the ends of the earth. We were y/n and bokuto. We came in a pair. It was hard. Hard being around him when he'd talk about Koyuki and how he couldn't wait to feel her again and how it was so hard being away from the person you love more than anything, and then he'd say "you know?" With his puppy eyes, and I'd just shrug and agree.

The way I'd wished and hoped that it wouldn't last. That somewhere in bokutos head he'd realize she wasn't the one. That they'd get in a fight too big to cool down from. The more I'd wished that the more I felt guilty. Why would I wanna ruin my bestfriends happiness? Why would I wish that to go away?

So when shoyo hinata asked me on a date, I'd excitedly agreed. Finally I could, maybe, forget about the big himbo I'd fallen for. No. In fact that made it worse. I found myself comparing hinata to bokuto. The way hinata walked, the way hinata talked, the way Hinata's touch didn't make my skin burn up quite like bokutos did. Me and hinata didn't last. It was a disease, and I was dying. Being eaten from the inside out. My very heart collapsing in on it self, and when he'd proposed to her. God, the way I cried. The way I ached. The way my chest clenched and the tears finally fell.

"Y/n, what's wrong?! What did I do?" He asked desperately grabbing my wrist as I'd gasped and tried to turn.

"Nothing Bo, I'm so happy for you!! These are happy tears Ko!"

He smiled big and bright. Bokuto wasn't dense. He was more aware of anyone's feelings than he was of his own. Either he saw the pain in my eyes that night and ignored it, or he saw it and in fear of our friendship crumbling right in our hands that night swallowed down what he'd wanted to say. It was the latter.

The day of the wedding finally came. Here I stood, next to my favorite boy. Waiting at the end of the aisle for a girl who was not me. My bestfriend, the boy.. no man I'm in love with. Tearing up as is his wife to be walked closer towards him.

Tears gathered in my eyes and I forced a smile as they fell down my face. Atsumu tapped my shoulder. I turned and he'd held open his arms. I'd buried myself in the tight embrace of the setter who knew. Who knew the story. Who'd held me as I cried many times. Times just like this one. He kisses the the top of my head and I turn back around catching the eyes of bokuto.

After the ceremony everyone had gathered at a venue for the reception. I walked away from the laughter. The buzz of the party and the cheers as the groom dipped the bride and kissed her.

Unfortunately for me, he'd soon noticed my absence and come to find me. "Y/n" he whispered hand closing over my elbow, and a warm, salty tear rolled down my cheek and stopped at the corner of my lip.

I turned away from the salty water washing over my feet, and my toes dug in the sand. "Don't touch me" I tried my hardest to sound determined, but my voice cracked.

"What was it? What does she have that I don't Ko?" I asked. Desperate. Reaching for anything. Grasping at straws.

That's when I looked at him, and his eyes said it all. He was never very good at hiding his emotions. His eyes always gave him away, and he'd known. He knew the whole time. I knew that now.

Lovely Bokuto Kotaro had known all along.

He was quiet for a minute. "You have everything that she has and more." He said what he felt and bokuto never lied. He hates lies I knew that.

"Then why not me? I know you knew. You knew the minute we were sitting in that boba shop and you looked at me staring at your hands interlocked. I know you realised. Then and there." I pulled my elbow away from his hand.

"I love you y/n, just not in the way I love koyuki," he says it so casually as if he'd just told me he'd left my purse on the counter. Not tenderly. Not carefully.

My eyes closed collecting myself, "don't you think I know that Bokuto? Don't you think I've cried over that every night for years? I know you do, and God it's so fucking hard to be happy, and bite my tongue. To swallow down the word vomit, because I love you so fucking much, kotaro. I've loved you since the middle of our second year, but now you've gotta let me go. Leave me behind." I turned back facing him again.

"Please don't ask that of me, you know I can't do that. That'll kill me sweets-" I stopped him and turned to glare at him, "you can't fucking call me that anymore. That's a pet name for lovers, not for a man who is married to use on his bestfriend."

You could hear someone walking towards you guys, "y/n?" You knew that voice. "I'm here tsumu," you sighed. Moving around bokuto and walking closer to the setter. "Just... just.. enjoy you're honeymoon Bokuto, and please let me move on and heal. Congratulations on your marriage"

You smiled softly at him kissing bokuto on the cheek as you took the hand of the blonde. Atsumu smiled down at you, heart beating faster just like yours did the day you made eye contact with bokuto for the very first time.

#bokuto #akaashi keiji #sad angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst #bokuto angst #miya atsumu #atsumu #hq atsumu #hq bokuto #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #hinata shoyo #shoyo hinata x reader #bokuto kotaro #hq hinata

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Note

Can u pls write something like dark!reader x steve rogers high school AU , where R is rich spoil brat & she always had a crush on steve but she always bully him by calling him skinny and all and Then yrs later, time changes her family discarded her from will and she becomes poor and need job, got hired for PA by dark ceo!steve rogers who she bullied her all school lifee😈😈

okay this is a lot for a headcanon but I don’t have time to do a whole oneshot BUT I also really like it so we’re gonna just make a longass headcanon here we gooooo

warnings for heavy dub con, choking, slapping, degradation (by steve), bullying (by the reader), abortion mention, brief mention of/implied assault.

“heyo pipsqueak” you called out to get steve’s attention, laughing when he frowned. “looks like you grew a whole inch over summer, be sure to have your mom draw a line in pencil on the doorframe.”

he just rolled his eyes and got back to chatting with his friend. not friends, friend, cause he only had one: bucky, who snarled at you as well.

“pick on someone your own size, if you can find somebody with as big a head as you,” bucky shot back, making you scoff.

“you know, it’s a shame you hang out with this deformed freak, you could’ve been popular. you’ve got the looks for it.”

“I’d rather keep my brains, thanks,” bucky explained as you walked away with your posse of fellow popular kids.

you didn’t used to be so mean to steve. it was sort of a comedy of errors, really. you two had been friends in elementary school-- you, him, and bucky were the rambunctious trio up until middle school.

things change for boys and girls in middle school. guys just get along with each other and don’t think about it much. girls, though... girls need to be sharp. it’s eat or be eaten. and you wanted to eat.

you were lucky that you developed early. it meant that girls respected you and boys feared you-- not just for your attractive features but for the fact that you loomed a foot over most of them.

you started to take advantage of it. and by the time you realized you had feelings for your best friend steve, it was already too late-- he was at the bottom of the food chain and you were at the top.

you told your new girl friends that you wanted to take steve to the sadie hawkins. they laughed at you. for a moment, you felt what it was like to be outcast and you never wanted to feel it again. so, you told steve and bucky that you’d grown apart. and you were happy to just be former friends...

it was steve that started it. he called you out. he told you that you were nothing like who he used to know-- you had become vapid and cold and narcissistic.

“you’re so busy worrying about what other people think, you never take the time to think for yourself.” that was what he said. and it fucking hurt.

“saw you talking to your boyfriend steve the dweeb,” your friend tanya announced at lunch just a few minutes after that conversation. and you were angry, and hurt, and truly friendless despite being surrounded by other popular girls. so you said some things you could never take back.

“steve? as if. did you know he still sleeps with a security blanket? and he has his friend bucky fight for him every week cause if he took a punch he’d crumble to dust?”

and so, mortal enemies were formed. it only got worse in high school, as you fought to secure your title at the top while steve and bucky’s presence filled your heart with guilt and your gut with anger.

if only you’d known how quickly you could fall from your high horse.

it started when you dated tanya’s ex, brock. she was made so she spread a rumor that you would fuck any guy on the football team, even all of them at once.

apparently, a lot of people believed it since tanya had been your sidekick since 6th grade.

two football players believed it. and when you wouldn’t follow through on it, you got yourself a black eye.

that meant you missed school for a week because you couldn’t possibly show up looking like that. tanya told everyone it was because you got grounded and sent away to church camp after your parents caught you in bed with one of the neighbors. so now your reputation was ‘sleeps with football players and old men.’

only brock had been there for you.... but it turned out he had motives of his own. you had originally planned to wait until college, but brock was clearly wanting something in return for putting up with dating pariah #1... so you let him take your virginity.

the condom broke. when you dashed to the trash can to hurl in the middle of history class, you knew something was wrong. (and lost that many more social points in the process.)

brock dumped you the second he found out you were pregnant. didn’t even help you pay for the abortion. he got back together with tanya and told her the real reason for your ‘medical absence’. and that was the last straw for the former homecoming queen.

the humiliation drove you to some.... poor choices, for the next few years. you tried not to think about them now, but it was hard not to when their consequences were staring you right in the face: no money, no job, nearly homeless, and desperate.

over a hundred job applications later, only one had called you back and scheduled an interview. and you only needed one.

so there you were, waiting in the chilly lobby area while the receptionist typed away and chomped her gum, tapping your toes and glancing out the window occasionally.

you were surprised when you had been told your interview would be on the 51st floor. you sort of assumed it would just be some random manager interviewing you, not somebody important enough to have a waiting room like this, or a view like this.

when a man stepped out from the nearby hallway, your eyes went wide. he was tall, and handsome, and obviously muscular underneath the exquisite suit. you suddenly felt underdressed in your hand-me-down business clothes.

then he called your name. and you realized he was going to interview you.

you stood up and nodded. “you can follow me to my office,” he instructed with a smile, leading you down the hall to the corner office. you were in awe of the grandiosity of it all. you were dumbfounded when you saw CEO on the door.

