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tomriddleslove · 2 months

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The Black Lake, a shared blunt, and realisations.

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Mattheo has had enough. Everyone and everything seems to be agitating him, and he feels as though he can’t catch a break. Then you come along. Alternatively: You may just be his saving grace, hidden in plain sight.

Slight? Angst but mainly fluff

A/N: I get all my fic ideas when listening to music so bear with me when I say there’s a very certain vibe to this and you have to know the song to understand it.

Songs: Tek it - Cafuné

The clock strikes noon, and Mattheo couldn’t be more than relieved to finally leave the stuffy clasroom. Tossing his bag over his shoulder, he swiftly makes his way out of the classroom, ignoring the agitated glares of the other students he had so rudely shoved past.

Now Mattheo wishes he could say he wasn’t this rude that often. He didn’t really go out of his way to fight people per se, but it just so happened to be that he was quite confrontational and rather good at resolving things with his fists. However these past few days he had been more on edge than usual, snapping at almost everyone for reasons that were far beyond him.

Everything seemed to agitate him immensely, from the way lessons seemed to drag on, to his deskmates who all seemed to have a penchant for being the most agitating, infuriating people possible.

I mean, seriously? What could compel a person to chomp down on a beef sandwich in the middle of class at 10 in the morning? The professor may not have noticed but Mattheo most certainly did, having to spend the last hour with a raging headache trying to ignore the obnoxious chewing sounds and the revolting smell of beef.

He all but almost cries as he collapses down onto the sofa in the common room, grateful for the fact that everyone else seemed to have lessons currently. He closes his eyes for a millisecond, letting out a small sigh of frustration.

He feels the sofa dip beside him and that same frustration returns. He opens his eyes, ready to snap at whatever poor person had decided to sit next to him, but his gaze immediately softens when he realises it was you.

“Oh,” He murmurs, and a lazy grin tugs at your lips as you look over at him, raising a brow.

It’s remarkable just how quickly his mood seems to lighten when he sees you.

“Oh?” You repeat, amused.

“Mhmm. Just not in the mood for it recently and thought you were Belby or some other git. I was ready to hex you.” He murmurs, and you roll your eyes in mock admonishment as you reach for your book, leaning back into the sofa as you thumb through the pages.

“Charming, Riddle. Really, I feel flattered.” You say sarcastically, and the corners of Mattheo's mouth quirk upwards.

You and Mattheo were part of the same extended friend group. You weren’t the closest with him, yet you weren’t absolute strangers. You didn’t talk that much to one another, but got along surprisingly well. Mattheo was one of the only people (bar Blaise) who could match your wit and dry humour, and you were one of the few (if not only) people who didn't seem to annoy him.

You pay him no mind as you read your book, and with any other person, Mattheo would have been largely grateful for that. But for some bizarre reason, he wants you to speak to him.

He glances over at you for a second, admiring the way the gentle glow from the fireplace illuminates your face as you read.

How oblivious could one get?

You break the silence, peering down at your book as you speak.

“Do you have a double free period?”

Mattheo hums, looking over at you. He wants you to look up at him so badly, and he can’t tell why. It seemed as though he’d need a slap in the face to make him realise why he craved so much attention from you.

He shifts on the sofa, trying to appear nonchalant as he replies, "Yeah, luckily. No classes for the rest of the day. What about you?"

You glance up from your book, meeting his gaze with a faint smile. "Same here. Wanna come walk around with me?” You ask, and Mattheo nods, albeit a bit confused as to why you’d want to wander around in such cold weather aimlessly.

You reach into your robe pocket, producing a neatly rolled joint with a cheeky wag of your eyebrows. A grin spreads across Mattheo's face as he looks at you, and he raises a brow in mock disappointment.

“Am I seeing correctly, or has the academic prodigy of Hogwarts just suggested we use our valuable study time to get high?”Mattheo taunts, and you scoff, getting up.

“Piss off, Riddle. Are you coming or not?” You retort, glancing back at him.

He looks up at you, and his gaze lingers far too long on the way your eyes light up, your mouth forming a gentle curve as you smile at him and-

Oh god, Mattheo never really stood a chance, did he?

He nods, getting up as he grabs his robe and follows you. You both meander aimlessly through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, poking fun at the unfortunate students who still had lessons. As you walk past a classroom you catch a glimpse of Theodore, chin resting atop his palm as he sleepily gazes at the board. You snicker, nudging Mattheo as you both hide at the side of the doorway, peering into the class. Mattheo wraps an arm around your waist, moving you behind him and you ignore the way you reel at his touch, dazed for a second.

It doesn’t last long, however, for you're drawn out of your short-lived crisis when you spot Mattheo pulling his wand out from his pocket, discreetly pointing it in Theodore’s direction. It was rather astounding seeing how no other students in the class noticed you, but Professor Binn had a rather uncanny knack for getting people to fall into a zombie-like state of fatigue whenever they were in his class. You were convinced it had to be some sort of superpower.

With a short flick of his wand, Theodore's eyes widened as he yelped, hand shooting up to clasp over his upper arm.

As Theodore's yelp echoes through the classroom, everyone snaps out of their daze, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the disturbance. Theodore grimaces, sheepishly looking down as he tries to play it off. Unable to contain your laughter anymore, you snort, and the sound has everyone turning to look outside the classroom.

Mattheo grabs your hand, pulling you along as the two of you run down the corridor, laughter bubbling up from deep within you.

As you round a corner, out of sight from the classroom, you finally come to a stop, breathless from both the running and the laughter. Mattheo leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath as he looks at you with sparkling eyes.

It was amazing how he had gone from being so irate to so…. Carefree. He felt alive with you, like he could forget about the countless burdens that weighed down on him day in and day out.

“That was bloody brilliant,” You wheeze, clutching your ribs as you laugh. Mattheo grins, panting as he nods.

“Theodore’s hilarious. Can’t wait to hear him complain about that later on,” He muses and you snort, straightening up. You jerk your head to the side, motioning for him to join you as you slip out of the castle onto the school grounds. You leisurely walk down the fields, heading towards the Black Lake.

You stop at a large cluster of rocks near the surface of the water, plopping down on the slightly damp grass. Mattheo joins you, long legs stretched out in front of him as you fish around your pocket. His arm presses against yours and you’re immediately warmed by the heat coming off his body, trying to ignore the intoxicating aroma of his cologne filling your senses.

You hit Mattheo's thigh with your hand, nudging him to get the lighter as you place the blunt between your lips. He obliges, cupping his hand around the flame as you lean down to light the tip, taking a few drags. You pass it over to Mattheo, tilting your head back as you exhale with a sigh. Mattheo mimics your actions, letting out a low groan as he passes the blunt back to you.

“Shit, this is fucking good.” He murmurs, eyes flickering over to you as you take another drag.

You speak, blunt dangling between those perfect lips of yours that Mattheo can’t seem to tear his eyes off of.

“Should be,” You muse, handing it over to Matteho as he takes another long drag. “I sucked dick for it.” You comment offhandedly and Mattheo splutters, coughing as he smacks his fist against his chest, looking over at you in disbelief. You look at him with a lazy grin, a hint of amusement in your eyes.

“Relax, of course I didn’t. But with the price it came at I may as well have.” You murmur, shaking your head.

“So ladylike” He teases and you roll your eyes for what must be the umpteenth time, slapping his thigh as you snatch the blunt back.

You remain silent for a while, and it's oddly comforting. Just you and Mattheo, passing the blunt back and forth between one another as you overlook the black lake. The setting sun is reflected in the ripple of the water, golden rays dancing along the small waves that give the illusion of the lake being made of pure gold.

Mattheo leans back on his elbows, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the crisp air. You're reclined beside him, the gentle lapping of the water providing a soothing backdrop to your conversation.

"So, Riddle, what's been bothering you lately?" you ask casually, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

Mattheo hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he considers his response. He's never been one to open up easily, but there's something about the softness in your voice that makes him want to confide in you.

"Just...everything, I guess," he admits finally, his tone uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I feel like I'm constantly on edge, and I'm not sure why.”

Your gaze remains on the lake, a pensive expression on your face as you hum.

“I get it. I suppose for all their goodwill it's a bit hard for the boys to understand that.” You murmur and Mattheo chuckles, looking down at the long strands of grass he was fiddling with.

“Tell me about it”

You remain silent for a second longer, before turning to face Mattheo. He looks up at you and feels as though he's pinned down under your gaze. It’s as though you were dissecting his very being, staring at him with a calculating look before you speak once again, your voice low and soft.

“You don’t always have to be a hardhead. You don’t need to dismiss how you’re feeling. We aren’t meant to have this figured out yet. We’re still young, with so much to learn. What’s the point of life if we know it all now?”

Mattheo listens to your words, feeling as though you've peered straight into his soul and laid bare all his insecurities. There's a wisdom in your words that resonates deeply with him. It's as though you possess a wisdom beyond your years, a rare insight that he finds both intimidating and captivating.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

That god-forsaken smile appears on your face again, and you look over at Mattheo.

“Don’t. Someone has to tell you this, right? I love Nott to bits but I doubt he has anything but quidditch on his mind.” You joke, and Mattheo laughs.

You seamlessly lighten the mood, and Mattheo is eternally grateful for that. Really, he’s grateful for you. He can't think of the last time he's laughed so much. Or felt so free. Perhaps it was the weed, that had lowered his inhibitions and relieved him of his stresses.

But no, it was a drug far worse than that. He had just gotten a taste of it and he knew he would be hooked on it. It came in the form of you, and gods was it dangerous.

There's a heavy silence between the two of you, broken by the sound of rustling as Mattheo sits up abruptly, a grin spreading across his face.

"Hey, wanna go closer to the edge of the lake? I think I saw something cool over there," he suggests, his tone playful as he nudges you with his elbow.

"What, are you trying to pull some sort of prank on me, Riddle?" You ask, your tone sceptical as you raise an eyebrow.

Mattheo feigns innocence, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Who, me? Never," he replies with a smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Despite your reservations, you can't help but be intrigued by Mattheo's suggestion, and with a shrug, you agree to accompany him to the water's edge.

You walk a few steps to the surface of the black lake, peering down at your own reflection for a second. You turn to Mattheo, caught off guard when he gives you a playful shove.

You yelp, reaching out instinctively to grab onto Mattheo as you lose your balance. Instead of regaining your footing, you find yourself slipping on the dampened grass near the edge of the lake and falling backwards into the water with Mattheo.

The icy cold water seems to seep into your body, eradicating any hint of warmth. You resurface with a gasp, brushing your wet hair away from your face as you tread water, your robe floating around you in the water.

Mattheo resurfaces moments after you, his curly brown hair now plastered against his forehead, droplets of water glistening in the fading light. He blinks the water from his eyes and looks at you with a playful grin.

“Why did you do that!” He gasps, though his tone is lighthearted and playful.

You roll your eyes, splashing him in retaliation. “You practically threw me in there! I just needed to find my footing!” You retort, indignified.

Mattheo chuckles, the sound echoing across the stillness of the lake. “Fair point.” He concedes.

Not a second later, however, he splashes you with water, somehow drenching you even further.

“Mattheo!” You gasp, sending a wave of water back at him. The two of you playfully fight in the water, and you laugh, head tilted back. It's a scene straight out of a childhood fantasy, the cares and worries of the world melting away beneath the warm glow of the setting sun.

Mattheo pauses, and his heart pounds against his sternum as he hears your laugh. It’s loud and it's unabashed, and it's the most perfect thing ever. You smile, and he feels as though he can't breathe, you had to have stolen his breath.

The golden rays of the sun illuminate your skin, catching in the droplets of water that cling to the wet tendrils of your hair. You looked like an image out of a Renaissance painting, and Mattheo is sure the sun must hide itself in shame, for on its brightest day it couldn’t compete with your radiance.

He takes in the way the fading sunlight casts a warm glow on your features, highlighting the curve of your cheekbones and the sparkle in your eyes. He’s sure the image must be etched into his mind, permanently engraved. He knows when he closes his eyes, all he will see is the image of you, and he doesn’t mind it one bit.

In fact, he welcomes it.

In your presence, he feels alive in a way he never has before. He will wake up tomorrow and face all the trials and tribulations the universe has to throw at him. For now, however, the sun is shining. The water is cold, but you make him feel warmer. The gentle sound of water sloshing about fills the silence, the horizon is beautiful.

Everything was alright.

@mildlyuninformative @chgrch @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @schaebickel @lillywildly @multifandom-worlds

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader comfort #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fluff

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds.

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen.

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks.

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him.

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds.

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright.

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too.

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there.

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age.

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs.

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk.

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?”

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?”

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion.

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday.

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table.

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?”

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better.

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!”

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle.

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water.

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher.

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass.

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself.

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days.

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you.

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track.

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons:

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace.

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back.

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt.

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them.

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room.

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie.

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same.

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side.

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore.

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had.

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss.

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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multifandomwhore-003 · 7 months

Text

Random Hazel Callahan headcanons that have been rotting my brain for the past couple of days:

Pairing: Hazel Callahan x female! reader

Summary: Not needed

Genre(s): a little angsty at first, after that's it's just pure fluff

Warnings: mentions of trauma and maladaptive daydreaming

A/N: I'M GONNA WRITE MORE FOR HER BECAUSE I NEED IT SO STAY TUNED, also I listened to False God by Taylor Swift the entire time I wrote this.

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk , join tag list here

• She has horrible listening skills, usually her house has been a pretty noisy and chaotic place, even before her parents divorced, so she's learned to mute the outside world.

• It tends to annoy pretty much everyone else outside the fight club, the only exception being PJ, she perhaps got annoyed more than anyone.

• When you first noticed you had to repeat yourself at least five times whenever she was around, you tried to come up with different ways for her to keep up, like texting her as you spoke so she could read it as much as she needed to.

• Later on you found out it wasn't just about losing track of a conversation, as you asked to borrow one of her headphones one time, you were shocked her ears weren't bleeding right then and there.

"Fucking hell, Hazel! Are you trying to break your ears or something?" your ears hurt for a second.

"It's not loud at all" She placed them on her neck.

"Baby, I can hear the music coming out of those things like a concert speaker,"

• You decided to invite her over to your house as often as possible, demanding a no-headphones rule.

"Why not?!" she complained.

"Because you're gonna be completely deaf at the age of 40!"

"And you'll be there to teach me sign language, right?" she hugged your waist.

"You're saying you prefer not hearing my voice for the rest of our lives?" you lifted a brow.

• The realazation dawned on her.

• To this day she hasn't worn headphones a single day in her life.

• Maladaptive daydreaming is also something she struggles with, not as much now as she used to in middle school and the first two years of high school, but it still happens sometimes.

• You found out when you decided to surprise her by coming to her house one day

• Mrs. Callahan said she couldn't get in contact with Hazel, for whatever reason.

• Most likely her phone turned off since it was out of battery.

• So she texted you she was gonna be missing all night, permitted you to stay the night, and told you to take care of Hazel.

• You found her in the kitchen yelling, it sounded as if she was yelling at someone.

"Are you ever gonna choose me over a booty call?! How is it that Jeff's dick is more important than me?! Your daughter! You fucking pushed me out and you still can't even ask me how my grades are doing and shit!"

• Your first thought was —Her mom's plans must've been canceled—

• As you approached the room as quietly as possible, you looked through the rim of the entrance, there was no one.

"Hazel," you spoke quietly through her screams.

A shiver went down her spine, he face turned white, she blinked a couple of times before turnind her head, "How much of that did you hear?" she avoided your eyes.

"I've never heard you like that," was all you could mutter as you approached her slowly and then embraced her in a hug, "I know you're not insane by the way," you whispered in her hair.

She began to cry.

• She didn't want to talk about it for the next few days

• When she did, she stumbled upon her words, talked too fast, and teared up every once in a sentence.

"Call me first," you cupped her face, "I'll never judge you for whatever you have to say,"

• She wanted to kiss you right then and there, but just rested her forehead on yours, an act of ultimate intimacy.