“there must have been a mistake,” you explained as he shut the door behind you. “I... I’m just interviewing for an entry-level position.”

“no, there’s no mistake,” he shook his head, “I have you exactly where I want you. take a seat.”

he circled his desk and sat on the other side of it, resting his elbows on the desk and giving you an oddly smug smile. an awkward silence was finally broken when he realized, “you must not remember me.”

“I... have we met?”

“I don’t blame you, I look pretty different,” he shrugged. “I must’ve grown a whole inch this summer.”

you gave him a confused look before realization dawned on you, along with shame, and fear.

“oh... oh my god, Steve?!” you squawked. he just grinned. “you look... you look...”

“taller?”

sexy.

“you look great!” you said aloud instead.

“yeah,” he agreed, “wish I could say the same for you.”

you swallowed dryly. “so that’s what you want,” you sighed, “to get back at me. I understand. I deserve it...”

“I don’t want revenge,” he denied. “I’m just sorry to see you haven’t been... thriving, since high school. your job history--” he scanned your resume briefly-- “well, you don’t have one. have you been slumming it all this time?”

“without my parents’ money? yeah,” you admitted.

“surprised you applied here, instead of turning tricks on 5th and Columbus.”

your back straightened and your eyes went wide at that comment.

“I mean, you’re already dressed for it,” he smirked.

you stood up and crossed your arms. “if you’re just going to insult me, then I’ll leave now. I’m sorry for everything I did to you, steve,” you announced, voice shaky with oncoming tears.

“can you really afford to leave?” he pressed. “if you have a chance at a job?”

that, unfortunately, got your attention. “you... you might actually offer me something?”

“I will offer you something,” he corrected, “if you just sit down and listen.”

you relented, returning to your seat. you could stand a lot more insults if there was money on the line.

“to be honest, there’s no way I can hire you for the position you applied for,” he sighed. “you’re just underqualified. but I think I can create a position for you.”

you liked the sound of that. “what kind of position?”

“well, that’s tricky, seeing as you don’t have any skills,” he frowned, “except one. so that’s the one I plan on using.”

the look in his eyes made it all too clear what he was referring to, but as you shrunk into the leather chair he went ahead and clarified.

“I’ll pay you whatever salary you saw in the ad. but you won’t be doing data analysis or office management or anything like that. all you’ll be doing is spreading your legs for me whenever I fucking want.”

fear shot up your spine; his eyes were devouring you, pinning you to the chair, and you tried to process that. “I--”

“before you say anything,” he interrupted immediately, “let’s just be perfectly clear that this might be your only shot at a real job. what I’m offering has better pay than stripping, and better benefits than hooking. and unless you have any education or experience I don’t know about, you’re totally fucked.”

“seems like I’m fucked either way,” you mumbled, making him laugh.

“see, you’ve still got that sharp tongue,” he grinned. “can’t wait to put it to better use.”

maybe it was just desperation for cash. maybe it was because he was good-looking and you could do a lot worse. maybe it was because, on some level, you felt like you deserved his punishment after how horribly you’d treated him.

“I’ll do it,” you sighed. “when do I start?”

he stood up and reached across the desk to grab your neck, glaring at you. “right now.”

his free hand was already fumbling with his belt, the one on your throat guiding you downwards. “on your knees,” he instructed, and you slipped out of the chair and onto the floor.

he let go of your neck and you figured he was going to come to you, but instead he stood still and demanded: “crawl.”

debasing as it was, you crawled on your knees to his side of the desk, and he laughed at you bitterly. when you reached his feet and popped back up, you gasped at the sight of his hard cock right in front of your face. it was bigger than your face. and it was dripping precum.

“don’t get so bug-eyed, you can handle it,” he grinned. “if your mouth’s as big as I remember...”

you didn’t want to hear any more. you just wanted to get this over with, so you quickly took his head between your lips and started to suck. you were shocked when he slapped you, hard enough to knock his length from your mouth and to make you reach up and clutch your stinging cheek.

“fucking whore,” he grimaced, “did I say you could put it in your mouth? god, you’re so fucking desperate. just open your fucking mouth and I’ll show you what I want, okay?”

you nodded and stammered an apology, looking up at him with watery eyes and an open mouth. he swiped the latest drop of precum on your tongue before gliding his cock over it, grabbing your hair to keep you steady as he pushed himself to the back of your throat.

“fuck, that’s better,” he sighed. “so much better when you just do what you’re told. I remember how you used to be so cruel with this mouth. now you’re being so welcoming...”

you just sat there and let him use your mouth, trying not to gag when he hit your throat.

“look up at me,” he instructed, “yeah, that’s it. can’t have you forgetting who’s doing this to you, now can we?”

that went on for a bit longer until mascara-stained tears streaked your face, which he seemed rather proud of.

“damn, wouldn’t mind having you swallow my come right now,” he admitted, “but I have bigger plans. get up, bend over my desk.”

you coughed briefly when he pulled out, but did as you were told. he instantly yanked your skirt up over your ass and spanked you several times roughly, making you sob and whine.

“wanna see this ass all bruised up in the shape of my hand,” he explained. “so we can both remember how hard I fucked you.”

he tore your panties like they were paper, chuckling when he found you already wet.

“dripping already, just from choking on my cock? poor baby...”

you spread your legs slightly, though you were sure nothing was going to adequately prepare you for his size.

“you figured out how to use birth control since graduating, right?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. “good. cause I’m not using a condom,” he continued as he let his cock glide over your folds, groaning slightly, “and there’s no way in hell I’m pulling out.”

he pushed forward in one brutal stroke, making you cry out loudly. you really hoped these rooms were mostly soundproof.

“shit, you’re tight,” he hissed, already pulling back and thrusting back in. “clearly you recovered from your years of slutting it up in high school.”

“that-- that wasn’t true,” you defended.

“oh, just shut up,” he growled.

he fucked you fast and deep, his hips pushing yours into the edge of his desk with each thrust. his hands pinned you down at your shoulders, another reminder that you were entirely at his mercy.

“fuck, this is just what you needed... somebody to put you in your place. makes sense that it should be me, since you hated me so much.”

“I didn’t h-hate you,” you hiccuped.

“yeah, you wanted me, didn’t you?”

“always,” you admitted.

“wanted my fat fuckin’ cock to tear up your pussy? is that it?”

“yes,” you moaned, “yes, steve, wanted to be yours.”

“even when I was skinny and short?”

“even when you hated me,” you added.

he growled slightly and you felt your walls tighten around him suddenly. he chuckled, clearly aware that you were enjoying this.

“you want more, baby? want me to fuck you harder?”

“whatever you want,” you answered instead. “just use me however you want.”

he moaned and leaned down to cage your body in with his. “fuck, baby... you’re taking this better than I thought you would. such a good girl for me, huh? such a good little slut. want me to use you, baby? take all my anger out on you?”

“yes,” you whispered, sobbing when he began to fuck you more brutally than you thought possible. but it felt good. so good that your legs were shaking, so good that you felt even better when he tugged your hair.

“yeah, gonna come on my cock, aren’t you?”

you nodded and bit your lip.

“m’ close too,” he admitted, “you’re gonna be so full of my come, it’s gonna be dripping down your legs when you walk out of here...”

your orgasm made your body shake and your eyes roll back.

“fuck, I can feel you coming,” he groaned, “fuck, just like that-- fuck!”

you felt his warmth fill you as his cock flexed against your walls. you were busy trying to catch your breath when he slumped down on top of you and pushed the air from your lungs.

“damn... didn’t think I was gonna come that fast,” he sighed. “see what you do to me? fuck, I knew this was a good idea.”

sure, it felt good, but you were sure he was only going to get rougher and meaner the longer this went on. you couldn’t imagine how you were going to get out of here without somebody noticing your wrinkled clothes, messed-up hair and, as he’d pointed out himself, come all over your thighs.

“guess I’ll see you at 8am tomorrow, huh?” he chuckled, giving you an unexpected peck on the cheek. you couldn’t answer, though, interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing. “oh, sorry, gotta get this.”

he reached for the phone and picked it up, bringing to his ear all without pulling out of you or even lifting his body from on top of yours.

“bucky, hey,” steve grinned as he spoke into the phone, looking down at you and stroking your hair, “you’re not gonna believe who I ran into today...”