• I could get into the divorced parents' trauma for hours because same

• But for now I'll move on to the happy part

• Physical touch is the absolute most pure form of love she can give

• If she's not hugging your waist at all times, she's holding your hand, resting her head on your chest, shoulders, legs, etc. pretty much everywhere she can

• If you have long or medium hair she'll attempt to braid your hair, keyword attempt

• If you have short hair she'll buy little elastic ponytails to tie them around your head everywhere she can

• Her reasoning behind this is that her favorite plants are cactuses

• That's it, that's all the reasons she needs

• If you happen to be bald she'll rub your head while singing the chorus to Diamonds by Rihanna

• She plays ukelele

• She knows how to make a few origami figures and if she tries a new one, as crumbled and sweaty as it is she gives it to you

• You have a whole shelf in your room dedicated to every piece of folded paper she's ever done for you

• If you're more of a fem! girl, she'll try something of yours whenever she comes over and stare at her reflection for hours

"Good thing, god didn't make me straight, she knew I would be a menace,"

• You can only roll your eyes and laugh at her twirling and pretending to dance ballet in your dresses and skirts

• If she happens to go shopping without you, she'll try something you'll like and send you the photo after

"If it looks this good on me, imagine how AMAZING it'll look on you,"

• She once asked you to put makeup on her, she'll say she was just curious how she'd look

• She wasn't lying, but she also didn't mention she just wanted to recreate this picture:

• If you happen to be more of a masc! girl, you'll trade clothes as often as you can think

• More than once you have arrived at school with something she likes and just drags you to the bathroom to for you to make the exchange

• It's not her clothes and your clothes anymore, everything you own is hers and vice versa

• More often than not you're no longer sure what used to be only yours

• This goes for accessories and shoes as well, even if they don't fit her, she'll fill them up with toilet paper until they fit just fine

• You'll match AT LEAST once a week, as per her request of course

• She tries all kinds of chips (or crisps for my British luvs) she has tried every flavor and seasoning, but her favorites and the flaming hot ones, even if she ends up chugging your waterbottle after finishing the bag

• Although her parents are rich and taught her from a young age to be a precise wine taster, she's a tequila and vodka girl

• She hates gloomy and rainy days because they bring down her mood, but spending the day binge-watching cheesy movies and stuffing her stomach with all the snacks o her house makes it up

• She's ABSOLUTE SHIT at Karaoke, but my god does she have the spirit

• Her go-to song is Lies by Fleetwood Mac, but if she's drunk enough to gain confidence she'll request Easy On Me by Adele

• If she insists for long enough and you decide to sing with her, she 100% will try to recreate the following musical numbers:

• Lay all you love on me -Mamma Mia

• Every duet there is in Teen Beach Movie, her favorite childhood movie

• The cellblock tango -Chicago and Ex-Wives -from Six, if the rest of the fight club joins as well

• Popular from Wicked, strangely enough, she's Glinda

• Seventeen -Heathers

• Candy Store -Heathers featuring Isabel as Heather Mc Namara, Josie as Martha Dunnstock, and PJ as Veronica (She was heavily forced to after Brittany suggested it)

• Smooth Criminal -The Glee cast cover

• If you're a good singer, or at least a decent one, at the end of the song she'll hype you up more than anyone in the crowd, even carry you (this also applies to my plus size! lovelies, DON'T YOU WORRY, she has muscles)

• If you're a bad singer, then you'll be shit together, the worse your voices sound, the better you'll enjoy it

• Onto the kissing and overall more stereotypical relationship stuff, aka the not-so-comfortable part of my asexual-spectrum girlies.

• As previously shown in the original material

• Kissing is slow and passionate, she likes to enjoy your lips as much as possible, taking in every movement, taste, and breath

• Hands on your jaw and neck EVERY FUCKING TIME

• The first few times you offered her some chapstick or lipstick, or lipgloss, or lip oil, or anything, she would kiss you making you chuckle in surprise

• Now you don't even need to ask, she'll just be like

"Hey, your lips look beautiful," and peck you on the lips

• If you're alone it definitely turns into a whole makeout session

• She just claims it tastes too good not to do it

• Every once in a while she'll hug you from behind and aggressively kiss your cheek

• Good luck kisses before every test

• Her favorite kind of dates are picnic dates

• She takes pictures of the sky whenever she feels it matches your vibe

• She takes A LOT of pictures of you ANYTIME, ANYWHERE, she even went as far as to buy a film camera because they make everything more magical

• She reads A LOT

• She obviously knows too much about social injustices and everything regarding that realm, but she likes other things as well

• Avid fantasy reader, I DON'T MAKE THE RULES,

• Going back to this need for escapism, she was heavily raised by George R.R. Martin and Leigh Bardugo

• Definitely screamed, jumped, and overall looked like she was in a sugar rush when both Game of Thrones and Shadow and Bone came out

• She wasn't exactly allowed to watch Game of Thrones at the time it came out, so she watched when she was 16 instead

• Shadow and Bone, however, oh boy, it was whole event

• She cosplayed Sturmhond and made you cosplay as Zoya

That's it for now children, if I come up with anything else I'll do a part two or even better write something more complete

#hazel callahan bottoms movie #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan angst

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atypicalamortentia · 9 months

Note

May I requested an Ominis Gaunt relationship HC please 🥺

General Headcannons || Ominis Gaunt

Synopsis - General dating headcannons for Ominis Gaunt.

Warnings - SFW & NSFW.

Notes - All characters are 18+!

Word Count - 0.9k.

[Caffeinate Me]

SFW:

: ̗̀➛ Ominis first meets you in a different place depending on what house you’re in: if you’re in Slytherin his first interaction with you is in the Slytherin common room, but if you’re in any other house he meets you outside the Undercroft.

: ̗̀➛ Ominis is weary about you at first, you’re a stranger!

: ̗̀➛ It takes the blonde a few weeks to eventually warm up to you. You offer to help him with some homework he’s been having trouble with and he happily accepts.

: ̗̀➛ Can’t stop thinking about you after that. He always wants to know what you’re up to and how you’re doing. Your voice lives on repeat in his head.

: ̗̀➛ Takes the man a while to realise he has a crush on you. Sebastian is the one who brings it up, noting that his friend blushes a lot whenever you’re around and won’t stop talking about you for hours afterwards.

: ̗̀➛ Will open up about his past to you more than anybody else. At first, he says he doesn’t want to talk about it, but eventually he’ll begin to open up more. He finds comfort in your soothing words and slight touches on the shoulder that you give him in reassurance.

: ̗̀➛ It takes Ominis a long time to confess his feelings for you but when he does you’re in the Undercroft drinking firewhiskey. The two of you are slightly tipsy when he just blurts out “I think I’m in love with you.”

: ̗̀➛ You’re stunned to begin with, mouth hung wide open as you blink slowly at him. Had you heard him right?

: ̗̀➛ “Y/N… Say something?” He’ll say, snapping you out of your trance.

: ̗̀➛ “Do you really love me?” You ask. “Because if this is a joke, Ominis Gaunt, I swear to Merlin you’re in for a world of pain.”

: ̗̀➛ He chuckles slightly at your reaction before placing a hand on your shoulder and smiling at you. “I’m being serious. I love you.”

: ̗̀➛ Ensue heavy make-out session. It’s Ominis’ first kiss so it’s clumsy with teeth clattering together but neither of you care. His hands will trace your hips as yours wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you.

: ̗̀➛ Ominis’ love language is physical touch. He’ll intertwine his fingers with yours when you’re walking to class and place tender kisses on your forehead when you part ways at night. He will always have a hand on you at all times whether it be your thigh, your hip or your shoulder.

: ̗̀➛ Doesn’t use his wand to guide him around the castle when you’re around. He trusts you to get him to classes safely.

: ̗̀➛ Dates to Hogsmeade are a must! And this man will pay for everything and don’t even try to stop him. He just wants you to know how much he loves you.

NSFW:

: ̗̀➛ Your first time is in the Undercroft. You’re both sitting on a sofa you had conjured when suddenly Ominis pulls you onto his lap.

: ̗̀➛ His lips find yours in a desperate sloppy kiss before he trails down to your jaw and neck, sucking on the sensitive flesh.

: ̗̀➛ “I’ve been thinking,” he says in between kissing your neck. “I want to make love to you.”

: ̗̀➛ “Ominis, are you sure?”

: ̗̀➛ He just nods, his hand making its way down to the hem of your skirt. His hands are shaking slightly as he plays with the fabric, nervous about what to do next.

: ̗̀➛ it’s no surprise that Ominis is a virgin, but he doesn’t mind if you are too (or if you’re not, he’s not judging).

: ̗̀➛ You grind against his lap forcing the blonde to let out a strangled moan. It feels so good he thinks he might cum before he even gets to enter you.

: ̗̀➛ You guide his shaky hand down your tights and his fingertips brush against your clit. You buck your hips slightly and let out the softest moan, it was like music to his ears. Ominis could listen to your moans all day if you’d let him.

: ̗̀➛ His long fingers work circles around your clit before he dips his hand further into your underwear. He fingers you for a few minutes; a singular finger first before adding a second. His pace is nice and slow - he doesn’t want to hurt you. You’re basically riding his fingers.

: ̗̀➛ When Ominis finally pushes his thick cock inside of you, he lets out the loudest moan and screws his eyes shut immediately as he tries to focus on not cumming instantly. He’s so sensitive he feels like he might burst.

: ̗̀➛ Ominis lets his hands wander around your body as you move your hips, taking control of the situation. He wants to commit every inch of your body to his memory so he can relive this moment over and over again in his mind.

: ̗̀➛ “I wish I could see how beautiful you look right now,” he whispers horsley, biting his bottom lip to keep the noise down

: ̗̀➛ You bend down and press a soft kiss on his lips as you move your hips. Ominis shamelessly ruts against you, desperate for more. He’s begging for you to move just a little bit faster.

: ̗̀➛ When he’s close, Ominis’ hand drops to your clit forcing you to cum at the same time as he does. He’s so loud as he cums you’re scared that people passing by the Undercroft might actually hear him.

: ̗̀➛ Pulls you flush against his chest as you lift off of him slowly. His cock is so sensitive and so is he, he just wants to cuddle with you.

: ̗̀➛ “I hope we can do that again,” he whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. You nod in agreement, smiling brightly. He looks like an angel underneath you and you never want this moment to end.

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy imagines #hogwarts legacy x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt imagines #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x reader #ominis #gaunt #ominis gaunt headcanon #ominis gaunt headcannon #ominis gaunt headcanons #ominis gaunt headcannons

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foliosriot · 6 months

Text

Love’s The Death Of Peace Of Mind — Pt. 3

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

warnings: angst and more angst

tags: @thisbicc @lma1986 @mrscevans @catj422 @thebadchic @blackveilomens @likeavilliansposts @veronicaphoenix @circle-with-me @lilhobgobbler @loeytuan98

masterlist. tdopom masterlist.

Today is the day.

Today is the day Noah comes over so you two can talk and work through what happened to your friendship, and your relationship overall.

You’ve been pacing around your apartment for the past few hours, music playing loudly from the TV in the living room. Purposefully taking a break from Bad Omens you have Sleep Token on repeat instead. But the change didn’t help much. You ended up skipping Give anyways.

Now you’re just anxiously fiddling with the bottom hem of your sweater as the entirety of Sleep Token’s discography comes to an end. The sudden lack of music makes you pause your pacing.

Then, because your brain has been torturing you all day — and this wouldn’t be anything short of it — you hurriedly turn on THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND. The opening track has you immediately calming down, and there’s a part of you that fucking despises that.

But you’re still pacing as you listen to the album, your lips moving as you wordlessly sing along. Your fingers are constantly playing with your sweater’s hem, and you may have just realized it’s one of Noah’s that he must have left here on accident. You have half a brain to make your way to your room to change before there’s knocking at the front door.

It scares you, nearly has you jumping out of your skin. And as much as you want to pretend like you aren’t home, or crawl to bed and roll yourself into a cocoon of blankets, you know you can’t avoid this any longer.

You don’t think to pause your music or turn it off entirely until you’re already opening the front door to reveal Noah standing before you. He gives you a soft smile, though you can tell he’s nervous and probably riddled with anxiety just like you are. But you quietly greet him and step aside to allow him entry.

It’s jarring to see him in person like this. Last time you saw him face to face was the last time you’d been … together. The two of you had been here, at your apartment, and you suddenly have difficulty shoving away that memory.

A hand at your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you pleasantly lightheaded. Your fingernails leaving thin red lines down freckled shoulders and a tattooed back. Hickeys and roaming, greedy hands turning into gentle kisses and softly uttered praises. Neither of you acknowledging the blatant shift in your movements, but you continue giving and taking equally anyways.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you nearly run into Noah, who had stopped once he entered the living room. You take a step or two backwards to see him staring at the TV screen still alive with Bad Omens. With his music. With the songs he wrote about you.

The sad smile that appears on Noah’s face is fleeting at best. But it’s gone in a flash when he eventually looks away. You take that as your chance to run to the remote and turn off the TV, relieving both of you of the obvious torment you had been experiencing.

In the quiet of your small living room you hesitantly sit down on one end of the couch, to which Noah copies your actions. He sits on the other end, and it sparks even more buried memories of yours. You’re almost certain Noah is remembering those as well.

“You like the album, then?”

Noah’s voice startles you. You jerk slightly but you quickly recover to meet his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and shit — if this doesn’t feel like déjà vu.

“Uh, y-yeah, I really like it,” you stammer. “But I already Motionless In White’s new album is gonna be even better.”

You aren’t sure why you say it. But the slight teasing in your voice is definitely there, no matter how weird it may have felt rolling off your tongue. And the way Noah is looking at you has you thinking he knows you’re messing with him, if the slight quirk of his lips is anything to go off of.

You both stay silent after that. Your chest is tightening the longer the quiet drags. And you can feel Noah’s gaze on you, his eyes taking in the sight of you for the first time in a long time. Or maybe it’s because you’re wearing his old sweater.

“What happened to us?”

Noah’s gentle voice jerks you out of your head. You slowly look to him expecting to see him watching you still. But he had averted his eyes, and he was now staring at the picture frames nailed to the wall above the small shelf that has all of your DVDs, CDs, vinyls, and tapes. It almost feels like a tidal wave when you realize there are photos of the two of you on display.

“Do you want the full truth or the half-truth?” you ask him as your fingers migrate back to that stupid bottom hem.

“Full truth.”

He’s still taking in the wall of memories, not looking away for even a moment. Your throat bobs as you prepare yourself to talk.

“Noah, I need you to know that you are my best friend in the entire world,” you begin quietly. “Even if we haven’t talked for awhile. You are one of my favorite people on this planet, and I don’t know what I would do without you. What happened between us is on me, and I really need you to understand that.”

“If this is just an elaborate way to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, save it,” Noah says, his tone cold. “I gathered that when you stopped talking to me.”

Okay. You’ll admit: that hurt.

But it’s true, and you need to let him know why.

“No, it’s not that.” Your eyes are beginning to burn with gathering tears. “Ever since we met I’ve struggled to understand what I feel for you. I thought we were just friends, but, over the years, there were things you would say or do that made me think otherwise. So I guess I kinda played in to it. Then that night at your place, and the times after that, I … It made me think there was actually something between us. But after the last night together I freaked out and distanced myself from you because I was scared you didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t keep denying my feelings for you, so I distanced myself so neither of us would get hurt.”

You sniffle before continuing. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this since that first night. And then the album dropped and I lost control over what I have been feeling for years. I never wanted to push you away like that. I was being selfish and and I was so fucking scared, and I never bothered to think about if you would be hurt in the process.” You bite your bottom lip as a few tears crawl down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. I never wanted this.”

Noah is quiet. He’s still facing away from you, and you’re beginning to think this was a bad idea. But he shifts slightly, his head moving slowly in your direction. Then he stops, and you think you see a tear or two staining his cheek.

Your skin is starting to itch profusely as you anxiously wait for Noah to say anything. You’re growing uncomfortable and you wish time would just freeze.

But then Noah speaks, his voice awfully quiet.

“I thought there was something too,” he starts. And it is blatantly clear that he had begun to cry as well. “Honestly, I would have been totally fine with the first night being a one-time thing. And then it happened again and again, and I thought that must have meant something. But when you ignored me after the last time I thought you had just used me and didn’t want to see me again. Like, you somehow knew how I feel and couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it.

“Now knowing how it tore you up as well almost makes the pain a little more bearable,” Noah continues with a halfhearted laugh. “I guess I just don’t understand why it happened the way it did. We could’ve talked and worked through it, like we always fucking have. So why was this the thing that drove us apart? I mean, we definitely have feelings for each other. We both thought there was something for years, and it’s been confirmed. So, I guess the question still stands…”

Noah’s words have your heart lodging itself into your throat. More tears have fallen from your eyes, each one streaking down your face and slipping from your chin as you keep your eyes on Noah.

“I don’t know why that was what drove us apart, Noah,” you admit in a broken voice. “But I want to fix it. I really want to fix this rift we’ve made. ‘Cause I— I-I miss you.”

You watch Noah finally turn his head so he’s looking straight you. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and there are a few apparent tear stains on his face. But he looks hopeful and content with your response.

“I miss you, too,” he murmurs. “And I wanna fix whatever happened, regardless of the outcome.”

Noah gives you a soft smile that you return without a second thought. You sit staring at each other for a minute before you have to force yourself to finally glance away. Taking a deep breath you pull the ends of your sleeves over your hands and fingers, then wipe at your eyes.

The worn fabric of your Noah’s sweater rubs against your skin and leaves red in its wake. You catch Noah looking at you for a moment before he obviously processes what you’re wearing.

“Is that my sweater?” he queries quietly.

“Oh, yeah. I think you had left it here on accident once,” you begin rambling. “God, I didn’t even realize I was wearing it until you got here. I can give it back to you—“

“No. Keep it. It looks much better on you.”

Noah’s words have your face heating up. You go silent as he gives you another one of his small yet softest smiles. Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds, then you’re snapping your teeth together as your heart continues racing relentlessly.

His own face is reddening with blush, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach back for the TV remote and wordlessly turn on Howl’s Moving Castle. The movie has been a shared comfort for both you and Noah, and you know he would love to watch it with you after so long.