#dark!steve rogers x reader #ceo!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers hc #dark!steve rogers smut #Anonymous

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?��

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

#ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

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6sakusa · 3 years

Text

‘broken’ miya atsumu.

a/n : lol i almost cried writing this so enjoy.

warnings : angst, physical violence (slap), mentions of cheating, mild swearing, me not proof reading.

“y/n, i love you and i want to spend the rest of my life by your side, so will you marry me?” you watched your boyfriend of four years get on one knee. he had told you earlier on to dress up nicely as it was a ‘special’ occasion. you assumed the only reason was the fact that the two of you were going to one of the best resturants in the city which would no doubt produce a bank breaking bill. but you were wrong, the occasion was special and you could easily name it as one of the best moments of your life.

it was hard to imagine that anything would be able to overshadow this, the feeling of bliss in your heart as he said those words to you, the sparkle in your eyes as you watched him pull at the ring which he clearly spent a fortune on, the round of applause ringing in the background from the on-lookers who were also dining. perhaps the only thing that would be better than this would be the birth of your first child, or all your children in fact.

you’d always imagined a life with miya atsumu the moment he asked you to be his girlfriend, you knew that he was more of the apartment type, specifically penthouses since his professional volleyball career allowed him a generous pay. you on the other hand had always been a house type, you longed for something big enough to nurture a family in, the two of you had been bickering about this for years since high school since the both of you were so sure that you would end up being his wife.

“yes, yes, yes oh my god of course i’ll marry you.” you squealed in excitement leaping into his arms with the biggest smile you had ever flaunted in your entire life. and those were the words he wanted to hear more than anything because he too had imagined a perfect life with you.. if only he could abide by it.

you rested in his arms, only pulling away to run your fingers over the pricey ring he had bought you. and of course he knew you’d love it when you had it saved to one of your pinterest boards for years.

“congratulations.” an array of customers proclaimed giving in to the celebratory atmosphere. truly, this was everything you could have asked for in life, you had a wonderful fiance, a beautiful place to live, you were thriving in your career and your social life was buzzing, curtesy of many of atsumu’s friends.

“do you like it?” he asked taking your hand to admire how beautiful you looked under the lighting positioned directly under your table. in addition, the stunning dress you had picked for the night was making you anything but resistible. how badly he wanted to tear the fabric off you and pound into you until sunrise was something he was struggling to hide.

“it’s beautiful.” you were mesmerised by the sight of it and your fiancé’s thoughtfulness, there was a love erupting in you that you weren’t even aware it was possible to feel for another person.

“let’s go home and.. celebrate.” he smirked with a smug expression on his face leading you towards the car. you knew exactly what he was thinking and how needy he was getting but tonight especially you would allow him to indulge in his lewd thoughts.

he held the car door open for you, he noted how much you loved this model, in fact it was your favourite one. it was one of the many things he noted about you as he planned to buy all the things you liked. maybe then you would forgive him, right? he hoped so.

he tapped against the steering wheel as the two of you drove down the night streets of tokyo, you assumed it was out of impatience because you were too distracted by your own thoughts to be as observant as usual with your boyfriends emotional state.

“y/n.. i need to tell you something.” he looked out of the window avoiding making eye contact with you as his drumming got louder. you turned to face him, readying yourself for him to make one of his usual silly jokes, or maybe one of his lewd speeches that would often come out when he got particularly riled up by you.

“what is it?” you asked with a light chuckle, the atmosphere of just a few minutes ago still buzzing within you.

“i- there’s no right way to say this but .. a couple months ago i slept with another woman and — i can’t bear the thought of you marrying me without knowing.” his words spilled out, there was barely a space between them and to any one else it would have been completely incoherent.

“what are you talking about ‘tsumu? that’s not funny.” you rolled your eyes with a smile leaning back into the passenger seat feeling the way the car moved on the smooth roads beneath you. there was a brief pause before atsumu decided to speak again, and between those seconds you thought absolutely nothing of his words. how you wish he would have just laughed along and stayed quiet, why? why did he have to tell you?

“i’m being serious.” he clenched his jaw causing you to whip your head in his direction, his eyes were still ahead on the road but he could feel your glare boaring into his skull. he couldn’t bare to face you, no — he didn’t deserve to face you.

“what?” your expression faltered, a new atmosphere dawned between the both of you. one that was a lot thicker — almost suffocating and heavily juxtaposed the one from the resturant. there was a million thoughts going through your mind right now, how was this possible? how did you not notice? how long had this been going on? why was he just telling you now? it was almost impossible to process it all at once with the feeling of your heart pounding out of your chest and your stomach getting ready to reject the food that you had eaten just minutes ago.

“i’m sorry i just, i got carried away that day you know? it was only a one time thing but i—“ his voice was cut off by a harsh slap to his cheek. you watched as the surface of his face turned red, he didn’t bother reprimanding you for getting physical, if he was being honest he expected it from you, actually he expected more. it was almost scary the way you weren’t shouting and screaming at him, the way you weren’t kicking and clawing away at him, it made him feel all the much worse.

you sighed to yourself, your breath was shaky as your heart was shattering in your chest and you hadn’t even noticed that you were crying. maybe it was because you were too occupied realising the way your life had all come crashing down in a matter of moments. your fiancé had cheated on you.. what does that mean for your relationship? would you even call him your fiancé anymore? and what about your home with him? not to mention the friendships you had with an array of his friends. what did this all mean?

“why?” your voice was below a whisper, you could barely muster up the voice to speak, there was a sickening feeling in your chest that you were way too focused on instead of your words.

“it wasn’t you.. it’s never been you, you’re perfect you’re everything i’ve ever wanted, i don’t know why, i’m just an idiot i was so stupid and i’ve regretted it everyday since... but i’m gonna fix it i promise i’ll fix it.” his voice was shaky and uneven, you could tell without looking at him that he was on the verge of tears. but that was nothing compared to what you were feeling. the fact that you had laid next to him for months without knowing that he had bedded another woman. did he touch her the way he did you? did he prefer her to you? was she prettier than you?

“how? how are you going to fix it?” you turned to him, tears staining your mascara and eyeliner, there was no doubt know that you looked like a mess. what you didn’t know is that atsumu still thought you were the prettiest girl in the world but you were too occupied being hit by the crushing realisation that the best moment of your life had just turned into the worst. love had so easily turned to hate and all your time together meant absolutely nothing to you anymore.

“well we’re going to get married right? and you’ve always liked this car right babe? i’ll buy you one. and there’s that house you always wanted, i can put a down payment on it today—“

“no.” you buried your head into your hands at the thought of your next words. four years? what did four years of your life mean now? what did you have left? “we’re not getting married.”

“wha— but you already said yes, come on don’t be like that, don’t you remember it was just a few minutes ago, you were so happy.” he spewed out words frantically, desperate to say something, anything, that would make you stay. he was prepared to sell his soul if it meant keeping you by his side, the only woman he had ever loved, the only one he had ever imagined a future with, the only one he wanted to start a family with, you were his everything.

“that was before you told me that you cheated on me and here you are throwing all these material things at me, a car? really miya? four years together and you’re here treating me like some gold-digging whore after breaking my heart? that’s why you proposed to me isn’t it? you think this ring will make me stay.” you were crying uncontrollably now and nothing atsumu could say to you or offer you would ever make you feel better.

“miya? y/n please i don’t know what else to do i’m trying to be honest with you—“

“pull over.” you interrupted him once again and he had no choice but to oblige. he knew that right now he was in no position to deny your wishes. but this was all temporary.. because you would come around right?

“i don’t understand why you would do this to me.” you bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, your head was spinning and it felt like your throat was closing up. you needed to leave, because miya atsumu was now too suffocating for you to be around.

“i know, i know i’m sorry, please y/n i’m so sorry — look i’m getting the house now i still want a future with you.” he tugged on your arm begging you to look at his phone where he was already entering his account details for the place you had been fawning over.

“don’t fucking touch me.” you swatted his hand away. you didn’t want him to be anywhere near you knowing how close he had been with another.

“i’ll give you space if you need it, i’ll give you whatever you want just please — don’t leave me, please don’t.” his hands were shaking now as he tried entering various different numbers into his phone, he didn’t care if he had to buy the entire house now, he’d pay for the whole thing this second if it meant he could walk you down the aisle in a couple months time.

“i don’t need anything from you.. i don’t want this anymore, forget about that house, forget about a family together, forget about marrying me.”

“no no no y/n you’re just angry right now but please don’t say things like that you don’t know how it makes me feel.” he turned to face you and his heart clenched at the tears running down your face. your makeup was smudged and you had pushed yourself to the very edge of the car just to make sure you were as far away from him as possible.

“and what about how i feel huh? did you think about that when you were fucking some other girl wherever the two of you were? you have no idea how i feel, you have no idea..” you brought your hands to your face, concealing your weak figure from his eyes.