You struggle to hide your grin as you get comfortable against the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Noah has been stunned into silence at the movie selection. But you ignore him as much as you can as you listen to him kick off his shoes and settle into his own spot on the couch, the beginning of the beloved movie illuminating the screen.

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

a/n: ok i’m planning on AT LEAST one more part, so let me know if you wanna be tagged when it’s out!!

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #alex! ❪ 𖤐 ❫#alex’s writing! ❪ 𖤐 ❫

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wrongplacerighttime · 6 months

Text

Hi!! This is my first fic that I’m posting. I wrote it loosely based on this love by taylor. I write for my own enjoyment usually but this is my first time sharing my work!! I hope you enjoy it <3

word count: 7.5k (got carried away lol)

tw: smut MDNI!!, hints at dom harry, fluff, angst, drinking, kind of feelings of regret, mentions of a cheating partner.…i think that’s it but lemme know if i missed any :’)

This Love Left A Permanent Mark

This was a terrible idea.

My inner monologue has been repeating the phrase through my head like a mantra from the moment I walked through the glass doors of the club.

In hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t think this sooner. Why did I think coming to my ex-boyfriend's album release party was a good idea? In what world would that ever be a good idea? Especially the way we ended things. I mentally note to never let Ginny talk me into something like this ever again, even if she is dating a member of his team. I recall the conversation we had about it a mere four days before this moment.

“It’ll be fun! And he’ll be busy talking to people all night anyway. He won’t even know you’re there, probably.” she insisted

“I don’t know, Gin. I really don’t want to crash his night.” I mumble, twiddling with the menu on the table in front of me.

“You need to get out of the house. All you do is sit and read your books and play your guitar. It makes me sad and depressed.” her nose crinkles in displeasure.

“What’s wrong with that?” I shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing, I guess.” She shrugs. “I just think you deserve to have a good night. I won’t tell Joe you’re coming so he doesn’t mention it to Harry. You can just hang around and mingle and drink and dance with me.” She reaches over the table and takes my hand in hers. “Please. We haven’t had a night out in so long.” she gives me a pouty lip and I roll my eyes.

“We could go out any other night.” I point out and she sighs loudly.

“True…but this would be perfect. You don’t have to pay for any drinks or deal with sleazy guys at the bar. Just industry people doing industry people things and listening to the album at a big party.”

I contemplate her request. What’s there to lose? I weigh the options in my head for a moment. If I don’t go, she’s right, and I’ll just sit in my room all night flipping through the same romcoms and sitcoms that I’ve already watched 3 times over. I’ve been doing fine for a few months now. I’ve been going on dates again, and meeting new guys. On the other hand, no one will ever be him and I have no idea how I’ll react if I do end up seeing him…or if he sees me. But, there will be so many people there, he’ll be mingling, and he probably won’t see me, right?

“Fine. But if he sees me, I’m bolting. .” I mutter and she squeals in excitement.

Now here I am, sitting at the bar alone in the same spot for the past 45 minutes. Ginny is nowhere to be found, and I’m in an uncomfortable dress that’s too short for my typical comfort zone and the sequins are making me itchy. I twirl the straw around in my drink and sigh, holding my head in my hand.

On the plus side, I’ve avoided him for most of the night. The first time I spotted him was when he was walking into the club, making his grand entrance. I was hiding behind Ginny and he didn’t see me. But when I saw him my heart skipped. He’s wearing a cream colored suit, that looks almost a baby pink color if it’s in the right light, with a white tank top underneath that shows off his toned chest along with the two swallows tattooed on his tanned skin, and his cross necklace hanging from his neck. He’s got a pair of glasses with orange colored lenses perched on his head also. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I was on his arm right now.

This was a terrible idea.

It’s been over a year since I saw him last. I don’t even know what he’s writing about in his music because I avoid every single thing about him. Arguably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do because he’s everywhere right now. If I see his name in the news, I don’t read the article. If he’s on the TV, I change the channel. I scroll past anything I see that his name associated with it. I learned my lesson the hard way in the beginning. I purposely searched his name in the weeks following our tumultuous end, and saw so many pictures of him with other women…and every time I saw him with them, the picture of him that I saw that night comes to my brain. So I stopped putting myself through that misery.

I hear a loud noise like someone patting a microphone. I turn my head to see Harry standing at the front of the room on a small stage. He’s looking out to the crowd of people who are now mostly turned to face him. He looks my way for a moment, and I feel my breath catching in my throat, but then he skips over me and continues skimming the crowd, and I let go of the breath I was holding.

“Hello, I’m Harry.” His deep voice sounds so smooth in the microphone and my stomach churns. It’s been so long since I’ve heard his voice.

“We know!” Someone yells back to him and the room erupts in laughter, making Harry chuckle into the microphone. So many thoughts are going through my head while I stare across the room at him, like the last time I heard him laugh like that. I turn back to face my drink so I don’t have to look at him. How good he looks.

“I just wanted to say thank you all for coming. It really means the world to me that I get to celebrate the release of my third album with all of you. I wouldn’t be here, in this moment, if it weren’t for every single one of you. All of you have played such an important role in making me the artist that I am. So thank you.” I sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye. He brings his hand up to place over his heart in an endearing gesture. “Now, let’s get this show on the road and listen to it, shall we?” He says cheekily and the crowd sounds off with applause and cheers. The speakers in the room begin to play the tune of the first song and he walks off the stage making his way around the crowd of people, stopping to shake hands and chat with some of them.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and flinch in surprise, only to whip my head around and see Ginny hopping up into the seat next to me. I shoot her a look that shows I’m not happy with her and she tilts her head. The song changes and the next song is just as upbeat as the first.

“What? What’s wrong?” She questions and I roll my eyes.

“I’ve been sitting here alone for 45 minutes. You left me. You said you wouldn’t.” I pout, looking back down at my half-empty drink.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Joe wanted to introduce me to some people and then I lost track of time. I won’t leave again. I’m yours for the night. Promise.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me into her and I smirk. She orders a drink and I turn to face the crowd again. I don’t see Harry anywhere, and I feel the tension I was holding in my shoulders release a fraction.

We sit for a while, drinking and chatting amongst ourselves and other people who come to the bar while they’re waiting for their drinks to be made. They mostly talk to Ginny and ask how things with Joe are going, while I just listen and add little bits to the conversation here and there. I’m turned to face her at the same moment the 5th song ends and turns to a slower one, not as upbeat as the others. And they’re all so good. His talent really shining through in all of these words he’s written.

The chatter dies down a little, everyone taking in the beginning of the song before it picks back up again. Some people are swaying to the music and others are standing in groups. While looking through the crowd I spot some of Harry’s famous friends and when one of them makes eye contact and waves at me, I wave back. I feel a little stab in my chest, thinking back to a time Harry and I would be over there talking to them together. We would talk about how their projects are going and their plans for the future. Harry would always have his arm draped over my shoulder, pulling me closer to his side and kissing the top of my head. I sigh and continue to look around the room, looking for anyone else I might know, but then I spot him.

He’s sitting in a large curved booth with three others. He’s leaned over listening to one of them speak. I watch as his jaw clenches, and a small piece of hair falls down over his forehead. His eyes crinkle the way I always remember when he smiles and I can feel my breath leave my chest, just looking at him like this stole it away. His hand comes up to push his hair back off of his forehead while he nods and I catch the rings adorned on all of his fingers. One of them in particular catches my eye though.

The lion ring.

I gave him the ring as a gift for our anniversary a few years ago. He used to wear it every time he performed, but I didn’t realize he still wore it. You would if you’d ever pay attention to him, my conscience informs me and I swallow the thick lump in my throat. Ginny taps me on the shoulder once, pausing before tapping again, I turn my head towards her, but my gaze was still on the ring on his finger. My eyes work my way back up to his face before I tear them away, admiring his features for another moment. His beautiful green eyes…but when I turn to look at Ginny, I have to do a double take back to him.

Wait.

His eyes?

After a single second my brain catches up and registers that he’s looking at me. He opened his mouth once, then closed it again, his brow furrowed and shaking his head. I see the confusion laced through his expression, and I’m cursing myself, but I can’t look away.

“Fuck.” I manage to squeak out, and Ginny follows my gaze over to Harry.

“Oh shit. Laine, don’t—” she starts to say something but stops when he’s holding up his hand to whoever is speaking to him, signaling for them to give him a moment, and his eyes never leave mine.

“Laine?” I saw him mouth my name. A sight I’ve memorized ten times over. My breathing, my heart, and my mind all stop. Everything stops. It felt like the entire world stopped turning.

Within two seconds he’s standing, pushing his way through groups of people towards me. As he stands, I’m running for the door. I don’t look back. I just keep moving forward through the groups of people, pushing myself through…in the same sense that I have been for 19 months now. Running away and never looking back.