“i don’t want this.” you removed the ring from your finger, the same one you had saved to your pinterest board for years, the same one you had imagined atsumu using to propose to you countless times, the same one that had featured in both the best and worst moment of your life.

“y/n please..” his words were stuck in his throat now, he was finally realising that there was nothing he could say — nothing he could do to make you stay. you wouldn’t come around, you respected yourself too highly for that, he would never be able to call you his again. what did his life mean?

“i hate you miya atsumu.” you pushed the door open walking out of his car despite how much he begged you to stay. you didn’t care how he chased you down the road, you didn’t care what he said to you, you didn’t think you would ever care again.. you didn’t have it in you.

and the curse placed upon atsumu? he would never be able to find love again, because he betrayed the only person to stay by his side with unconditional love for years .. there was no one on the planet who loved him the way you did.

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

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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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

I Could Care Less (About You)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

A/N: I wanted to write something around the time when Arella first got to the devildom. We all know Mammon didn't like the MC very much. It's my own thoughts that he was especially mean in those first few weeks up until they made the pact and I kind of wanted to explore that in terms of his and Arella's relationship.

It all started with small acts of kindness. Taking the fall for him when items would go missing so he wouldn’t get strung up from the ceiling, saving a plate for him when he was late for dinner, letting him copy her homework when he didn’t finish his in time. Mammon can’t understand it. He and this human hardly know anything about each other but here she is, doing little things that would make his life just a little bit easier. Hell, he’d even stolen multiple objects of value from Arella and yet she never ratted him out to his brother despite knowing damn well who did it. She just let it slide.

If he’s being honest, it scares him. Did she like him that much or could she possibly want from something from him? Mammon was sure she was gearing up to ask for a favor from him. He decided whatever it was he wouldn’t do it. He may have had the task of looking after this human forced upon him by Lucifer but he wasn’t about to sit back and comply with it.

The demon made sure to let the human know what an inconvenience she was to him almost every day- most typically whenever he had to cancel his own plans to escort her around town. She took it like a champ though, never seeming to let it bother her. She was so kind it was almost annoying. Maybe it really didn’t bother her. That must be the only reason she’s pestering him now. He did have to give her credit for her persistence though.

“Come on, Mammon! Lucifer left me in charge of the grocery shopping and I can’t go out alone or I’ll get eaten.” Arella said as she trailed after the Avatar of Greed. Having only been here in the Devildom for only a handful of weeks, she was still actually afraid that a lower demon might make a snack out of her.

“Ask one of my brothers ta take ya. I got plans and you’re not ruinin’ ‘em this time.”

Had any of the other brothers been home, Arella gladly would have asked one of them, but they weren’t- not even Mr. Shut-In himself! It was just her and her insensitive guardian demon.

“They’re not home, you know that.”

“I don’t give a shit, human! You got a phone. Just text ‘em. Now scram! I got a poker game ta get to and you’re holdin’ me up.”

“B-but-”

“Diavolo almighty,” Mammon groans as he turns to her, “I guess ya didn’t hear me clear enough the first time so I’ll say it again nice’ an’ slow for ya so try to keep up, ‘kay? I do not care about you. I hate the fact that I have to babysit ya. You could get eaten and I couldn’t care less. Infact, my life would be considerably easier if ya weren’t around. Got it?”

“O-Okay,” Arella squeaked under the intensity of the white-haired demon’s gaze. “Understandable, have a good night then.... hope you win a lot.”

“Whatever,” Mammon huffs with a roll of the eyes. “I don’t need your well wishes.” With that, Mammon turns and heads out the door.

As she watched him go, Arella bit her lip to hold back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Once she was sure the demon was gone, the human sank down to floor, quiet sobs shaking her small frame. All she wanted was just an hour or two out of his time and he wouldn’t even give her that. She had never felt so resented before in all her 21 years of life- not even when her mother was alive had it ever been this bad. Now, as she wiped at her eyes, it really set in that she was left with no other option but to do this alone- gods forbid she ask one of the others for help and then it somehow get back to Lucifer that Mammon wasn’t doing his job. She would never hear the end of it from the greedy demon.

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The trip to and from the store had gone smooth enough. No demons had really bothered to pay her any mind, not even when she slipped off one of the higher shelves and smacked her head on the shopping cart resulting in the ugly bruise that had formed on the outer edge of her right eye. Bruises were something Arella was used to covering up, so it would be a simple enough task. She only had a little way left to go before she made it back to the House of Lamentation, but nothing can ever be easy for Arella.

Standing at the gates, blocking her path, was a small pack of demons. She had seen them eyeing her up in the halls at RAD during the passing periods. As they turned to her, Arella panicked- her heart rate skyrocketing as her body screamed at her to run. She wanted to but her feet wouldn’t move. It wasn’t until her brain processed that they were moving did her body actually turn to run. By then it was too late, they were upon her in seconds, knocking her to the ground with a tackle as she struggled and let out a scream.”

“Lookit you,” the one she presumed to be the leader smiled as he brushed some of the hair away from her face. “You sure do look tasty. I wonder where we should start first with you... dark or light meat?” He took a hold of her wrist, pulling it toward his mouth. He was about to bite down when...

“Hey! The fuck do the five of ya think you’re doing?!” The Avatar of Greed snarls as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. He had been in a good night after having won nearly all the games he’d played tonight before decided to call it quits- now it was soured. “Ya know what? I’m feelin’ generous tonight, so I’ll give y’all five seconds to get off that stupid human before I gut ya and string ya up by your entrails.”

He only needed until the count of one and a change into his demon form before the pack of demons made the right choice and booked it. The Avatar of Greed let out an irritated sigh as he walked over to Arella and hoisted her up by the arm.

“You’re fucking lucky, ya know that, girly? If I didn’t come home when I did, you’d be dead right now. How are you that damn stupid, huh?”

“’m sorry, I-,” Her voice was small and a little bit slurred as she tried to get her footing.

“I don’t wanna hear any excuses, right now. Just get inside the house go lay down or somethin’- whatever it is that you humans do ta calm down.” He gave her a bit of a rough shove and she scrambled for the doors while he gathered up the bags she had dropped and brought them inside the house.

Arella made a beeline for her room and curled up under the covers. Her headache from the fall earlier was even worse and now her arm was hurting from the strength of Mammon’s grip when he pulled her up from the ground.

“I want to go home....” she sniffled quietly into her pillow. “I should have never done this.”

The human thought she’d find a place for herself on this exchange programme but now she thinks this was all a big mistake. She had no idea what exactly she was signing up for only that something in the back of her mind yelling at her to do so. These last few weeks had done nothing but to serve her late mother’s words as true: that she was trash and so deserved to be treated as such.

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Out in the kitchen, Mammon is unloading and putting away the groceries that weren’t crushed or broken after the incident outside when he came across a bag filled exclusively with cup noodles. There had to have been at least twenty of them that she had managed to cram into the bag- all in his favorite flavor no less. A look of surprise crossed his face. He had only mentioned this in passing to her once before and he wondered how she managed to get her hands on them as this specific flavor was kept on the top shelf of that section. Not something that would be a problem for someone as tall as himself but for her? She was 4’11”! She would have had to scale the shelfs just to have even the smallest chance of reaching them.

Setting the package of cup noodles he was holding down, Mammon looked to Arella’s door before looking back to the noodles. Again, those questions rang in his head. Just what was her deal? He thinks, she’s always doin’ all these favors for me and never asks for anything in return from me. Well, no I can’t say that... She did ask one thing of me and that was ta go grocery shoppin’ with her because she was afraid ta go alone- for me ta do the one job Lucifer assigned me and I essentially told her ta fuck off. The demon thinks back to their earlier exchange- how he could see the fear in her eyes and the tears that were starting to form right before he left. Great.... Now I feel guilty... I should probably go apologize and see if I can get her to stay quiet ‘bout this whole thing...

Knocking on the door- something the demon hardly ever did- Mammon waited for a response. When he didn’t get one, he just let himself in. “Arella I-!” He stopped as there was there was a noticeable flinch from under the covers.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaked out, “Don’t hurt me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her response. Did she really think he was going to hurt her somehow? Well, all things considered, the demon can’t say he’s really all that surprised. He grabs the ends of the duvet and yanks it off of her, watching as Arella curls up and raises her arms to shield her head as if readying herself for blows that would never come.

Mammon knows that response all too intimately from the times where Lucifer would beat the ever-loving fuck out of him for indulging in his sin.

“Hey, calm down, okay. I ain’t gonna lay a hand on ya like that. Not only would Lucifer have my head, but I ain’t about beatin’ up on girls anyway.” He kneels down at the side of her bed and is horrified to see an ugly bruise marring the skin beside her eye. She does eventually calm down and pulls her arms away from her head after a few minutes of nothing happening. “Atta girl, now look at me,”

When Arella does open her pupils are dilated and now the demon is a little concerned. Humans’ pupils aren’t supposed to be that dilated, are they? That would mean... Mammon fishes his D.D.D. out of his pocket and shines the flashlight right in her eyes.

“What the fuck, Mammon!” Arella recoils as she hides her face once more and Mammon turns the flashlight off. “You’re such an ass!”

“I knew it.” He tsks, “When did you hit your head? Was it when those idiots tackled you to the ground or did you fall off one of the selves at the store?”

“I didn’t hit my head!” The human retorts, “I’m fine, my head just hurts.”

“Ya got a concussion, ya dumb human! Now out with it. Ya very obviously fell and I wanna know when it happened and how high you fell from!” For someone who couldn’t care less about her, he’s surprisingly concerned right now. If she slipped off one of the shelves at the store, he would be in hot water with Lucifer.

“I said I’m fine!” Arella abruptly stood up, swaying as she did, glaring daggers at the white-haired demon who looked up at her with a look of shock. Where did his docile little human go? “And what do you care anyway!? You said it yourself: You hate me and I’m just an inconvenience to you!”

“Now hold on a tick, I never said that exactly. You’re puttin’ words in my mouth. And you’re gonna fall standin’ on the bed like that. You’re already wobblin’.” he may not have said the part about hating her outright but at the very least he heavily implied it.

“Just get out of my ro-” She let out a yelp as she went toppling forward and the demon rushed to catch her. She landed slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“See I told ya you were gonna fall.” He huffed as he readjusted her while she pounded her fists against his back, struggling against his hold on her as he headed back out to the kitchen.

“Mammon, you put me down this instant! I’m not a sack of flour!”

“Stop being a brat and let me help ya!” The Avatar of Greed says as he places her on the island counter top. “Now stay there while I get you some ice for that bruise and some medicine for that headache of yours.”

Arella just sits there in shock of what he said. He wanted to... help her? That was new. She’s drawn out of her thoughts a few minutes later when she feels of bag of ice being pressed against the bruise. She let out a hiss as she tries to move away from it but it’s then that she notices his hand holding the other side of her face so she can’t move all that much.

“Quit squirming, will ya. It’s just a bag of ice.” He looks into her eyes before shifting the bag of ice over and running his thumb over the outside of her eye socket. “Doesn’t feel like anything’s busted in there. Ya got off lucky, kid... here take these.” he has a pill in his hand

“I’m not a kid,” Arella puffs her cheeks out in a pout. “Why’re you doing this when you said earlier that you didn’t care about me...?” she takes the medicine with a swig of water.

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m only doing this because if Lucifer finds out that you went to the store without me, I’ll be hanging from my toes for the next of the week. I’d rather not have a concussion of my own from getting dropped on my head when he decides I learned my lesson.”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t...” she says softly, “You don’t have to be nice to me. I know I don’t deserve it...”

“Huh?”

“N-nothing.”

“Now hold on there,” The demon says as he moves the bag back to where it was before, “You’re not gonna speed past that and act like ya didn’t just say what ya just said.”

“It’s nothing really,” Arella eyes dart around looking everywhere but Mammon’s. “Let’s just change the subject.”

“Alright, you can answer my earlier question then. How did you fall?”

“I slipped while climbing down from one of the shelving units at the store.... and smacked my head on the shopping cart.”

“No offense, but you’re kinda dumb. You were tryin’ ta get those noodles down, weren’t ya? You could have just grabbed whatever was at eye level or in your reach. You would have been an easy meal for a demon if you had passed out.”

“I know,” She sighed. “But that flavor is your favorite and I got everybody else’s favorites. It wouldn’t have been fair to not get yours.”

“It ain’t worth a concussion, short stack.” Once he’s sure she won’t move away, he lowers his hand from the side that isn’t icing the bruise and places it over hers. “Thanks though. And... I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t think you’d actually go out and try to get yourself eaten because I said I wouldn’t care.”

“I mean, that wasn’t my goal,” She sighed. “But I guess that’s the mess I got myself into huh?”

“Ya wouldn’t have if I would have done my job and gone with ya...” He scoots her over and then hops up on the island counter next to her. “I don’t get you, ya know...”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re too nice to me. I’ve been a jackass ta ya but you never seem to let it bother ya. You’re always coverin’ for me when I steal things from the house ta sell and you never said anything after I stole that necklace and other things from you. You save my plate at dinner when I don’t make it right away and you’ve lied right ta Lucifer’s face on multiple accounts for me... why? Why do you do these things?”

“I just wanted you to be nice to me. I know I just kind of got forced on you... I thought maybe if I extended the olive branch first, we could be at least somewhat civil with each other... but no matter what I did, it didn’t change the way you treated me so I just kept pushing harder and harder to see if maybe...”

“I get what you’re sayin’...” he hummed. “Let’s start over then... I’ll look out for ya for the rest of the year if you’ll forgive me... It would be ta both of our benefit.”

She nodded as he hopped down from the counter. “Alright, let’s go then.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Back ta the store, some of the stuff ya bought got damaged when those demons attacked ya.”

“Oh... Alright... This isn’t some kind of trick, is it? You’re not going to ditch me, are you?”

“Nah, I won’t. And if anybody wants to eat ya, they’ll have to go through me, first. Got it?” he says as holds his hand out to her. She hesitantly took it and he tugged her along after him as they headed out. She hopes that maybe they could even become friends at some point. That maybe- just maybe- this is a turning point for them.

Find more writings on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#mammon angst #obey me angst #obey me mammon #obey me oc #om! mammon #arella #mammon x oc

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

Note

Ok, but how would the Shadow get along with Superman?

I'm gonna try something a little different with this ask, because I couldn't really find the right words to answer it the way I usually do. So instead I took the more complicated route and ended up writing a fanfic of sorts, about potential interactions between these two I could think of.

I don't think I'll make a habit out of answering replies through fanfic but, I don't know, something about this question kinda demanded from me a different type of answer. I never wrote Superman before but I do need to get back to writing.

So here you go, the Shadow - Superman fanfic I wrote to answer this. Hope you enjoy.

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They were not friends. They were not enemies. They had their separate worlds to watch over, and rarely did they cross each other. Rarely did they meet under desirable circumstances.

The Shadow, as Superman knew him, was not a part of Superman's world. In more ways than one.

Clark knew that he was a man who was mainly active during the 1930s and 40s, that he had been a crimefighter active in the United States during that time, that he has some connection to Bruce and other heroes he knew, and that he has an associate related to Lois named Margo, but somehow, Clark could never find him on his own accord.

Even when he time traveled to said period, he could never find him. Lois and Margo share a bloodline, but Lois does not recall what exactly of what sort, not even under Clark's machines. When he asked some of The Shadow's associates, they could not recall him, and Clark knew for a fact they could not have been lying. Some of them existed in this world but with "ordinary" lives, and others didn't.

Although he seemed to come from an alternate world,there were times when The Shadow appeared to have history in this world as well. Real, tangible history, that seems to be willed out of thin air and to dissappear when Clark goes looking for it. Even Bruce seems to not remember him, and Bruce's the one who seemed to have spent the most time in his presence.

He couldn't quite say he looked fondly on his meetings with The Shadow, if he could be honest with himself. He was cold, remote, harsh and manipulative. He murdered criminals without remorse, something that even he admitted had soured his relationship with Bruce, and terrorized those he fought to a much greater extent than even Batman, who Clark already thought was going too far at times.

Clark knew he was not an evil man, he was certain of the compassion within him that thundered to protect the innocent, but Clark could hardly be certain of how much he knew about him in the first place. Clark, who could see through crowds and make a shopping list out of what each person had eaten for breakfest that morning, could not identify The Shadow's face through his mask, could not see what was behind his eyes.

Clark is extremely aware of the standards he must adhere to in order to operate as Superman, the ways in which he must be held accountable as someone operating above and within society. He understands the importance of his friends and allies that can stop and defeat him, the family he must look after, the reputation he must uphold, the control over his powers and a lifetime of experience in holding himself back. At times he was even grateful for the existence of Kryptonite as a desperate measure. He knows that Bruce goes through a lot of measures to keep himself in check as well.

But he knows little about The Shadow, who works for him, why they do so, who can hold him accountable, who is going to help him when he can't help himself. He worries about what his world must look like, to create a man like him, brainwashing people and gunning down criminals in the streets while laughing. How much good can such a man do if this is what his approach to justice looks like? What is the toil that such a grim approach to life has taken on this man's life?

He knows that overthinking is one of his worse flaws, but Superman can't help but dwell sometimes on the worlds he cannot save, on those that must take on such realities. He only wishes he knew how to find The Shadow of his own accord and try to bring peace to the man, even if he knows better than to assume peace is what he's looking for.

It is the nature of Superman to never stop trying to bring everyone to a world beyond death, darkness and sorrow, and to blame himself for those he cannot save even from themselves.

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It was a well-known fact that The Shadow always worked alone. And like most known facts about him, it was not entirely accurate.