“Run away like you have from everything else.” The words that have infiltrated every single thought in my head for the past 19 months.

This was a terrible idea.

I’m pushing to the door, the air suddenly thick with dread that clouds my mind. I can’t breathe and it’s suddenly so hot. The room around me blurs and I can’t see where I am because there are tears clouding my vision. I’m blinking fast to clear them and all I hear are the last words he ever said to me, and then I feel the familiarity of his touch, and the flashback of the fight comes so quickly that it hits me like a freight train. Coming to the forefront so easily after I’ve tried so hard to just forget.

“Laine! Stop. Please, you don’t have to do this.” His voice drops an octave on the last few words, desperate for me to stay, and I knew I couldn’t.

“No, H. I can’t. This isn’t working. I can’t keep sitting here waiting for you to care about this, about us, when you’re photographed necking a girl at a bar. I sit here looking like a damn fool, waiting for you to love me.” My voice trembles and I shove him away from me.

“It wasn’t even what it looked like! You’re being irrational.” He throws his hands up in the air.

“Me? Irrational? Don’t. We’re falling apart. You’ve been growing so distant. Every time you go out you’re photographed with some other girl…and this time you’re all over her? I know we haven’t been the best lately but this is too much. You’ve gone too far.” I argue back, throwing things into a bag.

“You should know the paps twist everything. Please let me explain!” He’s practically yelling now, and I turn back to face him, rage clouding my mind.

“You cannot explain away this one Harry. All I wanted was for you to look at me the way you look at them. You used to. I used to be the only one you looked at.” My voice trembles, the tears threatening to spill. “It’s time to stop lying to ourselves, this was over a long time ago.” I snap at him with a shake of my head. He looks at me, defeated.

“Fine, Laine. Just go. Run away from this like you have everything else in your life. You’re so predictable.” He shoots back and I visibly flinch, I never thought he would use my past against me.

“You don’t get to say those things to me after doing this. This is your fault. I’m done. It’s over. Go call your new girl, I’m sure she’s waiting for you.” I grit through my teeth. I don’t let him say anything else before I walk out the door, leaving the only place I've ever called home behind.

��Let go of me!” I yell, trying to catch my breath and gasping for air. Trying to push and pull my way out of the grip on my arm. I know it’s him. I’d know the feeling of his hands anywhere. My eyes are squeezed shut.

“Hey! Laine, calm down. Look at me.” He shakes me slightly trying to get me to come back down to earth. I feel his hands let go of my arms and he grabs my face. “Please. Look at me.” I shake my head.

“I can’t. Because if I open my eyes and you’re really standing there and it’s not a dream, I will pass out.” I say quickly, so quickly that my words run together and I’m not sure he even understood what I said. But what am I so afraid of? It’s just Harry. But then again, my mind is replaying his words from that night over and over again. Run away like you have from everything else.

“If you do, I’m right here. I’ll catch you.” His voice is deep and he speaks slowly. His hands are still holding my face. I don’t respond, my lips pressed together in a thin line. My heart is beating out of my chest.

“What are you doing here Laine?” He asks, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

“I-,” I stop myself, realizing I have no good explanation, to collect my thoughts. I realize that my eyes are still tightly closed, and I probably look ridiculous. But now that he’s here and the entire world hasn’t imploded yet, I’m beginning to come back down to earth. I realize I don’t hear the music, I don’t hear anyone else talking, and my back is against a cool concrete wall. I open my eyes slowly, and I’m outside, and he’s there. Right there in front of me, not a dream, not a figment of my imagination. His eyes are so green, his jaw is sharp with little bits of stubble beginning to grow. His lips are full and pink, and they look so, so kissable. His hair is perfectly wavy sitting on top of his head, and he’s just close. Closer than he’s been in so many months. I turn my head, looking away from him and down the alley. I take a shaky breath.

“Ginny invited me. I don’t think she told Joe I was coming. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I-I didn’t think…” My gaze travels back to his, and he’s smirking.

“Didn’t think what? That you’d run into me at my own album party?” He asks.

“In hindsight it was not the smartest decision.” I mutter and look down at the ground. I can’t look at him. If I look at him again I’ll want to kiss him and I can’t do that, not anymore. “I think I’m just gonna go home.” I add and look back up at him through my lashes.

“Don’t. Stay. I’m sorry that I scared you. I just haven’t seen you in so long, it caught me off guard. I didn’t know if it was really you sitting there or if my mind was playing tricks on me again.” He rubs his hands down my arms, stopping at my wrists and going back up again, keeping me warm in the cool night air.

“Again?” My brow furrows.

“Yeah. Again. See you everywhere I turn, have since…” He trails off, then shakes his head slightly. “Please, come back in…I’m sorry that I startled you.”

“I need to anyway. I ran out and left all of my stuff with Ginny.” I wrap my arms around my torso to try and shield myself from the cold. He moves out of my way and stands beside me. We walk back inside in awkward silence, and this feels like some terrible kind of walk of shame. He holds the door for me and I mumble a thank you. Someone catches his attention when we walk into the main area so he stops to talk to them and I take that as my cue to walk away before it’s even more awkward. I make my way back over to the bar and Ginny is still in her seat. Her eyes widen at me as she sips through her straw.

“Oh my god. Are you okay? I didn’t know what to do. I saw him coming this and then you were running and then he ran after you and I just froze. I’m sorry. Should I have come to save you?” she rambles on and I shake my head.

“It’s fine. I think I just overreacted. I haven’t seen him in so long and when I saw him coming towards me I panicked. Nothing bad happened.” I sigh and run my hands over my face. My mind wanders, thinking about what he said. He said he sees me everywhere, and he has since the night I left. I didn’t think he even wanted anything else to do with me. Thinking about what he said pulls at my heartstrings and I’m confused…I decide I don’t want to feel this way.

I order a drink from the bartender.

Then another.

And before I know it, another hour has gone by, and I’m drunk and on the dance floor laughing with Ginny. I have a drink in one hand and the other above my head, holding onto Ginny’s and swaying our hips together. I’ve not felt this way in a long time. I feel on top of the world, like I’m floating. She leans into me and whispers something in my ear but I don’t quite catch it. I turn towards her with a confused look on my face.

She gestures her head across the room and my gaze travels that direction. I look to find Harry, sitting in the same booth as before. He’s leaned back with one leg crossed so his ankle is resting on his knee. He’s got a drink in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth with a smirk on his face. Smirking at me.

“He’s been watching you for, like, the past 10 minutes. I know because I counted.” Ginny slurs in my ear and I look at her with an eyebrow raised.

“You counted?” I repeated back, skeptical. I don’t think I could even count to 20 right now.

“Um, yeah. It was for like two and a half songs that’s pretty much the same as 10 minutes right?” Her words run together and I turn my head to look at him again over my shoulder. A woman is sitting next to him, trying to get his attention and he’s nodding to whatever she’s saying, but his eyes are still on me.

I don’t really think my brain can comprehend why he’s staring at me in this moment. So I keep dancing with Ginny, and then eventually with other people too. I end up dancing with one of his friends that came up to talk to me, his arm around my shoulder and jumping around, singing the words to a popular song we’ve all heard repeatedly on the radio. I don’t remember when it happened because all my thoughts are running together and Ginny just keeps handing me drinks, and I’m so grateful for that. Grateful that he doesn’t come over to me. But why was he grinning at me like that?

Another hour goes by, I’m standing at a table talking to someone I’ve never met before, but Ginny knows them. Another one of Joe’s clients he manages, I think. I don’t really remember. I’m sipping my drink through a straw, slightly swaying to the music and listening to one of the women at the table speak when I feel hands on my waist, pulling me away from the table. I stumble backwards, feeling my back collide with a strong chest. I turn my head to see that Harry is the one pulling me away. His eyes are dilated and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. He grabs my hand, pulling me into the shadows of the club where no one can see us. He leans down and I can feel his breath on my ear.

“You look so tempting. It’s not fair.” He cups his hand around my cheek, running his fingers down my jaw line then holding my chin between his thumb and finger. He tilts my head up so my eyes meet his. He reaches up, running his thumb over my mouth, pulling my lip as he drags it down. He breathes a heavy sigh through his nose. Bravely, and not in the right state of mind, I gently bite his thumb between my teeth, closing my lips around it and sucking lightly. He chuckles and shakes his head. He just looks so good.

“You’re killing me.” He groans and drops his forehead to meet mine. “All I want right now is you and I can’t have you.”

“Who says you can’t?” I whisper back to him, looking up at him through my lashes, and our faces are so close. So close all I can see are his eyes. He grins and leans in, leaving a small kiss on my neck under my ear, and I feel tingling where his lips touch. I can smell his cologne. I would recognize it anywhere. He grabs my hand and leads me through the crowds of people towards the back door.

“My place or yours?” He asks, his eyes peeking at me over his shoulder.

“Yours.” I answer back without hesitation.

He opens the door and I feel the cold air biting my skin, instantly making my body shiver. We’re walking fast towards his car, his hand still wrapped around mine and pulling me along behind him. He walks me around to the passenger side of his car and opens the door for me. I slide into the seat and my teeth are chattering, when he comes to the drivers side he takes his jacket off and hands it to me over the center console.

We drive to his apartment in silence, his jacket shrugged over my shoulders. The air is filled with tension, both sexual and nervous. I don’t want to speak because I don’t know what to say. He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles, making my heart flutter in my chest. Like he always used to. I don’t pull away. I let him hold my hand against his mouth.

We make our way up to his apartment with haste. The elevator stops and opens to his penthouse, and once we’re inside he’s pushing me against the wall, not wasting a single second, and his lips finding mine. He grabs my hips so hard that I’m sure there will be bruises. When my mouth opens he’s slipping his tongue inside and I feel my knees weaken. He kisses me like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to.

He’s grabbing my thighs and lifting me up, all without breaking the kiss and instinctively my legs wrap around his waist. My hands work their way into his hair and pull slightly, making him groan into my mouth. He carries me into his room, the room we used to share, and lays me down ever so gently. He’s hovering over me, his knee between my thighs and putting pressure on my center. His kiss and his touch feel so familiar that it hurts, and I can feel it in my bones. Something I’ve longed for since the very last time. I feel my muscles melting into the bed with the weight of him on my chest. I moan into the kiss and he pulls away slightly.

“Been thinking about this for so fucking long, Laine. Think about you every day.” He whispers, touching his forehead to mine. My brain feels fuzzy and somewhere in my mind my conscience is telling me not to sleep with him, that I’ll regret it, but I push the thought out of my mind and focus on him hovering over me, paying attention to me. The only thing I’ve ever wanted him to do. The only thing I’ve craved for the past 19 months.

“Just kiss me.” I say breathlessly, and he does. His hand travels to the nape of my neck and grips tightly, holding my face to his. His lips are as soft as I remember. My veins are buzzing with a mixture of pleasure and alcohol, and I feel the heat grow through my entire body. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m grinding my hips against his thigh that's still between my legs and I whimper into his mouth at the friction it gives and he pulls his lips away just far enough to speak.

“Needy girl.” He purrs and I nod, lolling my head to the side while still moving my hips against his thigh. “Look at you. Need me this badly? No one else than take care of you like me, can they?” He pushes his leg against me harder and I gasp. “Answer me.” He grits through his teeth.

“No.” I choke out, “Nobody but you.” I whine, telling him what he wants to hear. And it’s the truth. Nobody could ever make me feel the way he does.

His hands travel down my body and push my dress over my hips, exposing me to him. He pulls away and looks down at the lacy piece of white fabric settled on my body, biting his lip and running his finger across the waistband, his light touches making me shiver.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs and I nod.

In one swift motion he hooks his finger in the fabric and pulls them down my legs, kneeling in front of my knees. He hooks his arms under my legs and palms the top of my thighs. I close my eyes and feel his breath trailing over my thighs and ghosting over the spot where I needed him the most. He peppers small kisses on my inner thighs, teasing me. I reach my hand down and tangle my fingers in his hair.

“You’re dripping.” He grins and looks up at me through his lashes. “All for me?” His warm breath on my wet center sends chills up my spine.

“No one else. Please, Har. Need you.” I say breathlessly, and I feel him smirk against my skin, grabbing my legs and opening them so far I feel the stretch in my muscles.

“How much?” He mutters, his voice low and gravelly.

“Please. So much. Need you so much.” I whine and gasp when I feel his tongue begin to lap at my clit, barely letting me finish my sentence. My back arches off the bed and he uses his hands to grab my hips and force me back down. He groans against me and the vibrations travel through my body, making me writhe against the bed. My hand still in his hair tugs at the root slightly, making his eyes flutter closed. My other hand grips the bed sheets so tightly I can feel my nails digging into my palm through the fabric. He trails his tongue down to my leaking hole and thrusts it inside while his nose creates friction at my bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, Harry. So good. Feels so good.” I manage to gasp out between moans in broken phrases. He lifts his head and his chin is glistening with my arousal and he smirks. Going back in fervently he brings me closer and closer to the edge. I feel the coil tighten in my belly and he doesn’t stop.

“I’m so close.” I whisper between gasps and he moans against me again, and the vibration it provides is enough to send me over the edge. The coil snaps and my vision goes white, and I’m moaning his name over and over while he continues to move his tongue against me and working me through my high. I try to push him away from my body on his shoulders but he’s stronger than I am, and the overstimulation brings tears to my eyes and he stares back at me devilishly as he thrusts his tongue into me and my hips buck.

“Please.” I whisper breathlessly. “Hurts, Har.” I gasp as he licks against my now sensitive clit. Finally, he pulls his mouth away from me and stands between my legs at the edge of the bed. My eyes, barely open, travel down his body and stop at the outline of his hard cock in his pants. I sit up and hurriedly work on undoing his belt, not saying a word. I look up at him through my lashes and he’s watching me intently. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and squeezes, letting me know what he wants. Once his belt is undone I push his pants and underwear down and his cock springs free and hits his abdomen. My mouth waters at the sight, a sight I’ve been dreaming of for months.

I lean forward, wasting no time and lick up his length and he tips his head back with a low groan. I wrap my lips around his leaking tip and suck lightly, then spitting. I pull him into my mouth until he touches the back of my throat and I swallow around him, causing him to curse and tangle his fingers in my hair. He holds my head there for a moment and then let’s go, and I’m coming back up for air before going right back in. I flatten my tongue around him and the tip hits the back of my throat again, my nose meeting the skin of his waist.

“Fuck.” He hisses between his teeth. “If you keep doing that I’m not gonna last.” He moans with his head thrown back, looking at the ceiling. I pull back and take a breath through my nose before repeating the motions over and over, his tip repeatedly hitting the back of my throat until I gag and that’s when something snaps in him. He grabs my hair and twists it in around his fist, moving his hips so he’s fucking my mouth. I moan, causing a vibration to travel from my throat through his cock and then he’s pulling me off, a string of saliva falling out of my mouth. He grabs both sides of my face, pulling me to stand and kissing me with so much force it almost knocks me over completely. “Don’t wanna finish yet. Not done with you.” He mumbles against my lips before pressing them against mine again.

He pushes me down onto the bed and climbs over me. He wastes no time settling himself between my legs. He pulls my dress off over my head and throws it somewhere in the room. He brings his hands up to cup my breasts, and then he tweaks both of my nipples between his fingers, making my mouth drop open in a small, quiet moan escaping. Then, he’s dragging his cock through my folds and pushing into me slowly. I gasp as my back arches off the bed and he grabs my hips to hold me down. I almost forgot how much I missed this. His hips meet mine and his eyes flutter shut and he groans. I writhe under him, needing more and a whine escapes my throat.

“Please H, need you. Please, please.” I whisper. He leans down, bringing his lips to mine and kisses me slowly, his tongue dancing with mine. I moan into his mouth and he grins as he pulls away from me, resting his forehead on mine.

“No. Wanna go slow, missed this so much. Wanna feel every inch of you.” He mutters, rubbing his nose against mine. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out. He trails little kisses down my skin, finally moving his hips slowly. I feel every drag of his thick cock against my walls and the sounds that leave my mouth are almost pornographic.

Savoring the moment doesn’t last long. He picks up his pace, his fingers gripping and digging into my hips so hard I’m sure there will be bruises left in their place. Quickly he pulls out of me and flips me over onto my belly. With his hands still on my hips he brings me up to my knees and pushes back into me, quickly pounding into me without remorse making me cry out.

“Oh god, Harry.” I whine and he tangles a hand in my hair, and yanking so my head lifts from the bed.

“Take me so well, baby. The only one who’s ever taken me so well.” He grits through his teeth, the sound of his hips snapping against my ass echoing through the room along with his demanding tone and me moaning his name over and over. I feel the familiar warmth traveling through my belly as he continues hitting the right spot deep inside me.

“I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop.” I beg and his movements become sloppy. The familiarity of this scene gives me deja vu, back to a time when things were simple and all that mattered to us was each other. My brain is fuzzy, and I’m remembering the way he says my name through his gritted teeth and just thinking about it makes me feel euphoric.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me? Go ahead, cum all over my cock.” He demands. “Shit, Laine.” He growls through his teeth, as if he read my mind and saw my memories and knowing how my name dripping from his tongue gives me exactly what I need to send me over the edge.