The Shadow strives to cultivate the image that he's alone, untouchable, that all who work for him do so because he forces them to. That he always tells those he saves that their lives belong to him, that they are trembling slaves to a monster sniffing blood in gutters.

Distractions, lies, smokescreens he must create, to allow his agents to operate as spies, and spare them from the wrath of the police and the criminal underworld alike, too busy hunting a legend to notice the flesh and blood people working under their noses, people they would otherwise be all too happy to neglect or stomp on.

Misdirection, the secret of any magic trick. The true secret of The Shadow's invisibility.

There are days where the only positive thought in his mind is that his agents cannot join him wherever he goes.

The success of The Shadow depended heavily on the vast networks of agents and allies he'd gathered over the years, people from all walks of life who trusted him and had chosen to join him. Every courageous move, sacrifice and pivotal role they played was carefully recorded in his files, and never forgotten. They had skills and capabilities The Shadow did not, and The Shadow was proud to see the ways in which they would cultivate those into the betterment of the world around him.

And though the bridge between them was unassailable, though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them and they could never know more than he allowed, they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation, and at many points The Shadow had made said bridge less unassailable for their sake.

But they were not his friends. His allies were distant and occupied with fights The Shadow could assist, but not fight for them. His agents were subordinates rather than equals, expected to play the necessary parts and leave the scene for their own safety just as quickly. His friends were few, and often dead. And when it was the moment of danger, The Shadow fought alone. The protection of others came above all else, and on field, although they were expected to think and strategize for themselves and work together, The Shadow's word was final.

There could be no distractions, no hesitations. Those had cost him more than enough on the battlefields of the Great War, mistakes he would never repeat again. The sacrifice of companionship, his own personhood and self-preservation is an acceptable loss for the sake of those he must protect.

There are occasions when The Shadow is forced into circumstances beyond what logic and physics should allow, and in some of those occasions, Superman had been involved in them. There are occasions also where he has to work side by side with other vigilantes, and sometimes, they also include Superman.

He couldn't quite say he looked forward to working with Superman. His arrival almost inevitably carried chaos into the inner workings of reality. The existence of an omnipotent being able to crack planets with a footstep and liquefy crowds with a gaze, held back only by his human personality, was a danger that thankfully did not exist in The Shadow's own world, but was a worrying prospect regardless.

Few of his experiences with aliens and superpowered warriors could be said to be positive ones, and a lifetime of knowing the evil in the hearts of men had taught The Shadow how easily even the best of intentions and the most solid of morals could be corroded and destroyed. It didn't help matters that this being was also a public crusader and celebrity passing judgement on criminals, even while secretly holding a private dimensional prison to throw them into should they be sufficiently dangerous. Someone completely unstoppable and unaccountable, even to death itself.

The Shadow understood Superman to be a good man, a moral man who had been raised well to be the best he could. The Shadow respected and treasured the existence of those like him, men and women and everything in between that could breathe in the sun and uphold mankind, while he dwelled in the underworld to make sure those more like him would not rise to attack them.

But whatever the rewards of these partnerships, he was glad when they were over. His work requires full control. He cannot tolerate the loss of it.

Others can dream of better tomorrows and work to make them happen, his is the task of clearing the darkest paths so others need not tread them.

Hope, light and comfort are noble gifts, but they are not his to give.

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The first time they met had been the result of Vandal Savage's Hypertime Collider, a trap designed to keep Superman running circles through the timestreams, cycling through alternate versions of himself. He had landed in the 1930s, somewhat depowered, in a world where some allies of his existed, but superheroes were nowhere to be found (although some people reacted in terror at him, shouting "IT'S DANNER! HE'S COME BACK TO KILL US!", the significance of which was lost on Clark).

He had met a woman named Margo Lane when looking for this world's Lois, telling her he was a farmboy from Kansas lost in the big city looking for a friend with the same last name. Margo didn't recognize anyone named Lois, and Clark could tell she was only pretending to believe his story (even though it was true, in a sense), but through her, he met a tall, gaunt and hawk-like millionaire by the name of Lamont Cranston, a name Clark recognized from an old radio show Jonathan used to listen.

He had an idea of who The Shadow was. An old detective from a radio show or pulp magazines, sure, Superman's been to worlds he used to think were fictional before, some people still think he's as real as Santa Claus (who was going to join him and the Easter Bunny for checkers next Sunday).

Their conversation of platitudes was cut short, as it wasn't long before the Hypertime Collider was soon transporting him to a different time period, but before he was ejected, he remembered the moment their conversation ended.

Shortly before he could feel the Collider breaking and warping time and space in a chokehold around him, he remembered an eerie silence fall on the room. Though his hearing senses in this world were diminished, he could still pick up minute sounds from miles away, and it was a strange sensation to hear the sound of nothing. A sound that did not exist but silenced everything around it with deafening precision, a sound that Clark had not heard even in the deepest recesses of space, when he could still hear his body's metabolism at work. For a moment, though he did not need it to survive, Clark worried his heart had stopped working, for he could not hear it.

It surely was the Collider's effect at work, he reasoned.

But in that brief moment, whatever surprise he expected to find on Cranston's expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, scattered shadows slashed across his face as the air around him changed and he closed his eyes. He was still wearing Cranston's face when he opened them, and once again, they did not match his face.

The last thing he remembered before his ejection was a voice that cut through the air and the meters separating them, that sounded like a python hissing in Clark's ear, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"This is not your world."

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The second time was in another dimensional sojourn, this time of his volition.

Having borrowed a portal from Cyberwear Enterprises, Clark was rehearsing a speech intended for the Reginellian people of the Bohren System, one he was expected to give through blinking in reverse morse code, and in order to ensure the atmosphere of their planet would allow them to hear him, Clark intended to pay them a visit. But instead, he was transported somewhere else.

Before he could properly register the time period and location he had landed, he had encountered The Shadow in the middle of rescuing a steamship on fire from sinking.

He was clinging to the side of it unseen from the panicking passangers, drilling bullet holes to the bottom of the ship so it would fall to the side and steer clear from a passing fireworks yacht. He was holding a rope attached to a nearby tugboat with one hand, and with the other he was clinging to the boat's window. The tugboat was moving outside of the steamship's range, and as it moved, it would drag The Shadow and tilt the steamship as he gripped it, just enough to prevent the steamship from colliding head-on with the coming barge.

The tugboat had three men within it, one piloting it and two holding on to the rope that The Shadow had attached, working along with The Shadow to try and pull the steamship. One of these men had a missing eye and was dressed in aviator gear, presumably the pilot of the autogyro atop the tugboat. The other was a tall, muscular black man in suspenders, who dwarfed the pilot in both size and strength.

The strain of their pull could dislocate The Shadow's arms at the very minimum, if not outright kill him, his plunge would carry him 20 feet into the water and potentially under the sinking steamship. Still, they pulled with grim determination, although the boat driver had his eyes closed, and Clark recognized the Yiddish mutterings coming from his mouth as a desperate prayer.

Though they did not see him, these men were extremely thankful when Superman had blown out the inferno with a single breath, and pushed the boat all the way necessary for it's passangers to land on the barge safely, and rescued The Shadow.

Of course they knew the Chief was gonna pull through, he always does.

If The Shadow was thankful for Superman's interference, he didn't show it. In the second he had regained enough strength to talk, he rattled off dozens of names, of passangers in the steamship that had been bruised, by either the flames, the panicking crowd, or the criminals that The Shadow had stopped. People that needed to be taken to medical assistance faster than the ambulances could carry them, of family members that had to be contacted.

He did so without looking at his rescuer, for he remembered Superman, who expected his presence in this timeline to have been erased after he'd destroyed the Hypertime Collider.

Nothing indicated it hadn't been.

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

Their most recent encounter was the outcome of an accident where Vandal Savage had trapped Superman in the Arctic and rebuilt his Hypertime Collider, in the hopes of contacting alternate versions of himself so they could all gain Superman's powers and conquer their worlds.

One of said versions was hunted by The Shadow through the portals. The adventure ended rather quickly as the Savages all turned on each other in their tried-and-true method of solving problems with large rocks, but amidst the chaos, a final burst of energy had granted The Shadow a temporary access to Superman's powers.

Thoughts passed through Clark's head of the last time Bruce had accidentally gained access to Superman's abilities, and how despite his best intentions, Bruce couldn't help but overestimate his own ability to wield said powers responsibly. Of how many times he's come across iterations of Bruce who've gained superpowers and used them poorly or tyranically.

He thought of how often he needed to reign himself back, and of the man in black who stood before him, with eyes like thunderstorms ready to break.

The ways in which he is like Bruce, and the ways in which he is decidedly not.

But before Superman could take any sort of action or even ask how he was feeling, The Shadow turned around silently and started walking, straight in the direction of the Fortress of Solitude.