“Oh, I’m cumming. Fuck, H.” I gasp, and the warmth blossoms at my center and I’m a moaning, whining mess, my walls fluttering around his cock. He groans and stills, and I feel his warmth inside of me, spurting into me and painting my walls with his cum. His hips stutter before pulling out of me and he sighs heavily as he topples onto the bed beside me.

I roll onto my back, my head lolling to the side and looking at Harry through hooded eyes. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing heavily through his nose, both of us coming down from our highs. And he’s perfect. In every way I remember. My eyes trail down his face to his tattooed chest, the butterfly rising and falling with each breath he’s chasing. The muscles in his arms that flex and relax when he runs his hand down his face…and he’s just so perfect…and I missed him, more than anything…and I still love him, more than anything.

Somewhere in the midst of this, the cloud that hangs over my sense of judgment begins to dissipate and I feel my heart sink to my stomach. Why was I here? The first time I’ve seen him in almost two years and we fucked like it was just a hookup? I was doing so well trying to forget everything about him. But this…this puts me right back at square one.

“I-um…I need…” I stutter, trailing off and scrambling out of his bed. I look around and try to find my underwear and my dress strewn across the room, but it’s dark and I can’t really see well.

“What are you doing?” He sits up, propping on his elbows and watching me with a raised brow.

“I need to go.” I say quietly, bending over and pickup up my underwear, then walking to the other side of the room and looking for my dress.

“Why? You can stay here. This was your place once upon a time, too.” He stands up and pulls his pants back on, walking over to me. I’m frantically looking for my clothes, my heart feeling like it’s beating out of my chest. When I still can’t find it, my breathing picks up rapidly and I’m standing there with my hands in my hair, completely nude, about to have a panic attack.

This is so pathetic.

“Hey, Laine. It’s okay. Take a deep breath.” Harry says quietly, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. I drop my chin to my chest and I bring my hand up to cover my eyes.

“We shouldn’t have done this.” I mutter between my palms, desperately trying to calm my brain.

You’re irrational. Run away from this like you have everything else. You’re so predictable.

“Why?” He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he forgot. I’m clenching my teeth, wincing because I’m already trying to push it out of my head. “Don’t leave. I want you to stay.” He says softly, his hand trailing down to my waist.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I ask, nervously. He looks at me with a look of confusion, but doesn’t respond.

“Do you know where my dress is?” I ask, throwing up hands up in the air, gesturing around the room. I slip my underwear back on so I feel at least a little bit covered and he walks into his closet. He comes out with just one of his t-shirts and hands it to me. I slip it over my head. “Thanks but I can’t go home without pants on.” I mutter.

“Can we just talk?” He snaps at me, and I look at him and blink, not registering that he was growing impatient with me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did.”

“What is there to talk about, H?” I ask with a small sarcastic laugh. The nickname I always used for him slipping out like it’s an old habit recently rediscovered. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the wall.

“Us. Please.” He begs and I sigh.

“There is no us. There hasn’t been for a long time.” I shoot back at him.

“Can I just say what I want to say and then you can decide what you want to do. Please just hear me out.” He asks and I hesitate for a second before agreeing. I’m not sure what he’s going to say, and I’m also not sure how I’m going to react. If I leave now, then what he said to me last time would be true. I’d just be running away like I always do. I give him a nod, letting him know that I’ll listen to whatever he has to say, and he steps closer to me.

He grabs my hand and leads me out of the bedroom and to the living room. He sits on one end of the couch and I sit on the other end facing him, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on top of them, chewing on the inside of my lips nervously. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

“So…how have you been?” He asks, scratching his head and I furrow my eyebrows together.

“Really? Small talk?” I ask and he scoffs, shaking his head and looking away from me, averting his gaze to look out the large glass windows in front of us that overlook the city. This was always my favorite room. He stands and walks over to them, leaning his shoulder against them.

“I don’t know what to say. I thought I had it all planned out…what I was going to say if I ever got the chance…and now, I just…” he trails off, shaking his head again and sighing. “I never stopped loving you, Laine. Not even when I was being a fuck up, I think I just forgot…and then I got blindsided by the attention I was getting and I screwed up. But that was never an excuse to treat you the way that I did. I never apologized, and I sincerely am so sorry.” He says, glancing over at me. “If you don’t believe me, I understand. I just wanted you to know that I still love you. I think about you every single day.”

“I wanted to know that you loved me back then, too.” I whisper, hurt lacing my tone. “That’s all I ever wanted.” I close my eyes and try to control my breathing before I let my emotions talk for me. “I gave you everything, every piece of me, waiting for you to love me. I don’t have anything left to give. I’ve been trying not to think about the last words you ever said to me every single day for the past 19 months. It keeps me up every night and eats away at my thoughts, knowing that that was the way you thought of me at the end of our relationship, and using things I told you in confidence against me. When it was never me fucking anything up, it was you…and that hurt me. You said I was irrational for wanting to leave after I saw you with another girl pushed up against a wall, kissing all over her neck.” I stated, bringing back the memory of the night I left. He winces.

“I know, Laine. Fuck, I am so sorry. I would do anything to prove to you that I’m just so fucking sorry.” He strides over to where I sit on the couch and drops to his knees in front of me, pulling my hands into his. “At first, I tried to forget you. I couldn’t. You were in my dreams every single night. When I was with anyone else for the past five hundred ninety-seven days, all I ever did was compare them to you. They were never you.” He holds my hands against his chest. “It’s always been you. I am so sorry I didn’t realize that sooner. I should have fixed us instead of letting you leave.” His voice cracks on the last few words and he’s searching my eyes for any indication of my feelings. “When I saw you tonight, I knew. I’ve been begging to any god that was listening for a sign and then, there you were, and I just knew. It’ll always be you. I don’t want it to be anyone else.”

“Harry, I just…” I trail off, both sides of my feelings fighting each other in my brain. On one hand, this is everything I ever wanted him to say to me. On the other hand, I’m unsure if I can trust him, no matter how sincere his words sound. I look at him, here in front of me on his knees, and I feel the tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “All I ever wanted was you, and you betrayed my trust. How can I trust you again?” I ask.

“I’ll do anything.” He answers quickly. “I will work for the rest of my life to prove that you can trust me. I’m not the same person I was then.” He squeezes my hands. “I know my words aren’t enough, but I promise I will prove them to you. I know I was selfish then. I’m not anymore.” He shakes his head, looking into my eyes. I feel a single tear escape down my face, and he lets go of one of my hands to cradle my cheek and wipe it away. “I just want you to come back to me, baby. Please.” He whispers, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles, his eyes closing and taking in a deep breath.

I’m silent for a moment. I know he’s waiting for a response. I know he won’t pressure me if I say no…he’ll let me walk away if I really wanted to, and I think that’s what he’s expecting. The thing is, I don’t want to. I don’t want to run away this time. I’m so tired of running…running from my thoughts, my feelings, from everything. I remember all of the good. Writing with him, playing board games with him, going to events with him, the way he used to stroke my hair in bed every morning, the way he would come up with silly songs to make me feel better when I was having a bad day, the way we would dance in the kitchen while we were making dinner together, the way he always made me laugh and knew the right words to say…and when I think about him, before everything came falling down, all I can think of is the good. Before I can think about it any further I decide to go with my gut.

“Okay.” I whisper. He lifts his head up to look at me, his eyes glistening.

“What?” He looks at me with an expression of disbelief on his face.

“I said okay.” I take my hands from his and grab his face, pulling him closer so I can kiss him. Our lips meet and it’s like everything fell right back into place. After a few seconds, I pull away, touching my forehead to his. “I never want it to be anyone else, either.”

—————

ahhh!! i’m so excited to post this. I think i’m going to write more of their story, like how they met and things leading up to the break up. idk though!!! i hope you enjoy. 🥹 it’s not my best work but i still just love them so much. <3

#harry styles blurb #harry styles x fmc #famous!harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #thisloveleftapermaentmark #taylor swift #this love #harry #styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday.

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

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The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying.

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth.

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours.

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment.

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children.

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade.

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you.

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor.

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol.

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him.

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass.

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.”

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting.

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?”

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger.

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all.

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons.

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command.

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg.

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him.

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him.

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth.

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst.

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering.

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight.

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock.

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment.

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can.

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger.

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips.

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient.

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word.

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper.

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.”

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence.

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too.

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession.

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead.

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke.

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen.

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave.

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.”

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking.

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him.

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food.

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt.

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment.

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.”

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud.

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him.

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already.

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself.

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way.

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