Upon reaching it, he took the million-ton key from beneath the rug that spelled Welcome in a million languages, opened the door, and walked straight into a high security anti-Superman cell within it, designed specifically as a desperate measure against rogue Kryptonians, only stating Superman was going to have to watch him so he couldn't escape.

Clark had never even told him about the Fortress.

He stayed there for the next 12 hours, as Superman ran tests on him to ensure his body wouldn't be negatively affected by the transformation. Clark chose not to remark that some of the bone-deep injuries he had spotted on The Shadow's body previously had healed, as he knew it wouldn't take long for him to acquire new ones after this was over.

They talked briefly at points, and for much of it, The Shadow assumed the façade of Cranston. Sometimes he remembered to breathe and blink, things he forgot to do with startling ease once he no longer needed them.

Clark understood it to be a diplomatic gesture, a façade over the untameable and fearsome Shadow who was frankly unnerving to be around. Even a kind gesture, an effort to address Superman as a man asking for help. Not different than how Superman would prefer to be Clark Kent in order to approach people and ask questions and say things that Superman could never say.

There was a discomfort, of course. There would always be one between the two.

Still, Superman took it as a victory when, after the 12 hours were over, he heard that familiar hiss, with equal intensity but no aggression or even contempt, spell out a "Thank you", as he turned around and was unsurprised to find The Shadow no longer there.

They were not friends, they were not enemies, they belonged to different worlds. They were opposites in their battles for truth and justice.

But truths are often opposite. It is a truth that not all opposites are opposed.

Truth is often as chilling as it can be comforting.

#replies tag #superman #the shadow #clark kent #lamont cranston #my writing #i gotta start putting more of my writing out there and idk i just felt like i had to answer this question this way #i don't question what my brain tells me to do anymore

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 32

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: drunkness, nightmares.

NEXT CHAPTER

- Sharon?

There she stood, in all her elegant and precise posture dignified of someone who had been trained to be a spy. Y/N had spoken to Sharon before yet it had been brief so all she knew about her was what she had learned from the media and what Bucky had told her. Yet, Bucky wasn’t one to share much about his life as a Winter Soldier or an Avenger. Despite all this mystery surrounding the woman standing in the kitchen, she trusted her. She was Bucky’s friend and Steve’s girlfriend, a decorated scholar and agent. If she wanted to hurt her the chance was very, very low. Besides, she doubted Bucky would’ve just gone around giving people his address. He doesn’t even tell anyone but the barista his coffee order, not that it is too hard to guess.

- Bucky asked me to look after you while he’s gone. - she said before Y/N could even question her. - He said you’d feel more comfortable with a woman watching over you.

- He really left, uh? - Y/N knew he had left, after all his dog tags were hanging from her closed fist, but her more optimistic self, the more happy look which wanted to believe he was gonna be told this was mistake and he could return to the normal life he had paid by with blood, sweat and tears.

- Do you wanna go for breakfast? There’s a nice spot just a few blocks away from here. - she tried to distract her, kind smile forming. - I always thought you and me should get to know each other. You know, Steve and Bucky are like brothers so we’ll see each other a lot.

- Yeah, I hum ... I just need to get dressed. - Y/N wanted to be her happy, cheery self and she knew Sharon was only trying to make her feel better but all she could think about was Bucky and if he was safe.

She knew she was no super soldier, no super spy, not a witch or an agent but she just wanted to help him. She was already helpless in her own life, merely following along as others guided her, too afraid to step too much out of line in fear of losing what she had worked for. After all, many people wanted what she had, many people wanted a contract with a household agency thus she had to be compliant. She had to step on the breaks before she even turned the key. However, if there was something she had agency on it was her relationships and she wanted to help him. God, she wished to never see that look, the look he gave her that morning after that call. It was pure sorrow mixed with anger and she wondered how long he’d felt that way. She wondered if anyone had tried to help him rather than weaponise him. It was not her choice to decide what Bucky wanted to do with his life, it was not her right to demand him explain her demons to her but it was her choice and her pleasure to be by his side and right now she wanted to be by his side. Even if her mother had raised her not to rely on a man. It wasn’t relying on him, it wasn’t being only completed when a man was around, it wasn’t her feeling incomplete whenever he was around. No. It was none of that. It was merely wanting to hold the hand of someone who had for the longest time not had anyone to hold his hand. It was loving someone so much, she’d be okay with holding his burden with him even if he didn’t want to. It was merely loving someone, darkness and light, and she loved him.

Her hands gripped the sink of the bathroom, eyes gazing onto the mirror in front of her and as such her own face. She watched every line, every corner, contour and shadow of her face, the dog tags softly dangling around from her neck, the only part of him she had near her. Y/N splashed cold water against her face, trying to let her own optimism flow into what was now a negative outcome. She stepped outside of the bedroom, a soft smile drawn on her features.

- Should we go? - Sharon suggested, grabbing her coat which was laying over the couch. - It will make you feel better, Y/N.

- Yeah, I’m just ...

- He’s one of the best operatives in the field. - Sharon interrupted her. - He will be fine, I promise you.

- You can’t promise me that. - she said as she took her own jacket from the hooks on the wall.

- I’ve seen him fight before, Y/N. I’ve been where you are, it’s shit but ... you gotta trust someone who’s strong enough to carelessly break a brick, will be fine.

Sharon meant well, she knew she did and she was glad she was there but Y/N felt nothing but completely numb to what was happening around her. It seems as he had left with her heart and now she was longing his and hers didn’t get broken in the middle of HYDRA’s crossfire. She didn’t know much about HYDRA or even the Winter Soldier, her parents had shielded her and her siblings from the bad of the world and while she had seen Washington in the TV and remembered when Captain America had been regarded as a traitor, she had never been explained much about HYDRA and all that was out in the internet was glossed over with a paint coat of big, bad monster. Funny how big, bad monsters don’t look like monsters at all. She’d not even been in the country when the first modern Winter Soldier attacks had occurred and she was younger, much more naive. What she could remember was circled with rumours of politicians then blaming every single event on the soldier, turning him into a folklore-like creature but he was not folklore, he really existed. Conscious or not conscious, he existed. She didn’t know how Bucky felt about it, he’d never tell her but what she knew was that he drew a line between who he had been and who he was now, and he hated to cross that line.

The harsh sound of the coffee steamer from the coffee machine took her from her own head. The coffee shop itself was mostly empty, highly due to it being later in the morning and all she wanted to do was return to her bedroom and stay there until she had to go for her photoshoot. However, the waitress was already taking their orders which meant she had to at least stay here until the two of them had eaten whatever Sharon had prepared.

- How do you do it? - Y/N blurted out, clearly losing any control over her mind to mouth filter. - The missions ... I mean, Steve must be going on them all the time.

- Well, whenever I don’t go ... it’s hell. - she smiled tightly. - One thing is going on a mission yourself, the other one is someone who you love going. And for what? Crocked politicians?

- I get a feeling you’re not a big fan of the government.

- You’d be right. So, what’s the schedule for today? Bucky didn’t really explain what your job entails.

- There’s a photoshoot today at 3, then it’s free days until Monday where I have to go on set to film the last scenes.

- Photoshoot? Sounds fun.

- The Virgin Bride for Vogue.

- Oh ... - she agent scrunched up her face. - Not so fun.

- They’re doing an issue on the types of brides. You know ... because type casting not only occurs in Hollywood, it occurs in life too. You got your bridezellas, your over 30 brides, your rebel brides and the virgin bride. Being the virgin bride does fit with the image they want for me.

- I never really understood type casting, if I’m being honest. You know, the rat, brit, brat pack. Never really made sense.

- It’s a marketing strategy. It is easier to market someone as a type rather than a complex person.

She liked photoshoots, she mostly got to dress up and get photographed almost like a big makeover like in those 90s movies she still curled up against her comforter to see. This particular one did make her upset, to be in a white wedding dress, surrounded by soft white fabric was particularly cruel. She knew her wedding was not going to be what she dreamed of a kid and unless she wanted to get her agency or the government in the business, the two of them would’ve had to get married in the civil hall. However, it did not matter to her where she got married, it mattered that the person she wasn’t engaged to was not here. It was almost like being dressed as a left at the altar bride ... like a widow.

She unpinned the veil from her hair, taking off all the heavy jewellery that had been used to adorn her hair and put it on top of the desk where all the makeup was still open. The dress was pretty but it was big, it was too big, it almost swallowed her, it made her feel small but it reminded of him. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, how he was feeling, if he was safe.

- That was boring. - Sharon said as she stepped inside the dressing room, holding two coffee cups. - I know that look. What’s wrong?

- I hate this dress. - Y/N sat down in the chair. - It’s too big.

- You look like a wedding cake.

- Right. - Y/N moved the fabric up playfully. - I don’t think I can even move correctly.

- You should be thinking about your own soon. - Y/N gave Sharon a confused look. - Steve told me. Don’t tell Bucky, he’ll get upset and then Steve will be upset, big mess.

- Well, it’s good to be able to speak to someone about it. - she smiled. Only Bucky and her parents knew, so she did not have many people to tell she was engaged to or to even speak about it.

- So, how do you envision your wedding dress?

- Oh, I don’t ... I don’t really think about it. It’s most likely gonna be in city hall so it’s not worth it.

- What? That’s bullshit. Everyone wears a dress.

- I can’t really go anywhere ... the paps would go crazy and that’s the last thing I need.

- Still, everyone wears a dress even if they go to city hall.

Y/N merely shrugged. Her head was not in the right space and for the first time she was looking forward to go to set. It didn’t matter if being on set was dehumanising sometimes, it mattered that her head would’ve been somewhere else. She knew that as a perfectionist, her mind would be on finishing those scenes and not on Bucky. As she got home, she couldn’t help but get lost inside her mind again as Sharon put some old sitcom on the TV. She was surrounded by him, by memories of him, things that reminded her of him. Looking to her left there were framed photos of him, his jacket was still hanging from the door, the broken shards of porcelain were still on the sink. There were pieces of him everywhere and half of her felt ridiculous it was affecting her so much as it was but she loved him. She loved him.

- Right, get your jacket. - Sharon got up from the couch.

- Why? Where are we going?

- You will see.

Y/N followed Sharon through the half lit Brooklyn night down to the back of several shops. The lights flickered, illuminating the bins filled with black plastic bags which laid in the back fronts of several shops. She watched as Sharon made her way towards a particular store back, taking a key from under a seemingly unseeingly rock which opened the heavy pad lock keeping the door shut. Sharon motioned her head towards the door and Y/N followed her into the dark shop. The agent closed the door behind them before she turned the lights. The bright white lights illuminated the shop floors and she noticed she was surrounded by hundreds of glass see through closets with various white dresses. Was she in a bridal shop?

- You need to take your mind out of him. - Sharon sat against one of the pale pastel pink couches laid around the store.

- Is this legal?

- You’re engaged to Bucky Barnes, how come you care about legality so much?

- I don’t want to get arrested, Sharon.

- It’s one of my friends bridal store. You said you couldn’t do it without paps walking around and photographing you, so ... here you go.

- I ... I don’t ... What if he doesn’t come back? - Y/N’s lip trembled as she crossed her arms and looked to the side.

- Y/N, he will come back. It is one man against a soldier with the strength of five. Trust me, if not for anything else, he’ll come back to you. Now, dress, what dress do you want?

- I don’t know.

- Come on. Pick one and try it on. We are not going home until you try a dress on.

- Fine.

Y/N stared at the dresses, grabbing the first one she could find in her own size and dragging it onto the dressing room. It definitely was not her type of dress, at least not the type of dress she had envisioned getting married in. It was pure white, sleeveless with a cut which went down to her sternum, skin tight, hugging her body in a flattering way but it just wasn’t her dress. It wasn’t the dress she wanted to get married in, but right now it wasn’t the time to think about what dress to wear when Bucky was out. She shouldn’t be playing dress up.

She waddled back to where Sharon was sat before she stopped in front of her, hands on her hips. Somehow, she had found some prosecco and plastic flutes and had her feet on top of the pale pink couch.

- Are you happy now? - Y/N sighed, mostly out off nuissance.

- Don’t give me that tone. - Sharon sipped from her own flute, handing Y/N the other one. - Come on, what do you think?

- It’s ... uhm ... fine. - her hands gestured around the fabric.

- What? That’s the first one you try. Why aren’t you crying? It isn’t the one if you’re not crying. That’s what they do in the movies.

- I can cry.

- No, spin. - Sharon waved her finger around and Y/N spun around slowly. - It ain’t it.

- But Bucky ...

- From now on every time you say the words James, Bucky, Buchanan, or Barnes, you’re drinking.

- But I don’t know if Bucky ...

- Drink. - Sharon interrupted her. Y/N scrunched her face not really believing her but she looked dead serious. She took a sip of her prosecco, placing the flute on the table near her. - Come on, what does your wedding dress look like.

- I don’t know ... I don’t want something skin tight, I want some floofy fabric.

- Yeah, go on.

- And I don’t want it to be too long, I want my shoes to show ... like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face.

- Let’s find it.

Both she and Sharon went through tons and tons of dresses, through so much lace she was sure to dream about it for the next week until they found something that resembled what she wanted. Y/N ended up rather dizzy on the prosecco, not used to drinking too much, running around barefoot with the dress that was her dress in a rather subdued white which showed her legs from the ankle down, a voluminous little shirt which cinched at her waist. A rather short veil fell from her head, pinned to the crown of her head with a fake baby pink rose prong clip. The two ended up laying on the pink couch, heads leaning against the rather comfortable pillows as they nursed the rest of the bottle of prosecco.

- Okay but I have a question ... - Y/N said, bringing her flute down. - Is it weird dating the same guy who kissed your great aunt?

- Listen, Steve is a kissing whore. - she tried to say it with a straight face but ended up breaking into laughter. - It’s true. He’ll kiss anyone, unstoppable. The blonde girl from the army, my great aunt, Natasha. If it hadn’t been for me, Steve would be Captain Kisscam instead of Captain America.

- Captain Kisscam. What superpowers would he have?

- Making people kiss each other? No that sounds terrible. I don’t know ... to be honest what even is Steve’s superpower?

- Ultimate ... - Y/N broke down laughing before she could continue. She put her hand in front of her chest, taking a deep breathe as she tried not to laugh at the joke in her head. - Ultimate frisbee.

- You know? Sex on top of the shield? Terrible, so uncomfortable.

- Sharon!

- What? I was curious, it is a weirdly unbreakable shield, isn’t it? Besides, that’s not even the craziest thing we’ve done.

- What’s the craziest thing you’ve done?

- We did it at the Smithsonian.

- SHARON! There’s children there. It’s ... a hall of science, and ... memorabilia ... and ... I don’t know, I’ve never been to the Smithsonian.

- Oh, c’mon. What’s the craziest place where you and Bucky have done it?

- You said Bucky, drink. - Y/N pointed her flute at Sharon.

- So did you. Drink. - the two girls drank what was left over in the glasses, throwing them to the side. - Come on. Tell me.

- I don’t know ... What are we counting as doing it?

- 3rd base.

- I do not understand bases.

- Handjobs don’t count.

- Oh ... then ... the parking lot of the set in his car.

- And the car didn’t break?

- Come on, it’s not that old of a car.

- It’s ancient, Y/N. - Sharon chuckled, passively looking at her watch to check on the time. - We should get going before the shop opens.

She went back into the dressing room to take off her wedding dress. It wasn’t until then she realised she was still wearing his dog tags, the cold metal against her warm skin, a side effect of the alcohol coursing through her veins. She was reminded of him again on that moment, wondered how he was doing, how he was feeling. She hoped and begged he was okay in her mind, and the memory of him haunted her mind even as she laid down in bed to go to sleep. There was a direct line from wedding gowns and dog tags to her fiance and wherever he was. Her blood distracted by the unhinging of the alcohol coursing along it, was filled with hate. Not for him but for his situation, for how helpless she was to helping him.

She turned around in her bed, forcefully shutting her eyes as a way to ensure she went to sleep instead of dwelling on those thoughts. However, she simply didn’t have a choice to leave. As her consciousness dissolved into unconscious she woke up in the same bedroom but the environment was blurry, very highly saturated yet the colours were candy bright. However, the environment wasn’t inviting at all and soon broken through the candy bright atmosphere she could hear screaming. She tried to untangle herself from her sheets, running through the bedroom yet her movements were slow and her running was more like a slow motion run. She pushed open the door, coming face to face with the same candy coloured blurred bright world but in front of her was him but not him as she knew him. Not at least as she had known him. His hair was much longer, slightly past his jaw which was covered by a mask, a muffle. His clothing was restricting, the top almost resembling a straightjacket, as if he was dangerous. He was so close but so far away, on his knees with someone whose face was blurrier than the atmosphere itself.

- Don’t worry. - the blurred person’s voice was as distorted as the vision, mechanical even as he rose a gun up to the head of a Bucky Barnes she had never met. - We will help you.

- NO! - she lunged forward as the gunshot echoed through her ears and like a rubber band she was pushed back to reality. She rose her torso from her bed in pure agony, eyes wide open and red, hand holding the sheet against her chest which rose up and down in fast paces.

Looking around, nothing was candy coloured and everything was clear. The room was dark in muddled shades barely lit by the moon light peaking from the small rips in the curtains Bucky had first gotten when he first moved in. Everything was as it was, his sleeping shorts were still hanging from the chair next to the dresser, the dead flowers were still in the vase he had once put them when they were fresh. Everything was as it was, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was lurking. The feeling that both of them had just crossed the bridge past the point of no return.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @oh-nohoney @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir @niki-is-a-thing @cynic-spirit

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